He came out holding a mug of hot chocolate. “You haven’t read the book?”
I shook my head. “No. I did know it was a book but I haven’t read it.”
He handed me the mug. It was warm to hold, but not hot. “Oh, you must read it. I have a copy at home. I’ll let you borrow it.”
I thought about that. “That doesn’t seem like a good attitude for your business,” I said. “You should tell me to buy it.”
He laughed. “Well, yes, but it’s okay for friends to lend books, right? As long as you be kind to the book and don’t dog-ear the pages, it’ll be fine.”
My eyes went wide. “I would never.”
He grinned, his hand to his chest. “Oh, I’m so relieved to hear that. Not sure I could be friends with someone who does.” Then he winked as if to tell me he might be joking.
But he’d called me a friend.
I liked that. It felt nice. Even though I might want to like him more than a friend, being friends was still good.
He came back out with his mug of hot chocolate. “Ro took Merry and Bright home. You just missed her. She said to say hello.”
I nodded, but something he’d said caught my attention. “You call her by her first name?”
“I do. She is my aunt. My mother’s sister. But I’m closer to her than I am to my mother. She’s been on my side since I was very little, and she’s younger than my mom. She saidme calling herAuntRo made her feel old. Plus, she’s more like a best friend or an older sister than my aunt.”
I nodded again, processing that. “I have two aunts,” I supplied. “On my dad’s side. And two uncles on my mom’s side.”
“Nice,” he said like he meant it. “How’s your hot chocolate?”
I forgot I was holding it, so I sipped it. It was warm and sweet. “Good,” I said. “It’s very good. And sweet.”
His eyes met mine. “I love sweet things.”
It made me feel all tingly and swoopy. Like a bellyache, but a pleasant one.
He took a sip of his own. “I love hot chocolate at night,” he said. “Coffee in the morning, though.”
“Same.”
I realized then that, along with the good feeling, I also felt at ease; all my worries from before were gone. I also realized that he was giving me information, details about himself, without me asking questions.
“I’m not very good at conversation,” I said. “My dad said I should ask you questions if I wanted to know something.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret of mine,” he said. “I’m not very good at conversations either.”
I looked at him then, and it made me laugh, because he was smiling at me. “It’s not a secret because it’s not true,” I said. “You’re very good at conversations. You make me feel at ease. I’m not anxious like I was before. I almost went home, and now I don’t want to.”
He grinned at me. “I’m glad to hear that. Being anxious is not a nice feeling. And I think you’re good at conversations. Look at us talking right now.”
I laughed and sipped my hot chocolate.
“Did you still have any questions you wanted to askme?” He looked at me curiously. Kindly. “You can ask me anything you want to know. I won’t mind.”
Hmm.
I made a face because now I wasn’t sure. In the end, I shook my head. I didn’t want to ruin anything.
“That’s okay,” he offered, as if he wasn’t bothered at all. “Just know that it’s okay. You can ask me anything when you’re ready.”
I nodded and drank some more. “Do you value money over people?”
