Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
REED
T he scent of books swirled around Reed as he took in the shelves at the Elliottsville discount used bookstore.
He wanted an amalgamation of used and new books when he opened, so he and Pearl were on the hunt for buried treasures in the stacks.
A worn cover of 1984 called to him on the shelf. It had scribbles on the cover and marks in the margins. There was charm at finding the remnants of someone else’s reading. It spoke to the timelessness of good books.
Pearl had gathered a large armful of sci-fi thrillers, poring over shelves with an expert eye.
“I saw Beulah on my run this morning,” Reed said, squatting to look at the cookbooks on the bottom shelf. “Pretty sure she flipped me off as she blew through a stop sign.”
“She’s just a giant curmudgeonly bitch who gets deviant sexual satisfaction from making other people miserable. If I didn’t hate her so much,” Pearl said, squatting down next to him, “I’d probably want to be her when I grew up.”
“Hurt people hurt people,” Reed said, echoing one of the lessons he’d learned in one of the many self-help books he’d read.
That was probably his top genre, but he would never admit that to Pearl. She’d roast him. He’d read endless books on how to win friends, how to overcome his anxieties, how to understand all the other humans walking around that just seemed to know how to be normal people.
If there even was such a thing as normal.
He wished sometimes that neurotypical people would read a book on how to make his life easier, rather than the other way around.
“She’s giving you shit because I’m helping you, so it’s sort of all my fault, really. For some reason she hates me and Luca and AB,” she said absentmindedly as her eyes never left the shelves, scanning title after title.
“It’s fine. I want to do things the right way. I’m still an interior architect, and I want to respect the building even if half the forms were basically made up.”
“So, why a bookstore? Ooh,” she cooed, pulling out a copy of The Silent Patient . “You don’t seem particularly bookish.”
His ears pinged at the word. “I read a lot. I just listen to audiobooks while I run given I’ve been busy with the store. It’s easier for me to get lost in the stories that way.”
She looked over her shoulder. She had on winged eyeliner today and a deep purple, almost black lipstick on. It complemented the deep silver of her septum ring. “I’d peg you for…historical nonfiction. You know, dad literature,” she said dismissively.
“ Dad literature?” he said, horrified. “I read everything.” He straightened the cuffs of his rolled-up sleeves, a little perturbed that he came across as boring.
“Okay, name your favorite literary fiction,” she said, shrugging and walking down the shelves.
He pulled Parable of the Sower off the shelf and added it to his stack. “I don’t have to prove myself to you,” he said, feeling a little cornered. “But just so you know, The Bell Jar .”
Her mouth dropped open. “Plath? No way. You are a Hemingway slash Fitzgerald slash ‘I only like books that don’t make me feel things’ kind of guy.”
He scoffed. “I hate Hemingway. Loathe. All that toxic rub-some-dirt on it manliness. Terse writing that feels like rocks grinding between teeth. And he had the gall to call his writing architectural . Honestly, it’s an insult to every bridge that’s ever been built.”
Pearl’s eyes went wide. “Oooookay, hit a sore spot apparently?—”
“ And one of the best books I’ve ever read was a middle-grade novel that made me cry like a baby.”
“Fine, ten points for knowing what a middle-grade novel is.” She pulled four more thrillers off the shelves.
“Pearl, I’m opening a bookstore.”
“Sure, but I’ve never seen you carry a book.”
He stepped closer, needing her to understand him. “It’s because you’ve never seen my bedroom.”
She gulped, and her eyes flitted down to his mouth.
“I’ve got stacks beside my bed,” he said quietly. She licked her lips, and he had to drag his eyes up from staring at them. “There’s probably a lot you don’t know about me, actually.”
He reached above her on a high shelf, his chest brushing her back, and pulled two biographies that did indeed fall in the genre of “dad literature,” but he turned the spines so she wouldn’t notice.
She’d turned around, her back against the bookcase, and she was far too close to him.
Inches away.
Vanilla and amber. Her scent had hooked him by the nose and surrounded him. He fought to keep his eyes from drifting closed as he savored it.
No. No, keep it together.
It’s just attraction; it’ll pass.
He made himself step back and cleared his throat. “Let’s go to the kids’ section. We don’t have many picture books yet.”
“Good idea. I love the Fairwick Falls Library”—Pearl hefted the stack of books in her arms—“but their kids’ section is a barren wasteland.”
Reed lifted the books from her arms and savored where his fingers brushed her warm, soft skin.
“Oh, AB used to love this one.” She crouched down and pulled out a copy of Harold and the Purple Crayon, caressing the cover. “I can still get her to sit through it if she’s feeling sentimental.”
She looked sweetly at the pages, flipping through it. Her smile was incandescent.
Pearl loves hard, he thought. Whoever she ends up with will be lucky.
And why am I thinking about that?
“Let me go grab a basket for these,” Reed said and walked to the front of the store.
You’re practically dating Bookish.
But she’d also made it clear that you weren’t an item, right?
And I can’t help who I find attractive, he thought as he grabbed a basket.
His phone buzzed with a message from Bookish, and guilt slunk into his stomach.
ImpossiblyBookish
JANICE GOT BOOTED
!!!
He gasped.
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
NO!!!
ImpossiblyBookish
so it turns out all of the @everyone announcements she kept making were rules that SHE was breaking.
she was harassing people who didn’t agree with her outside of the app.
she even mailed one guy’s family.
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
Holy shit.
Drama drama
ImpossiblyBookish
i guess you never really know people, do you?
The question hung in the air, suspended in his mind.
I know Bookish, right?
…Right?
Doubt crept in for the first time.
She could be a Russian catfisher in a Siberian hut, for all I know.
Maybe catching her off guard would give him an honest answer.
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
What’s the most popular snack in Denver?
ImpossiblyBookish
uh… probably beef jerky?
Wait. That could be Russia or Colorado.
ImpossiblyBookish
are things better with your project?
He’d admitted the previous night that he was overwhelmed with it all.
He looked at the acre of books in front of him, knowing he’d need this many books for his store someday.
Was this the worst idea he’d ever had?
Worse than bleaching his hair blonde sophomore year? He’d been called ‘Snow Berry’ for months.
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
The paperwork is stressful. Lots of decisions, which is also stressful to me.
I’ve been working out more than ever to combat it so I can sleep at night, but it’s cut into my reading time.
ImpossiblyBookish
i wish i could melt the stress away for you.
i’d get naked, oil up
get my tits nice and wet
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
Bookish…
He gulped, his cock twitching.
ImpossiblyBookish
i’d make sure you were nice and relaxed,
get down on my knees and spread my thighs
lick my lips, and then…
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
You are actively killing me right now.
I’m at work.
His eyes darted around, trying to hide the growing problem in his very thin linen pants.
ImpossiblyBookish
have you read this?
i’ve heard mixed reviews, but also i like murder and knitting, so it could be a good buddy read.
She pasted a link to a new bestseller with a neon yellow cover.
The wave of lust had passed. He was going to edge her so hard the next time they fooled around.
Hemingway_CanSuckIt
You’ll pay for the visions I’m going to have the rest of my day.
ImpossiblyBookish
of what? me tying your shoes?
giving you a foot massage?
you’re the one with your head in the gutter.
He was still thinking of a clever response when Pearl walked up.
“Have you read this one?” She held up the exact neon yellow book that Bookish had just sent him.
He jolted.
What the fuck?
“Where did you get that?” he said, spooked.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Stop being a weirdo. There’s a huge stack of them.”
A five-foot tower of yellow books dominated the new releases section. It’d be impossible to miss if he hadn’t been staring at his phone.
Right. There are only so many bestsellers in the world.
Weird coincidence.
Ten minutes later, they were heading back to Fairwick Falls.
“So is it everything you thought it would be?” Pearl said, staring wistfully out the misty car window.
Reed stopped at a stop sign and let his eyes linger on the soft curve of her jaw.
The way it met her pulse point.
The little feathery hairs that wisped down beside her ear. He wanted to tuck them back for her.
He swallowed, thinking about how good her neck had tasted when he’d kissed her. How he’d lost himself working down to the tops of her breasts?—
A car honked behind him.
Shit.
“What do you mean?” he asked, hoping she’d repeat her question.
“Your dream. The bookstore? You’re doing it. Buying the books and shit,” she asked.
“Yeah, it’s pretty great,” he said with a slow smile. “It feels good to spend my time making something that matters, at least to me. Especially because I have amazing help.”
She scoffed, but it was one of her you’re being nice scoffs. He liked that one.
“What’s your dream, Pearl?”
“Nah, that’s rich people shit.” She settled back in her seat, propping her knee up on his dashboard.
“Come on,” he coaxed. “Dreams are free. Plus, what’s more punk than doing whatever you want?”
She sighed wistfully and lowered the window as they sped up onto the highway to hop back to Fairwick Falls. She stuck her hand out and surfed it on the misty breeze.
“I’d save up for a bakery,” she said over the wind. “I want to do my own thing.”
“Wow.” He was thunderstruck. Never in a million years would he have imagined Pearl as an entrepreneur, but it made sense.
She was tough, no-nonsense, smart—and AB’s birthday cake had been delicious.
“Like muffins and cookies?”
“Sure, whatever. Also, maybe some skull-shaped cakes and bloodbath candles,” she said with a wry smile. “But mostly it’s so that anybody who has allergies can have something special. It’d be a major-eleven-allergen-free bakery. I’m making a cake for a friend’s party tomorrow. My first paying job.”
He turned in surprise, genuinely excited for her. “What! Pearl, that’s amazing.”
She rolled her eyes, looking embarrassed. “It’s no big deal. You have a whole store; Luca has a whole body shop. This is just something little.”
“But you’ll start there and build an empire. You’ve kept me in check and on track. If you can do that, the sky’s the limit for you.”
He pulled into the parking lot behind the bookshop.
“Finally, someone appreciates my cat-herding genius.” She snorted. “What are you going to do in August without me? Your cats will be all over the place.”
Like behind the secret bookshelf where I kissed you back.
“Oh,” he said, surprised. “I assumed you’d still work here after we open. I can’t be here twenty-four seven.”
He turned off the car, but neither of them moved. The rain had picked up.
She shrugged, looking torn. “I get AB from school every day.”
“We can work around it.” Oh fuck . He started to panic. I’ll move out of the house soon, and she won’t even work at the store in a month.
I don’t want her to go.
“Dunno if you’ve noticed, but I’m not really a people person. I’d probably cost you sales or something.” She picked at her nails, looking embarrassed. “I’m really great at fucking things up when other humans are involved.”
“I’d miss not seeing you every day,” he admitted.
It would be worth the cost of lost sales.
She smirked and shook her head as if he was joking.
“No, honestly,” he said with a smile. “Who else is going to bully county departments for me? Or blare inappropriate music in the shop that makes Bert blush?” He tried to catch her eye. “Or have lunch with me?” His voice had gotten quiet.
Just the gentle sound of rain on the car roof tapped away as they stared at each other. She chewed on her lip.
“I believe in you, Pearl. You’d be great.” His hand itched to cover hers, wanting to reassure her. He adjusted his glasses instead.
That usually helped when he needed to stop himself from reaching for her.
“Well,” she said with a big breath and slapped her thighs hard. “That’s weeks away. I’m sure you’ll get tired of seeing me between now and then.”
Her thighs had jiggled a little in her tights when she’d slapped them. And as she slowly lifted herself out of his passenger-side seat, a single feral thought flashed in his mind.
I want to wear those thighs like earmuffs.
He blew out a long, low breath.
What.
The fuck.
Was that?
Given the semi-hard-on he was sporting now, he needed a minute.
“I’ll meet you inside,” he said. “Just going to make a phone call.”
He let his eyes linger on the curve of her ass as she ran inside.
Maybe she shouldn’t work for me anymore. Who wants their boss lusting after them like a disgusting creep?
He’d never had this issue before. He never dated colleagues. Even if he found them attractive, he could keep his brain in his head instead of in his dick. That was the treatment everyone deserved.
But being with Pearl nearly every day, living with her, and talking with her, and laughing with her.
And kissing her.
It was torture—pure goddamned torture—to keep this clawing attraction locked down.
The only thing keeping him sane?
Working up the courage to someday ask Bookish to meet in person.