I grin, taking in her sugar-fuelled energy and the smudge of ice cream across her nose.
“What?” she asks, tilting her head.
I reach out, swiping the tip of her nose with the pad of my thumb, bringing it to my mouth to suck the sugary cream off. “Delicious,” I tease.Just like I bet you would be.
She wrinkles her nose, tipping her chin up at me. “That’s disgusting, Elijah. There are an estimated one thousand species of bacteria living on the human skin.”
I roll my eyes playfully at her. “I’ll add that to my list of reasons not to lick every inch of you,” I mutter, walking past her in the direction she’d been leading us.
She remains silent by my side, murmuring something unintelligible, stopping at a shop with a sign that reads, “Read Banned Books!”
“My kind of store,” I muse, holding the door open for her.
She steps past me, into the warmly lit shop. The walls are painted a muted sage green, with rows and rows of shelves in the centre. There are a few seating areas, each with a theme to match the genre of books nearest to it.
“Let’s play a game,” Adhira says, deep-cinnamon eyes glittering with mischief that leaves my stomach in knots. She’s up to no good. “You pick a colour and a trope, and I’ll pick a book for you.”
I quirk a brow at her. “That sounds oddly harmless. I’ll bite.”
She smirks, awaiting my answer. I tap my chin, making her wait. “How about red?”
“What shade of red?”
“Burgundy,” I blurt without a second thought, and it nearly kills me not to let my vision dip to her chest, covered by the thick material of my burgundy jumper. It’s my favourite colour on her, and as of recently, my favourite colour ingeneral.
“And a trope?”
I swallow roughly, scratching at the back of my neck. My eyes skate around the room, looking for something that speaks to me. I certainly can’t tell Adhira that my favourite tropes are flatmates-to-lovers and forced proximity, can I?
The shelf behind her has a stand with a book titled “First Comes Amor” by Cynthia A. Rodriguez. The cover shows a woman in a light-blue dress, her belly jutting out, with a man resting one loving hand on her bump and the other cradling her hand.
“Surprise pregnancy,” I answer.
She nods once, trudging off down the aisles in search of a book that matches that description.
I watch with rapt attention as she plucks burgundy book after burgundy book off the shelves, flipping them over to skim the blurb and placing them back where they belong. I follow, rearranging the shelves when I notice a book out of place or a series out of order.
Finally, Adhira stops, taking entirely too long to stare at the cover before flipping it to the back. She opens it, closes her eyes, and inhales the scent of new, freshly printed pages, and warmth spreads through my whole body.
Her lashes flutter before she turns to me, clutching the book to her chest. “This is the one. Let’s go.”
She waltzes past me, not bothering to show me the book, and before I can get my legs in motion, she’s already at the checkout paying for it.
We make our way home, leaving our shoes by the door. Adhira grabs something from her room and returns a moment later, plopping down on the sofa. She tucks her feet beneath her and holds out a small pink bag with the store’s logo in the centre.
“My celebratory gift to you,” she says with a sly smile.
“I’d thank you, but something tells me I should hold my gratitude until I’ve seen what you picked,” I tease, settling the bag in my lap.
She snickers, her eyes never leaving me. Everywhere her gaze roams, heat scorches my skin, and I do my best to ignore it, plucking the hot-pink-and-black tissue paper from the bag. I reach in, surprised to find a small, cold piece of metal inside.
It's a handmade metal bookmark featuring all my favourite things.
I glance up at her. “You made this…for me?”
She looks away. “It's nothing.”
It'snotnothing. Not only did she take the time to make me something so special, but it shows just how much she actuallynotices me. That thought warms my belly and makes me yearn to pull her into my lap and press my lips to hers.
