“How do you know about Brady?” I ask with a stammer because that story should be locked and guarded behind the heavy metal, closed door where I keep it—not bouncing off these bedraggled bookshelves.
She pauses, writing something with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “I know everything, girl. It’s my job,” she says, lifting her gaze to the ceiling. “And I would have an easier time performing my duties if someone would stop interfering with my favorite characters. No good, cold-hearted ninny.”
“Right.” My teeth sink into my lower lip, and I search again for Connor. Where is he? Was he murdered in the stacks?
The vibe check would match the ominous feel of this place, anyway.
“Never you mind, we’ll fix you up in no time. You might glitch a few times while I get the story right. But your happily ever after is coming. I won’t let Jack win this one and spoil another of my stories. If I put it somewhere cold, that should satisfy him enough to leave you alone. It may take a few days for your heart to get used to being frost free again. But you’ll thank me, eventually. I’m sure.” She pulls her cardigan tight against herself and, with a nod and pivot, glides away to some unknown destination on the heels of a pair of fuzzy socks.
Because, sure, why not add peculiar footwear to her list of oddities?
“Come along, Chia, we have matters of the heart to attend to,” she hollers. A brown-spotted tabby cat jumps down from atop one of the nearby stacks, startling me with its sudden emergence.
“Holy cats!” With a tremble, I bring my clammy palm to my chest before wiping it along the jagged edges of my mini sequin skirt. “Connor?” I croak, desperate to draw moisture to my throat. “Are you ready to go? This lady is giving me the serious creeps.”
“Almost done, babe. I need one more thing. This place is great, huh? I can’t believe we’ve never come here.”
“Yeah, so weird question, but do you remember this bookstore? Because I feel like we’ve been to this shopping plaza a few times, and I don’t remember seeing it,” I ask, following the excited timbre of Connor’s voice to the back of the store. A holly, jolly butt-load of winter-themed romances clutter the special recommendations shelf, assaulting my line of vision.
I roll my eyes at the manic-pixie girls with “unconventional looks” who are “not like other girls,” waiting for their happily ever afters with gorgeous, brooding people undoubtedly stuffed between these abhorrent cartoon covers.
It’s revolting.
And cruel. They’re selling people a delusional lie, and whoever reads these sets themselves up for heartache and failure. Nothing more.
Connor barrels out of the comic book aisle, arms full of compendiums (I’m not proud I know that word), and almost bowls me over. “Sorry.” He shuffles the books in his arms, trying to get a better hold of them. Two fall to the ground with a dramatic thud.
Ellie thinking this man is my soulmate is almost laughable. Nothing against Connor. He’s a super sweet guy, attractive, athletic–he checks all the boxes, and I should feel the sparks for a guy like this.
But I don’t.
Because true love and soulmates are just different forms of faerie tales.
Relationships are business transactions, nothing more.
Sighing, I bend down and pick up the fallen books. Zombies litter the covers with outstretched arms as if to threaten,we’re going to eat your boyfriend’s brains.
“Terrifying,” I deadpan, plopping them on Connor’s pile. “This better be the only one of Jenny’s loser tendencies to rub off on you. The King and Queen of Greek row titles are important to me, and the formal is too soon to be messing up now.”
The last thing I need is Connor’s newfound friendship with Jenny to jeopardize the social position I trucked through the previous three years to get.
Connor lops his head to the side like the golden retriever he embodies. A beautiful, blond golden with glorious dimples and sparkling azure eyes, sure. But a golden retriever nonetheless. “What’s wrong with reading graphic novels?”
Graphic novels? Seriously? He knows the proper terminology?
Argh! Why the hell did Connor’s English professor assign Jenny to be his tutor?
I mean, I get why he needed a tutor. But Jenny? Why couldn’t our lives split off when I declared our friendship of fifteen years dead instead of this headache-inducing entanglement? This entire semester has blown because of her. Connor’s gotten soft and into some bizarre stuff, like comic books and documentaries, and he even asked me if I wanted to play a tabletop game a few days ago. If he wasn’t the star quarterback for Ephron University, I might be a little more worried about his status already, but if he keeps bringing me to places like this, well, I’m not immune to the side effects of Jenny-itis.
Never was.
“They’re fine. Whatever.” I catch the top book before it topples again. “Go check out so we can leave this hellhole. Okay?”
“You got it, babe.” He leans in, pressing a kiss to my cheek before continuing an encumbered walk I dare not follow to the counter.
I’m full up on disturbed interactions for the day.
A searing pain I’ve grown accustomed to in the past six years stabs me in my right side, and I breathe through it, careful not to give myself away.
