“I don’t know. Natural causes probably.”
“Maybe we should dedicate the romance section to her,” I say, brushing my thumb over the cover of one of the books. I feel Miles watching me. “What?”
His brows are knit together. “Nothing. Just never saw someone get so sentimental about stuff from an estate sale.”
“Well, sue me for caring about people.” I really needed to stop trying to talk to this guy. I’ve given him too many chances—all to my disappointment.
We pass the next few minutes in silence, but when something from the pile catches my eye, I can’t help but clap with delight.
“Oooh, there’s a whole set of this shifter series!” I put them in the “keep” pile. I’m a huge fan of this author—I might want to buy these for myself in addition to the copy ofPride and Prejudice. Good thing I agreed to let Reggie pay me for this.
“Shifters?” Miles asks. “What are those, romances about people who do shift work?”
I shake my head. “Nope! But shift-work romances sound fun too. These are romances about people who change into animals.”
“Seriously? I guess there’s something for everyone. Probably don’t sell a ton, though.”
My jaw clenches. Is that a dig at romance readers? “Most people love this stuff,” I say.
He gives me an incredulous smirk. “Most? Hardly. I really doubtmostpeople are into animal love stories.”
I roll my eyes. “I meant all romance books, not just shifter books. Romance is the most popular book genre.” Going through these books was supposed to be fun, but fun might not be possible with this guy around.
“Is it actually, though?” he asks. I can’t tell whether he’s surprised or if he doesn’t believe me. “Or are you allbrainwashed by the romantic industrial complex? I doubtmostpeople are reading the genre. It’s just that romance readers read more books on average because they’re easy to read and formulaic.”
Brainwashed?Oh no. Now he’s not only criticizing romancebooksbut implying that romancereadersaren’t smart? “Have you ever read a romance?” I ask. He gives me a blank look, like how dare I even suggest such a thing.
I’m so exhausted by people crapping all over a genre I love without ever reading one book. People like this think that reading about joy is less important than reading about pain. “I know you’re averse to love, but you don’t have a right to criticize the genre if you’ve never even read one. I’m not here complaining about the comfort of”—I think for a second—“Second Story Bookstore T-shirts, because I’ve never worn one. If I try a few on and still don’t like them, then I’d have the right to make the face you made.” I’m pretty proud of myself that I kept my tone pleasant while I said that. “Besides, ‘formulaic’ is the weakest critique you could give. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but mysteries, thrillers, and fantasies are also formulaic. Interesting that we only ever hear that kind of criticism for romance, though. Wonder why. Maybe sexism?”
He stares at me and I stare back, daring him to say something. Miles is the first to break eye contact as he lets out a soft chuckle, his curls moving as he shakes his head.
Ha! I win!
“Fine, you’ve got me there, Merali,” he says, and the nickname causes an involuntary charge up my spine. “And who says I’m averse to love?”
“You did. At the BOA meeting, you hated the idea ofrebranding the street with the love theme. You wanted to celebrate the LOL guy.”
“Lionel Osmond Love,”Miles says, annoyed. “He’s an important figure in Toronto’s history.”
“I don’t doubt that, but no one’s going to come out to the street excited about—What did you say he was into? Urban renewal. People care more about their Instagram engagement.” I cringe. Ugh. Now I’m crapping all over somethingheloves, like he did on romance books. Miles Desai is bringing out the worst in me.
Miles takes a breath, like I offended him to the core. “Love was acriticof urban renewal projects; he wasn’tintothem. He advocated for mixed-use neighborhoods with both commercial and residential zoning instead of suburban sprawl. He pushed for neighborhoods just like Love Street.”
Huh. That’s… pretty cool, actually. I still don’t think focusing on the man is the way to revitalize Love Street, but I don’t want to argue with Miles anymore, so I go back to the books and start separating the historical romances from the contemporaries.
After a few minutes Miles speaks again. “It feels like we’re disrespecting his legacy to turn this street into a big Instagram prop. I can’t imagine Lionel Osmond Love would be okay with all these twee hearts and flowers for social media cred.”
I put the book in my hand down. “Do you always have to have the last word?” He looks blankly at me again but doesn’t speak. I exhale. “I assume this Love guy is dead, so no need to worry about offending the man. And if he really did love neighborhoods like ours, wouldn’t hebe into an idea that helps keep Love Street alive? Why wouldn’t people—even the LOL guy—adorethat the street is celebrating joy and happiness?” I take another breath, and I feel my blood boiling. “And what’s wrong with flowers? My mother isliterallya florist. A very good one too.”
He shoots a look at me, and I think I see a touch of regret for being rude. “Okay, I’m sorry, there’s nothing wrong with flowers. I shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t a slight against your mom’s work.”
I relax.See? He can be understanding.
“But I don’t think your saccharine vision is right for the street,” he adds.
Spoke too soon.I glare at him, mentally daring him to say more.
He, of course, takes the bait. “You’re turning Love Street into a carnival attraction of cheesy sentiments and hearts everywhere! It will be the fad of the week—it won’t be asustainableimprovement.”
