“Isn’t it?” She’s still smiling, her eyes bright with amusement. “He has strong feelings about community values. And your suit.”
“My suit didn’t do anything wrong.”
I look down at my jacket. There are visible claw marks. There may also be blood. The suit is definitely ruined.
I should care, but I don’t.
Because Jessica is laughing, and for one perfect second, we’re not landlord and tenant. We’re just two people standing in a disaster zone of fallen books, surrounded by the evidence of my complete lack of grace.
“I should help clean this up,” I say.
“You definitely should. You made the mess.”
“Excuse me? I’m pretty sure that was your cat.”
“He was defending his territory. You were trespassing.”
“I was conducting business.”
“You were lurking in the stacks like a man who forgot how to leave.” But she’s still smiling. “Come on. Books don’t shelve themselves.”
I start picking up paperbacks, and she kneels down to help. Our hands brush, reaching for the same book.
This time, neither of us pulls away quite as fast.
“Thank you,” Jessica says softly. “For not being a complete monster about the lease.”
“The bar is impressively low.”
“Well, you did threaten my livelihood. So yeah, the bar is basically subterranean. You’re like a limbo champion of basic decency.”
I laugh despite myself, and her expression shifts like she’s seeing something she didn’t expect.
“You should do that more often,” she says.
“What? Get assaulted by your cat?”
“Laugh. Be human.” She stands, still holding several books, and there’s a gentleness in her voice that undoes me. “You’re less terrifying when you remember you’re allowed to have feelings. The whole ‘corporate shark with no emotions’ thing is very intimidating, but it’s also very lonely.”
She doesn’t know how right she is.
I should leave this bookstore before I do something incredibly stupid like tell her the truth or kiss her or both.
But I’m still holding books, and she’s still standing close enough that I could reach out and touch her if I was brave enough, and somewhere in the last five minutes, this stopped being about business.
“Jessica—”
“Scott—”
We both stop. Both wait.
“You first,” I say.
“I just—” She takes a breath. “I don’t hate you. I want to, because it would be easier. But I don’t.”
My heart does something acrobatic and painful.
“I don’t hate you either.”
