*
“Charly!”
The snap of Brooklyn’s fingers directly in front of my face wakes me out of my daze. I immediately straightenmy wrist, leveling the limp mug in my hand. That was close. Another inch or two and coffee would have spilled onto the counter. “Huh? What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Brooklyn says, her expression peculiar as she watches me. “You okay?”
Nodding, I blink as if that will erase the flawless image of Rhys from my mind. “I’m fine. Why?”
Brooklyn points to the haphazardly shelved books I literally shoved into place before. “For starters, that mess. You treat every book like a treasure, so what’s up with that? Then there’s…” She waves her hands, gesturing at my unseasonably heavy, drab dress. “The mourning attire.” She scrunches up her face. “Aw, man, Charly, did you and that hot dude break up already?”
I slam the mug on the counter. “Rhys is an off-limits subject.”
“So, that’s yes,” Brooklyn remarks with the smugness that comes with knowing me better than anyone else other than Gram.
“Wrong,” I counter. Technically, I’m not lying. Rhys and I never dated, and we certainly didn’t break up.
Cupid took him.
Big difference.
Brooklyn strolls behind the counter and lays her arm over my shoulders. She gives me a light jostle, her floral-scented perfume swirling around us. “Well, if you need someone to talk to about your non-breakup, I’m here.” She slides her arm off me and leans her hip against the counter. “We’re besties. You can tell me anything.”
I want to tell her the truth about Rhys. Oh, God, how I want to tell her, and when the words whisper from my lips, I letthem flow again, like before, unable—unwilling—to stop them. “Hypothetically, let’s say I didn’t meet Rhys on Tinder.”
Brooklyn’s brows shoot up. “Okay…?”
“But let’s also hypothetically say I found him on an app.”
She goes to the coffee station to make a cup of tea and asks, “What’s the name of this hypothetical app?”
“The Book Boyfriends,” I answer with a cringe because it’s preposterous.
She sets the bottle down, nodding. “Interesting.”
“I’m serious,” I deadpan.
“You hooked up with Rhys on a book boyfriend dating app? Big whoop,” she retorts with a shrug. “Who the hell am I to judge? Lord knows I’ve had my fair share of embarrassing hookups. At least Rhys was fine as fuck. Some of mine were…” She feigns a shiver of disgust.
“No, Brooklyn, you don’t understand.” I pull out my phone and show her the app. Show her it’s owned by Cupid and how a user can create a book boyfriend. “See? I built him. I built my ideal antihero, and at exactly midnight that same night, Rhys Ravenstone knocked on my front door.”
Brooklyn pushes my hand away. “Come on, Charly, seriously?”
“I swear to God.” I shove the phone at her. “I built him on here. Cupid gave us seven days to fall in love, but I fucked up, Brooklyn, because I fell in love with Rhys. I just didn’t know it, and now he’s gone, and there’s no way for him to come back.”
Maybe the anguish in my voice or the steady flow of tears convinces her that what I’m saying is true. Or perhaps she believesIbelieve it, and right now, that’s enough, especially when sheplucks the phone from my hand and sets it on the counter before wrapping her arms around me. I need her comfort, her support.
“Please don’t cry.”
“He’s gone, Brooklyn,” I sob. “He’s gone, and it’s my fault.”
“You’ll bring him back, Charly. If anyone can pull off a miracle, it’s you.” Then she sets me at arm’s length, her laughter light. “But, girl, you have to know this is wild.”
“Do you think I’m not aware of how crazy this sounds?” I ask. Of course, I am, and if it were her saying this to me, I’d assume she went full mental.
“Thank God you have yourself a bestie who believes in this crazy sort of shit.” She pulls me back in for a quick, tight hug and laughingly says, “I’m the one who saw a UFO, remember? I’m the girl who goes to mediums and believes in the yeti and all that wild crap. But if you tell me you built yourself a real-life book boyfriend, then I guess you built yourself a real-life book boyfriend.”
“Exactly!” I exclaim. Then, with a relieved, deflated sigh, I confess, “You have no idea how hard it was not to tell you about him the other day.”
