22. “Are we doing a minute trip?
22
“Are we doing a minute trip?"
Marissa Martin
Aaron puts a sleeping mask over my eyes to conceal our destination, and I’m getting more excited by the minute. To my relief, things still seem fine between us. I tested the waters as we were leaving, and he’s been acting perfectly normal. Aaron is his usual self, though maybe a little extra giddy because it’s my surprise birthday.
We’re walking to our destination, so I know it’s not far. I try to use my sense of smell and memorize the turns to figure out where we are, but it’s not that easy. When we come to a stop, a familiar scent was hes over me, but I can’t pinpoint it.
“Okay. I’ll take off your mask.” His fingers wrap around the straps, and he pulls it off.
We’re on Warlington Lane, standing in front of the No Shelf Control bookstore.
“I knew I recognized the smell,” I say, glancing over my shoulder at Rise I’m just hunting for color.
“Come on, you’re falling behind!” Aaron teases behind me, and I quicken my pace to pick up the slack.
I hustle back to the fantasy section—I think it’s my best bet—and snatch a book with a bright red cover featuring a dark silhouette. Done. I slap it on the counter, my heart now pounding as the clock ticks louder in my ears. I’m not even thinking anymore. I’m just moving, grabbing, pulling books off shelves like I’ve done a hundred times before.
Another book. Blackened Roses . It’s a shade of red, I’m sure of it. I drop it onto the counter before darting for the next aisle.
A book almost slips through my fingers—a hardcover with a sharp contrast of red flames and black smoke. I recover it just in time, stuffing it on the pile before reaching for more. The stack on the counter is growing, but so is my panic. I can’t stop. I can’t lose.
A glance at the timer shows I only have thirty seconds left. The sweat is starting to bead on my forehead, and I’m not sure whether it’s from the adrenaline rush or the heat of the moment.
I continue scampering back and forth, as fast as I can, until I make one final dash to the last shelf. The edges of my vision blur with focus, and I reach out, grasping for a book that meets the criteria. Time is slipping.
My fingers land on the top corner of the last red-and-black cover, a thick paperback wedged between two other books. I yank it free and sprint to the counter, dropping it with a final, desperate flourish as the timer goes off with a sharp beep.
I exhale, my chest heaving.
When I turn to Aaron, he’s smiling from ear to ear. “How many?” I pant.
He counts the stack on the counter as I catch my breath.
“Twenty,” he finally says, and I raise my arms over my head in victory.
“Wow,” Emma says as they review all the books. “You did great.”
“Thank you! I definitely got my exercise for the week. This is no joke, guys.”
Laughter fills the bookstore as they start packing my order.
“You were amazing,” Aaron says. “I knew I should have never challenged you to this.”
I chuckle. “Yup. You’d think after fifteen years, you’d know me better.”
His eyes light up as he takes out his card and pays for my order.
Gathering up my plunder, we say goodbye to the girls and head outside.
I clutch my three very full tote bags and squeal. “Ah, I’m so happy. You just made my day. Thank you so much.”
I jump into his arms, and he hold s me close. “You’re welcome, Martin.”
For a split second, it feels like more than a friendly hug, but it must be my hormones, which are all over the place again. Keeping my feelings in check is more important than ever. Because Aaron truly is the best friend I could ever hope for, and I’m darn lucky to have him in my life. Not because he buys me boatloads of books—okay, maybe a little bit—but because he knows me so well and wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s the type of guy who brings you home and puts you to bed when you’ve had too much to drink, who cooks you breakfast every day and goes out of his way to make you feel special on your birthday. Aaron is the best guy I’ve ever met, and I’m lucky to be friends with him. Even if that’s all I’ll ever get.