Roommating

Chapter Four

T he apartment smells like a steak house when I get home, and my stomach rumbles with hunger. Marcia and Adam are at the table playing cards with old rock music playing softly in the background from Adam’s phone. They greet me with smiles when I join them.

“How much has she taken you for so far?” I ask Adam before draping my bag over the arm of a free chair and sitting down.

He grins. “Three hugs and one hair tousle.”

I laugh. “You’re getting off easy. I lost an entire box of Ferrero Roche chocolates once.”

“I’ve got a great poker face.” Marcia flips her hair and grins playfully. “How was work?”

I shrug noncommittally. I can’t very well tell them about my conversation with Gabe and Lane. “It was fine. I was glad to have your recommendation of The Thursday Murder Club when I helped a patron today. What did you guys do?”

Marcia’s cheeks glow with happiness. “We spent an hour in Academy Records and had lunch at the Grey Dog. It was a perfect day.” She stands, using her hands to push off the chair.

“The roast beef is in the oven. I should get started with the side dishes.” She looks between us.

“Mashed potatoes and asparagus okay with you?”

“Sounds great, Grams.”

“I agree. I’m excited!”

I typically eat dinner with Marcia only a couple times a week, and it’s rarely a large meal like this.

The effort tonight is clearly because of Adam.

Cooking is a Jewish grandmother’s love language.

Nana Lena cooked almost all our meals when I was growing up because my mother worked full-time.

I took it for granted, but what I wouldn’t do now for one more serving of her famous sweet-and-sour chicken and meatballs fricassee.

I feel the familiar pang of regret and put on a happy face. “Do you need any help?”

“Nope,” Marcia says with her head in the refrigerator before bringing a bunch of asparagus and a cutting board to the small island. “In fact, why don’t you two go out for a bit? Dinner will be ready in about an hour and a half.”

“If you’re sure.” I look at Adam. “Do you want to take a walk with Rocket? I can show you the dog park.” I note the absence of barking, which means only one thing. “He’s sleeping?”

Adam nods. “Yeah. But I could go for a walk.”

We stand at the same time, and when our arms accidentally brush, I can feel the heat of his skin on mine.

I pick up notes of grapefruit wafting from his body.

Whatever it is will probably join my Lush Rose Jam body wash in the shower by this time tomorrow.

My body flushes with warmth at the thought of Adam in my shower. Our shower.

“I just need a minute to drop my bag in my room.” I bolt to the bathroom first, cursing at my red cheeks in the mirror, then race to my bedroom, dropping my bag on the floor and flopping backward on my bed.

My bedroom isn’t huge, but there’s decent closet space, and it’s big enough to fit my double bed, pale green eight-drawer dresser, and small white corner desk and chair without being too cramped.

The walls were originally painted a neutral beige, which made sense for a guest room, but they’re now a very soft pink that’s just slightly feminine without feeling like a child’s bedroom.

When I’m confident the excess color has left my face, I enter the living room and do a double take.

Nothing Like the Movies greets me from the top shelf of the revolving bookshelf.

Adam and Marcia were out for most of the day, which means he accomplished in a short time what I’d failed to help Marcia do in an entire afternoon.

I hear Gabe’s voice in my head again. She won’t need you anymore.

Adam appears at my side. “Most of the work was done already,” he says, making me question if he can read my thoughts.

I turn to him. “Thanks for finishing it.” And I mean it.

What’s important is not that Adam swooped in and completed what I couldn’t, but that the bookshelf is finished and stable.

Besides, Adam is a guest, unlike me, who lives here permanently.

If helping his grandma out around the house makes him feel useful and takes the responsibility temporarily off of my shoulders, what’s there to complain about? I relax a fraction.

His eyes travel around my face. “I hope you don’t mind. I don’t want you to think I’m coming in and taking over all your projects.”

I suck in a breath. How did he know I needed to hear those exact words? My body loosens up the rest of the way. “I was doing a crap job of it, so I definitely don’t mind.”

He gives it a spin. “Do you know what books you’re going to fill it with?”

I grin. “I do.” I also know exactly where I’m taking him on our walk.

When we hit Broadway, Adam points to his left. “Mount Sinai?”

I give him side-eye. “You think I’m taking you to a hospital?”

He pulls the hood of his black jacket over his head. “I just met you, Sabrina. Maybe you’re fascinated by them. A Grey’s Anatomy enthusiast. But fine. No hospital.”

I refused to tell him where we were going when we left the apartment, just that it wasn’t far. His earlier guesses included Whole Foods and a Capital One bank. Either he’s joking or has zero confidence in my tour-guide abilities.

He slows his pace as we approach the corner of Twelfth and Broadway. “The Strand.”

“Ding ding ding!”

He stares up at the red awning and the historic loft-style building where the iconic bookshop is housed. “Can we go in?”

“We sure can. But all these books here?” I gesture at the carts on the sidewalk outside the entrance. “They’re discounted.” Since my budget doesn’t align with my reading addiction, I take most of my books out from the library, but sometimes I get lucky here.

I shiver when a blast of February wind slaps against my face, making me wish I hadn’t left my itchy but warm scarf at home. My black puffer coat and matching purple knit hat and gloves aren’t cutting it today.

“Bargain books can wait. It’s cold.” Adam angles his head toward the entrance. “Let’s go in.”

Inside, it’s packed as usual. Customers hover around the “best of the best” and “modern classic” display tables, and a line ten people deep waits for the register. I observe Adam as he takes it all in with a look of wonder. I can’t hold back a smile. I knew the Strand was the right call.

His fingers brush the books on the table in front of us. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“There’s no right or wrong way. I usually go straight to young adult on the second floor.

” I point to the staircase to our left. “Graphic novels are there too. And romance. I think the top floor is where the old and rare books are. I never go there unless there’s an event,” I admit with a sheepish shrug.

Adam’s lips quirk. “Do they test you on the layout of famous bookstores in school?”

I giggle. “Don’t I wish! That is research I’d happily do.

” We both step back in opposite directions to let someone pass…

three someones. Once there’s a break in traffic, I say, “Go wander,” immediately worrying it came across like I’m trying to ditch him.

I’m not. But I also don’t want to assume he wants to hang out with me here.

It’s not like this is a date, and I’ve known the guy for less than twenty-four hours.

“Okay. I’ll come find you in young adult in a little bit.”

“Should we exchange numbers?” I ask at the same time he says, “Maybe I should get your number.”

“Great minds! We can definitely get lost in this place,” I say.

“For sure. Even without tequila,” he deadpans.

“Or Jell-O shots.”

We exchange grins and phones. I put my number under Sabrina Finkelstein in case I’m not the only Sabrina in his address book.

He returns my phone open to his contact—Adam.

Not Adam Haber, just Adam… like it didn’t even occur to him he wouldn’t be the first. On someone else, it might strike me as presumptuous and cocky, but those are not the vibes I get from Adam.

We part ways and he heads toward the back while I trudge upstairs to the second floor. I spend some time touching the spines of books I’ve read and reread in the young adult section and then, feeling nostalgic, I segue to the children’s section and do the same.

His grapefruit scent gives him away first. I look up from my book just as he says, “What are you reading?”

I show him the book I’m holding: Betsy’s Little Star . I’m already a quarter into it. “That was fast.”

Adam’s eyebrows crinkle. “It’s been almost forty minutes.”

“It hasn’t.” I check my phone. “It has!”

He gestures to the book. “Interesting choice.”

“It was one of my favorites when I was little. My grandma introduced me to it.”

“Are you close?”

“We were.” I swallow hard. “She died about six years ago.”

He sighs deeply. “I’m sorry.”

“She’s the reason I fell in love with reading and wanted to be a librarian.

She’d take me to the library every weekend and I’d pick up one or two books for the week that we’d read together.

” Besides Betsy’s Little Star by Carolyn Haywood, she introduced me to the Ginnie and Geneva series by Catherine Woolley and the All-of-a-Kind Family series by Sydney Taylor.

These were classic books I read over and over again as a little girl.

I’ve thought about Nana Lena so much over the last few days, which I’m sure is because of Adam and Marcia’s reunion.

“You must miss her.”

I drop my gaze to the wood-paneled floor.

Adam doesn’t want to hear my sob story—that I ruined my special relationship with my grandma by spending the last few years of her life holding her accountable for the actions of my deadbeat father—and I definitely don’t want to tell it, so I quickly change the subject.

“I’ve heard all good things,” I say about the book in Adam’s hand: The Midnight Library .

“You haven’t read it?”

I shake my head. “I mostly read young adult.”

He gazes at me with focus. “Any particular reason?”

“I could say it’s because I want to be a youth librarian and need to keep on top of new releases in the genre, but it’s also because I really enjoy them.” I lift my chin and hold eye contact, almost daring him to judge me.

He nods. “Cool. Maybe you can recommend one to me.”

“I’d be delighted to! Maybe we can read one at the same time, like a buddy read.” I cringe. Talk about coming on too strong. As if Adam has nothing better to do than start a book club with me.

“I’d be down for that.”

“You would?” My eyes must be the size of silver dollars.

He grins. “Sure. Maybe my grams will want in too.”

“Yes! Let’s definitely ask Marcia.”

Since dinner will be ready soon, we head downstairs. The line is short enough for Adam to buy The Midnight Library .

“Did you know that Patti Smith worked at the Strand?” Adam asks on our walk back.

“Is she a friend of yours?”

Adam freezes, causing a collision with the pedestrian behind us. He apologizes and we resume walking. “Are you serious? You don’t know who Patti Smith is?”

“She’s in a Taylor Swift song, right?” I stuff my hands in the pockets of my coat.

He sighs. “Oh, Sabrina. You didn’t just say that.”

I chuckle. “But I did.” I suspect I’m supposed to be embarrassed and possibly ashamed by my ignorance, but I’m mostly humored by Adam’s reaction.

We stop at the light on University and Fourteenth, and Adam gently nudges his hip against mine. “You have so much to learn about music. It’s a good thing I’m here.”

As the light changes and we cross the street toward the apartment, I hope he can’t see the goofy smile on my face.