Chapter 43 Monroe
MONROE
Despite the many times I’ve come to Novel Nibbles after classes, this is the first time I’ve more than peeked inside its bookstore.
Scalloped shelving flanks either side with a series of stacks filling row after row from the middle of the shop to the back.
A few cushioned circular seats are set around where harbingers are curled up, skimming prospective purchases and quietly reading.
Briar and I are at one of its few round tables near the center of the room, a tower of seven books piled between us. He pushes up the bridge of his glasses, picking a text off the top and leaning back into his chair.
While he flips through the pages of Florezca: Past & Present, I reach for the copy of Homegrown Traditions that one of the bookshop workers said included how Bloom traditions have changed over the decades.
“So, it sounds like each mated pair or group starts the ceremony with vows, their official intentions to accept the bond. Then there’s the public claiming itself,” I say after scanning through the text for about fifteen minutes. “Followed by the bacchanal.”
“That’s what I’m gathering as well,” Briar muses, setting down the book and picking up another from the stack.
On the next page is an illustrated rendering of a past claiming ceremony.
My cheeks heat and I gnaw at the inside of one, not lingering long before I flip the page.
The illustrations continue for another twenty pages, growing more graphic with each turn.
Some ceremonies have had minimal set ups, others with ornate pottery and planters, and a few with more BDSM-looking contraptions strewn throughout.
My throat dries as I stare at an especially realistic piece of two harbingers pressed together, presumably locked, with the Bloom that’s behind biting into the other’s shoulder.
My jaw tingles and I shift in my seat. Visceral images of Briar during solstice fall into my mind, at first a few slow drops, then pelting like steady rain.
I aim my face at my book and stare at the first unillustrated page I find, counting my breaths until the heat pooling in my lap becomes manageable.
Though Briar’s focus remains directed at the text, his irises flit for half a second in my direction, then return to his book. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’ve been caught.
“Something to think about in terms of set up is where to put everything and how many participants in the actual ceremony there will be,” Briar says.
I shut the book in front of me, giving him my full attention, both to be respectful and to alleviate the rush of very disrespectful thoughts I’m having about him.
“There should also be easy access to water, food, fresh soil, and sunlight.”
“Soil?” I grimace. “So they’re going to have to do this in the dirt?”
I may be a full-fledged Bloom now, but I’m still adjusting to walking barefoot to ground my magic. That’s where I draw the line.
“They don’t have to do everything in the soil. While most things occur publicly, it’s not a requirement.” He has the audacity to huff out a laugh at my horror. “But the presentation and the formal declarations should take place where they can ground themselves in the earth.”
Knees scraping dirt, head bowed, ass up… Briar behind me, thrusting those powerful hips—
I choke on a whimper.
Trying to distract myself, I flick my thigh with my fingernail. “Dirt is gross.”
Calling it soil makes it sound less grimy. It’s the only reason my imagination is currently entertaining being railed in the dirt. The air sweetens between us, and I glance up at Briar. His pupils are blown.
My earlier suspicions are confirmed. The sugary scent is a physical cue of arousal. My cheeks flare with heat.
“Sorry.” He blinks a few times, rubs his nose, and clears his throat. “I’m sure the urges are a bit unsettling. But it’s all completely natural. Our bond encourages this.”
Wish it would encourage him a little more.
Deep down, I know he wants this too. He’s never conveyed anything other than absolute honesty that he would do anything for his mate. For me.
You told him this wasn’t a date.
Truth is, there’s nothing casual about having your destiny entwined with someone else’s. I never gave much stock to soulmates or Fate. In this world, I’m confronted by their reality.
Maybe soulmates weren’t that instant storybook connection.
Maybe having a soulmate was more like being young and gifted a sweater three sizes too big.
It’s so huge and clumsy that it’s hard to imagine it’ll ever fit.
But one day, you stare at yourself in the mirror, tugging your arms through the sleeves, and realize it wasn’t too big.
Not really. You just had more growing to do.
Maybe that’s where we were. Swallowed up by the fabric of something bigger than us both. And for the first time, I wanted to grow with someone and reach that perfect fit.
I allow myself to watch Briar jot down a few notes from his book.
His lavender irises comb through the information, strands of dark hair hanging in front of his glasses.
Behind him, the storekeepers drag furniture and chairs around, the wooden legs scraping against the floor.
Briar cranes his neck over his shoulder.
“Open mic night must be getting started.”
“What is it?” I ask, lifting up from my seat to get a better view.
“Usually it includes live readings from various texts along with volunteer participation. Acting out scenes.” His brows furrow as the owner comes out from the back and begins twitching his nose, circling his arms alongside his employees. The stacks shake around us, and I straighten, alarmed.
Books fly off the shelves, stacking up and creating a small staircase and stage in the middle of the room. Briar grabs our books off the table and nudges me to walk with him. “Come on, I’ll get the rest of these and get you home.”
There’s a gruffness layered in his tone.
It brushes along my spine as I follow him over to the register.
The white-and-lilac haired shopkeeper scans the books with the palm of his hand, one after another.
“So good to see you, Briar. Didn’t realize you’d be back for open mic. It’s been way too long.”
“I’m not.” He steps aside and makes room for me to reach the counter. “Derek, this is Monroe. She’s organizing the next claiming ceremony and I’m helping her with research.”
“Amazing. We’ll have to make a point to attend this one,” the owner says, looping his arms around the shopkeeper. They share a mirthful look.
“This is my mate, Ray.” He presses a kiss to the shopkeeper’s cheek. Derek turns to Briar and gives an exaggerated frown, steepling his hands together. “Our first reader is a no show tonight.”
A devious smirk spreads across Ray’s face and he waggles his white-and-lilac brows.
“Can’t tonight,” Briar replies, his jaw taut beneath his beard. “Promised I’d get her home.”
“I’m not in a rush,” I say, enjoying the pinkish tinge streaking his cheeks.
“You heard her.” Ray turns to me and winks. “He’s a fan favorite.”
Derek nods behind me, where a bunch of harbingers whisper among themselves, glancing in Briar’s direction. They definitely appear eager for him to read.
I lay a hand on Briar’s forearm, thumbing over the inked thorns there. “Well then, we can’t disappoint your rabid fanbase, now can we, Sir Thumps-A-Lot?”
Derek muffles a laugh.
Ray lifts a brow at Briar. “Do I want to know?”
“No, you really don’t,” Briar says, then holds up a finger. “Just give us a moment.”
He grabs the tote of books and then his hand splays across the middle of my back, warmth spreads from the point of contact.
Guiding me away from where they are finishing setup, he sets the books down and lowers his voice.
Blooms watch us with rapt interest. “I feel like I didn’t give you a fair warning. ”
Well, this is interesting.
“When I said live readings of various texts, it was my classy way of saying erotica.” The ball of his throat works. “And the volunteer participation is—”
“Your classy way of saying live sex acts?”
He nods. “Exactly. As you’ve probably realized, Blooms tend to enjoy keeping things very adult in The Warren.”
It’s true. And now that I think back to the last time he mentioned open mic night… “When I saw you outside The Velveteen Rose, were you hiding out there so you wouldn’t have to do a reading?”
Pink kisses his sage skin, rising up his neck and spreading across his cheeks. “Not exactly… Corrigan was looking for someone, and I didn’t want to get called on to read.”
“Why?”
“Well, I was a bit distracted by my mate and her enthusiasm over someone else.”
“Tom?” I sigh, remembering how he’d suddenly disappeared and was so cagey the day after when I tried to flirt with him at the crêpe stand. “What did you do?”
“Nothing really.” Briar shrugs. “Tom is a great Bloom. We’ve known each other for decades… And I’m certain he would have given you an enjoyable night.”
My voice is a low rasp and my brows knit together. “How certain?”
“As certain as you can be about something like that.”
Oh. I swallow thickly. “So there wasn’t something wrong with him, you were just marking your territory?”
“You have never been and will never be my territory.” His rich tone rumbles from his throat. “You’re my mate. Even if you never claim the bond, your needs, your wants, your pleasure—they are mine to sate.”
Mate.
We’ve been dancing around that word and here it is, tossed between us like it’s his lifeline. His everything.
“And what about what I wanted?”
“If you wanted him so badly, why did I find you outside this very door?” His brow remains arched, waiting a beat for me to reply, but I have no retort.
My cheeks heat in silent confession. “That’s what I thought.
Now that we’ve cleared that up. Let’s get you home before things start.
” He bends and picks up the tote bag, then waves to the owners.