Chapter Thirty-One
The book club showed up at his door within half an hour.
“Wow,” Nick said, blinking at the group gathered on his porch the first thing after work. “Whole gang’s here.”
Rosie and Lydia waved their canes at him. Suze was panting, tail lashing. Next to her, Joshua braced himself on Chester’s wheelchair. Nick got the feeling they were the ones to carry it up the porch steps.
Joshua wheezed some more. “Hoo. You’re heavy, Chester!”
“Shove it,” Chester replied good-naturedly.
Rosie wagged her cane at him. “Good to see you aren’t dead, hon. I was getting worried!”
“I know,” Nick told her. “I’m sorry.”
Rosie stepped inside the house, patting his cheek. “Water under the bridge. Now, what did you call the cavalry for? Book emergency?”
“No, the books are fine.”
“I’m glad I could at least make it to one of these emergencies,” Rosie said. “I was napping last night when that Mosey text went out. I was so happy when I saw that photo of him on Chester’s lap! I don’t know what we’d do without that cat.”
“Hear, hear,” Nick said. He led them into the living room, which was covered in balled-up bits of paper from his abandoned brainstorming attempts.
“Cozy,” Rosie commented, knocking one of the paper balls with her cane.
Nick couldn’t tell if she was making fun of him. She usually was.
Rosie, Lydia, and Suze squeezed onto the tiny couch, Chester wheeling over next to them, and Joshua flopping down on the floor with a pained grimace that Nick was starting to relate to after turning thirty.
“I need your help,” Nick announced. “And maybe for you to talk me out of something. How serious are Vi and Jared?”
An immediate chorus of dismissive noises went up. None were louder than Chester, who looked suspiciously smug.
“They’ve been dating a few days, tops,” Joshua said. “That’s not serious. That’s barely a relationship!”
“Why do you ask?” Lydia asked, grinning in obvious excitement.
Nick squirmed. You did this to yourself, he reminded himself. You’re the one who invited them over. Now you gotta cope with their prying stares.
“I’m gonna . . .” Nick smacked his lips, trying to get the bitter taste of embarrassment out of his mouth.
“I’m gonna try something. It might blow up in my face, but I want to do something .
. . big. Not public big, I don’t want skywriting or some shit like that.
Something private, but big. I don’t want to just show up.
I want . . . I want to prove to her I’m boyfriend material.
That I’m mate material. And . . . prove that to me, as well . . . I guess?”
There was a short pause.
“Wait,” Joshua said, his ears twitching in realization, “do you mean that metaphorically, or . . .”
Chester let out an annoyed growl, smoke furling from his nostrils. “Rejection sickness. God. Idiot!”
“She’s your mate,” Suze said, ignoring Chester as he pounded his fist against his wheelchair. “How long have you known? Does she know?”
“I didn’t want to tell her until I thought she could like me back,” Nick said defensively. “She hates the idea of mates.”
Chester let out another growl.
“Hey,” Nick reminded him. “You said sometimes you have to let your mate go for their own good!”
Chester fixed him with a haughty look. “I hope you know you went through weeks of rejection sickness for nothing, you idiot.”
“Don’t take him too seriously,” Joshua said. “He’s just annoyed he didn’t realize sooner.”
“I’m annoyed he’s an idiot,” Chester snapped.
Nick couldn’t even bring himself to be offended. He was too busy focusing on what Chester had said: weeks of rejection sickness for nothing. If Chester thought he had a shot, that had to count for something.
“So,” he said, bringing the gossip to a stop. “Any ideas on how I tell her?”
Lydia spoke up first. “Something . . . book-y?”
Nick stared at her. “I was hoping that was where this was going. Hence why I invited you guys over. To suggest book-y stuff.”
Suze shrugged, tugging her half-straightened bangs. “I don’t think you need to go all out, Nick. She doesn’t date a lot. I think she’d be bowled over by some roses and chocolates.”
“You could serenade her,” Joshua suggested.
“Yeah, I’m not gonna do that.” Nick clapped loudly. “Come on, guys! Six heads are better than one! Someone’s gotta have a good idea—”
Joshua opened his mouth.
“—that doesn’t involve singing,” Nick finished, eyeballing him.
Joshua closed his mouth.
Nick looked hopefully over at Chester, who sat there with his good leg folded over his cast-clad leg, again with that oddly smug expression.
“I think you know what she might like better than us,” Suze admitted. “She doesn’t tell us much about herself.”
Nick pointed at Chester. “She opens up to you!”
“A little,” Chester said drolly. He pushed himself straighter in his wheelchair, sighing. “I don’t know, Nick. She was pretty hurt. You might have to be persuasive.”
He fixed Nick with a pointed stare. Nick stared back, waiting.
“Persuasive,” Chester repeated. He kept staring at Nick, getting more exasperated the longer the silence stretched.
He did this sometimes during their reading sessions when he was pointing out something he thought was incredibly obvious to anyone with a brain.
Ninety percent of the time, this would inevitably turn out to be something only an old dragon who’d read too many complicated books thought was obvious.
“PERSUASION!” Chester yelled. “Her favorite romance! The first book you were assigned in the club!”
“And how do I be persuasive with Persuasion?” Nick asked flatly. Then he froze, the clues finally clicking. “Oh. Oh!”
“Idiot,” Chester mumbled, scratching his snout to hide a smile.
Joshua and Suze looked at each other, questioning. Lydia and Rosie seemed to be on matching wavelengths as Chester, Lydia with a cute little grin and Rosie nodding, satisfied.
Nick clapped again. “Right. Everybody out of my house! Except Chester. We have stuff to plan.”
“That was quick,” Joshua said brightly. He winced as he stood up, rubbing his lower back. “Damn. I need to start doing yoga again. Lydia?”
“I’m not doing yoga again,” Lydia replied. “I know I recommend it to all my clients, but I’m not doing it.”
Nick reached down to help Rosie up. “See you tomorrow to weed your garden?”
“With bells on.” Rosie gave his hand a squeeze.
One by one, they trailed out, leaving Chester and Nick alone in the paper-strewed living room.
Nick reached into his pocket and brought out a notepad. “Well, uh . . .”
“I’ll reinstate you as the book club leader,” Chester said. “If you’d like.”
“Oh,” Nick said. “Are you . . . sure?”
“I can’t think of anyone better.”
“I’d really appreciate that,” Nick said, touched. “Thank you.”
Chester wheeled over and tapped Nick on the elbow, the closest spot he could easily reach.
“Good luck with the letter. Write it from the heart.” With that, he wheeled around and headed for the door.
“Wait,” Nick said, mind reeling. “You’re not . . .”
“Suze is dropping me at home and has errands to run,” Chester told him, not looking back. “Our lives don’t revolve around you, Wicker.”
“But—”
“From the heart!”
Nick raced ahead of him, blocking his way just before he could get to the front door.
“I’m not Austen!”
Chester rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to be. Just tell her how you feel. What you want. What you hope.”
“Your advice has gotten worse,” Nick told him.
Chester wheeled over his foot.
“Okay, ow.” Nick extracted his foot and wheeled Chester out onto the porch, where Joshua and Suze were waiting to carry him down the steps. They reached for him, but Chester waved for them to give him a second.
“When are you going to give it to her?”
“If I can write a halfway decent letter, tonight. After her sister’s art show. How’s she doing with that anyway?”
Chester beamed. “She’s stressed. Might need a little help.”
Nick checked his watch as Suze and Joshua strained under the weight of the wheelchair, Chester providing running commentary as they lifted. “With your knees, people! With your knees! Fix your damn ramp, Wicker!”
Two thirty-four p.m. The art show was at six.
“Let’s rock this shit,” he muttered, and went into the kitchen to set his timer.
* * *
Three hours and twenty-six minutes later, Nick pulled up in front of Orc’s Garage.
Duncan looked up. He was in the middle of locking up for the day, keys still in the lock.
“Thought I sent you home,” Duncan said. “I sent Wyatt home not long after you. Nothing to do today. If you’re here for your yogurt, Wyatt ate it.”
“I’ll survive.” Nick glanced across the street where the door to Sweethelm Books was hanging on a hook.
Beside it, a sign proclaimed: Art Show Inside.
Someone had drawn flowers around it in chalk.
Nick imagined Vi crouched down in front of it, face creased in concentration, chalk all over her hands.
Duncan looked him up and down approvingly. “You look better. Finally had a good rest?”
“Something like that,” Nick said. “Think I might quit. If tonight goes well.”
Duncan paused, slipping the garage keys into his pocket. “Yeah? To do what?”
“Baking,” Nick said, pulling off his backpack. “I thought about what you said. Went by Scales N’ Scones earlier. I’m gonna head over to Heath’s place to show him what I can do, then he might let me be an apprentice.”
“Huh.” Duncan pulled thoughtfully at his mustache. “You like baking?”
“I love it. And I’m pretty good.” Nick reached into his backpack, pulling a container out carefully—a fancy container, no battered plastic to be seen. He unsheathed a small purple cupcake from its row and handed it over.
Duncan took it, looking incredulously at the frilly paper decorating the sides.
“Huh,” he said again. He peeled the paper off with surprisingly delicate fingers and took a bite. “Oh shit. This is good. No wonder they wanna take you on.”
Nick slotted the container back into his backpack. “Oh, they mostly want to talk to me because I told them I was the Baked Goods Bandit.”
Duncan coughed, spraying crumbs. “Are you?”
“Yeah!” Nick grinned. “’S me, man. Stressed baker, right here.”
Duncan choked on a laugh, combing cupcake out of his mustache. For some reason, it wasn’t as humiliating as Nick always feared.
“And Heath didn’t roast you to cinders? He hates the Baked Goods Bandit!”
“I could see him thinking about it,” Nick admitted. “Guess he’s understaffed enough to ignore it.”
Duncan laughed. “That’s great. That’s . . . Shit, Nicky. That’s really great. I’d be pissed at you if you didn’t quit.”
“Thanks.” Nick clapped him on the shoulder, hauling his backpack onto his back and turning toward the bookshop.
“Hey,” Duncan called after him. “Coming bowling?”
“Next time,” Nick called back. “I need to check something.”