“Well, I’m happy with the path you chose because it means I got to meet you.”
“Thanks. I still feel like I’m bumbling around, trying to figure things out.” He laughs half-heartedly, scraping a hand through his hair.
“You’re great—you know I think that. Not just anyone reaches celebrity crush status based on their writing alone.”
“At the very least, this piece we’re doing will make sure I end the year with a bang.”
“I love a good bang,” I purr in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Liam fumbles, the book in his hand falling, the pages flapping like butterfly wings before smooshing against the floor. “Shit,” he hisses.
We both dive to the ground to retrieve it, each grabbing one corner of the cover. “Sorry,” we say over each other. We’re crouched, faces inches apart, in an odd type of tug-of-war, neither of us showing any sign of moving.
Liam’s Adam’s apple bobs as his eyes go wide and dilate. My own heart races, blood thundering through my ears.
“Excuse me, but could I pass by?” a rasping voice asks. I turn to my right to find the same old man from earlier.
“I’ve got it,” Liam says and I release my end of the book and step away to clear a path. I pretend to inspect the titles on the shelf until I’m breathing like normal and won’t feel like I’ll combust just by looking at Liam.
When I do look at him, I find him smoothing the now-bent pages then pushes back up to his feet, offering me a hand as he does. “Let me show you something. It might be my favorite part of the shop.”
I nearly refuse to take it, but that would mean acknowledging what just happened. We’re supposed to be on a pretend date after all.
At the end of the stack is a reading nook with a faded cushion and an arching window that overlooks Union Square. A crowd snakes through the green-roofed wooden stalls of the winter market, arranged in a triangle to look like a tree.
I must stare because after a minute, Liam asks, “We could go if you want?”
“I don’t want to take up too much of your time, and we should probably take a picture here before we go,” I say, even though part of me wants to go down there with him. It’s the same part of me that is jealous of Mom and Daniel’s easy camaraderie as she reclaims her life.
I’ve never had a typical Christmas, full of family bonding and bickering. I swung from two extremes. Walking into a home with a tree professionally done up without having to lift a finger, and then working through every holiday. Mom still made those special with movies and a few useful gifts like socks or fabric for me to practice sewing with, but we were too tired and broke to do much.
Now that I typically go home with people for the holidays, I step into their lives for a moment, getting glimpses of what I never had. It’s always so tempting to get swept up in the homemade ornaments and slightly burnt cookies, but I know the closer I get the more it will hurt when I walk away, to be left out in the cold once more.
Does it make me a fool for wanting it anyway?
“It's no problem. I always make extra room on my schedule for when we meet up.”
“Because I’m long-winded and traffic is terrible?” I muse.
“Because I like spending time with you, Henri.” His expression softens and something in me threatens to melt. He’s so blunt and upfront that no matter how hard I try to come up with an alternative meaning to his words, I can’t.
“Well, I like spending time with you, Liam. But that might just be the money I’m making off you. Money makes everyone more tolerable.” Usually, that’s true. This time, the money has nothing to do with it. But damn it’s nice to have it as an excuse.
I expect my humor to crack his sincere expression, but it remains firmly in place.
He takes my hand. A laugh bubbles up out of my throat as he pulls me back through the store with fierce determination. “Come on. We’re going to that market.”
“I like living on the edge, walking out here with a hardened criminal,” I tease as Liam and I walk side by side through the lanes of the market. The green tin roofs of the stalls are trimmed with garland and lights. The aroma of cinnamon and rich spice wafting from those with fresh baked goods. Glittering ornaments and decorations catch my attention every few steps and I have to remind myself to keep moving so as to not cause a traffic jam.
“Say it louder why don’t you,” Liam mutters. His cheeks are nipped pink with cold but grow a shade darker at my remark. “It was an accident and I paid in the end.”
“But only after that poor bookseller chased you down the stairs.”
It really was a great moment. Mostly, because I wasn’t the one being chastised for trying to steal a book that cost less than five dollars. In his eagerness to leave, both Liam and I forgot about the book clutched in his arm and were stopped by the shop attendant.
“Don’t blame me for being in a rush. I had somewhere important to be,” he says and the sentiment causes my chest to warm.
I swallow hard and ask, “Where should we go first?”
