26
Aidan
“When are you leaving?” I whine to Xander as he kneels to tie his shoelace. I tap my foot with impatience. “Charlotte is going to be here any second. Can you tie any faster?”
“I’m tying as fast as I fucking can,” he moans and fumbles with the strings. “Dumbass had to invite her over for the second date and kick me out. I’ve never kicked you out when I’ve brought someone home.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Uh yeah you have. I’m justified in kicking you out.”
He jabs a finger in my direction. “The walls here are flimsy and they don’t muffle sound.” He opens his mouth to say more but shuts it.
I shove a leash in his hands as he stands up. “Precisely. Now get out before she gets here.”
He waves me off. “Don’t rush me, man!” He picks up his keys and snaps the leash to Gromit. “I’m going. I’m going. Come on buddy, we need to leave so lover boy can make out with his girlfriend.” He pulls open the front door and freezes.
Standing there, mid-knock, is Charlotte.
My eyes can’t help but take in her beautiful curvaceous body.
Her hair is loose and long, framing her face in a delicate halo.
Her cheeks are rosy, likely from exertion of the walk over here, but there’s a part of me that hopes I’m the reason she’s blushing.
She’s clutching a platter covered with foil in her hands.
“Hi,” she says.
The last time I saw her, I kissed this gorgeous woman. The memory of her lips against mine still tingles in my skin with a hint lingering vanilla and bergamot.
“Hi,” I breathe. “Xander was just leaving.”
“Yes, I was. I’ve got that super important thing with these super important people. Have fun. Use a condom.” He waves and scoots past her into the waning twilight.
Heat flushes my face. I lean against the door frame, crossing my arms and trying my best to do an impression of one of those book boyfriends.
“Hi,” I say, sheepishly. “You find the place, ok?” My shoulder slides down the door frame, and I stumble to catch myself before I fall on my face.
I swear, if this is an actual book, the author is fucking crazy. I’m not the protagonist type.
“Oh, I’ve been here before. A friend of mine used to live there.” She points to the house attached to ours. “Xander invited us over for a housewarming party several years ago, but he hasn’t invited us over since.”
“That implies you did something to this house.”
“I think he just decided he doesn’t like hosting.” She lifts her platter. “Nicole made some her famous chocolate chip cookies for us.”
I tilt my head to the side. Did she just blush?
I reach out to take them. The platter is heavy in my arms and warm. “Great, great, they’ll go perfectly with the ramen.” I step aside. “Uh, come in.”
Lloyd darts from the back of the house to the front and dances at Charlotte’s feet.
“Are those dinosaurs?” I ask, taking in her brightly colored dress.
“Yeah,” she replies, her fingers playing with the fabric. “It has pockets!” She grins and shoves her hands into the pockets on the garment and twirls around, lifting the skirt to flow about her thighs.
“I like it,” I breathe out, grateful that Xander isn’t here to say the obvious, “It would look even better on Aidan’s floor.”
“Thanks.” She stops twirling and kneels to pet Lloyd. I try not to look at her cleavage from above. My dog spins under her hand, and she laughs. “Hey, little guy.” After a couple of strokes, she turns her face to me. “So, you mentioned ramen?”
I clap my hands and rub them together. “Yes, yes. I know it’s a hot out, but I did promise you ramen.”
She stands up, adjusting the waistband of her dress. “Well, it won’t get cold. Like eating ice cream in winter. It doesn’t melt as quickly.”
“Very true.” We move into the back of the house.
I gesture toward the room. “So, this is the kitchen.” It’s a decent sized space, with an L-shaped kitchen and a small kitchen island.
I set the plate of cookies on the island next to the charcuterie board along with several glasses with water that I set up before she arrived.
“Um, there’s a bathroom behind that door.
” I point to the door just off the kitchen and place Lloyd on one of the chairs at the island.
“I love this kitchen.” She slides into the other chair and rests her arms on the cool quartz. Her eyes rove other the gleaming white countertops and millennial gray cabinets. “I wish I could have it at my place.”
“But you live above your bookstore, which is so much cooler.”
She lets out a loose chuckle. “I will concede that living above a bookstore is pretty cool.” She takes a sip from her water. “Oh, so I talked with Mayor Harrington earlier today.”
I turn toward the stove, where I’ve got a saucepan of the broth, and I turn the heat on. “Oh?”
“We’ve got all our permits for the protest.” She takes a sip of the water. “I’ve delegated notifying all the right people, so we just have to make posters and start writing our speeches. Speaking of which, pun intended, how is yours?”
I shrug and stir the steaming dark liquid in the saucepan. “I’ve got the first sentence written. Broth is almost done. Do you like eggs in your ramen? I’ve been marinating them in my special ramen egg sauce.”
“Wow, this isn’t your typical cup of noodles!” She grins and takes a cracker with cheese. “So, what’s the sentence?”
I start pulling the other toppings out of the fridge. “What?”
“You said you had a sentence written,” she says in between bites of cheese, holding her hand up to her mouth. “What’s the sentence?”
Shrugging a shoulder, I reply, “I think it’s something like, ‘Hi, I’m Aidan Talbot, and I’m a tenth-grade English teacher at Summerville High School.’ Have you written yours?”
“Yes,” she exclaims and pulls out her phone. “Wanna hear it?”
Nodding and pushing my glasses farther up my nose, I say, “Yes, I would love to hear it.” I’d listen to Charlotte read from the dictionary if she offered. Her voice is lovely, almost like a purr.
“Yes.” She takes out her phone and clears her throat.
I set a timer on my phone for three minutes.
“‘Good evening.’ I’m assuming it’s going to be in the evening.
‘My name is Charlotte Ferguson, and I’m the owner of Sunflower Books.
I’m here tonight as a business owner and member of the community to share my feelings on the pending closure of the Summerville Public Library.
Primarily, the library should stay open.
“‘Now, you may be asking yourself, ‘If you own a bookstore, aren’t libraries your competition?’” She pauses, for what I assume is dramatic effect over the rhetorical question.
“‘That’s a myth. Libraries are not my competition, despite us both being in the business of literature. My chief competitor is .’”
“Fuck Jeff Bezos,” I blurt out. “Sorry, please continue.”
“Sadly, I can’t say that. As much as I would like to,” she remarks.
“Now, where was I? Ah yes, ‘My chief competitors are and Barnes and Noble. The reality is that local bookstores and libraries have a collaborative relationship.’” She then goes on to explain how the bookstore uses the building space for literary and author events, and how the library assists with the managing of those events.
She emphasizes how her bottom line would suffer, like she explained to me before.
She also elaborates the many services that are offered by the library.
I watch her as she speaks, leaning against the counter behind me with my arms crossed.
My gaze follows her hand as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear when it falls over her face.
I wonder what she feels like in the crook of her neck.
If that patch of skin is soft and warm. Will I feel trembles as my fingertips graze along her skin?
Will she let out a little gasp, like she did when she kissed me the other night?
Thinking about that kiss makes me want more, and I grip my elbows in hopes that she doesn’t notice the blush creeping up my face or the shift in my inseam.
“‘That’s why the Summerville Public Library must stay open.’” She finishes and looks up at me, smiling. “Well, what do you think?”
“Wonderful speech.” I turn to my phone. “You also finished up about fortyish seconds early. Great job.”
“Oh, good!” she exclaims. “That means I can add some more.”
“Or leave some room just in case there’s some interruption.”
She shakes her head, her waves flowing along with the movement. “I’m going to add in one more point.” She taps away at the screen. “I mean, I’ve got the economic impact of the store closing as a result of the library closing, but is there something else I could add?”
“The economic impact is a pretty strong point,” I remark, leaning forward and resting my hands on the counter. “Politicians are all about creating jobs and keeping the little guy in business.”
“Oooh, I like that. I’m a job provider. I can put that in. Also, the library has employees too! Thanks for that,” she adds.
“You’re welcome.”
“Hmmm.” Charlotte thumbs her phone. She turns to Lloyd and runs a hand over his creamy tan fur. “What do you think, Little Lloyd? Do you think I should add something else?”
“He eats deer poop. I wouldn’t trust his opinion.”
She recoils, grimacing in disgust. “He really eats deer poop?”
I nod. “Unfortunately. Dogs are like that.”
She ruffles his ears and raises the pitch of her voice. “That’s so gross. Why you are so gross, little dog?”
I chuckle. “On that note, dinner is ready.”
We fill our bowls with steaming ramen at the dinette table just off the kitchen.
Xander and I rarely use it. Charlotte does most of the talking in between bites, and I sit in quiet silence, listening to her prattle on about her work over the last couple of days.
She doesn’t dominate the entire conversation.
She asks me questions about my school days.
She laughs when I tell her about how I came into my fifth period to find the entire class wearing mustaches like mine and snickering.
She giggles when I show her the TikTok I recorded with the teacher next door because our students demanded it.
“I just can’t imagine you doing a TikTok,” she remarks in between slurps of the broth. She gestures to me. “Not that you did a bad job, because you did an excellent job, but like, I just don’t see you, with your personality.”
“The kids wanted it and Mrs. Short was into it.” I shrug. “I can’t say no to Mrs. Short. She took me under her wing when I first started, and I like her a lot. She helped me adjust to being at a different school.”
Her gaze focuses on something on the ceiling. “I love Mrs. Short. She’s been at Summerville forever. Let me see this TikTok again?” I hand her my phone, and she watches the horrible rendition of myself and Mrs. Short stepping through the dance to Taylor Swift’s “Fate of Ophelia”.
A smile creeps up my face as I observe her.
I notice all the little details of her face.
How she does a little half smirk when she’s amused by the video.
How she lets out a mini snort when she sees me almost swinging a fist into my colleague’s stomach.
How her eyes sparkle in the light of my kitchen.
Being with Charlotte isn’t just comfortable.
I mean, it is, but it’s more than that. Being with her isn’t like wearing your favorite sweatpants and sweatshirt.
It’s like climbing into a bed with freshly cleaned sheets.
It isn’t just cozy. It’s next level cozy.
Every conversation feels like smooth sheets running around my body in a close hug.
Every glance feels like that budding warmth you get when you pull the covers up.
Every smile feels like that deep, restful sleep that you only get when the sheets are perfect.
It’s rejuvenating and invigorating all at the same time.
Now if only I could make this metaphor a reality.