He snaps upright. “Connections?”
“The Spelling Bee?”
“Strands!” we say at the same time.
He sighs. “My god, Ted. We were made for each other.”
Affection curls around my heart. Alex opens his arm wide, and I scooch in, resting my head on his shoulder. His arm comes around me snug, a comforting weight, and he brings his phone close so we can both see it. His head nestles against mine. We both sigh with contentment.
Alex opens up theNew York TimesGames app and asks, “What should we do first?”
I tap the Spelling Bee. “We’ll go in order.”
“Which would mean starting with the Crossword?”
I peer up at him, and my heart skips. Our mouths are very close. For the first time, I think about kissing Alex. And I wonder if maybe Alex is thinking about kissing me, too.
He drags a curl back from my temple and asks, voice soft, “Where’d you go?”
“I was just thinking…” A swallow works down my throat. “We’re way too drunk to do the Crossword.”
“Good point,” he says. “We can do it in the morning.”
A surprised laugh tumbles out of me. “Planning to stay the night?”
“Sure, sounds good.” He taps the Spelling Bee to open the game, slides his thumb across the letters, and spells S-A-G-E.
I poke his side. “I was askingifyou were planning to.”
“Well, I wasn’t,” he says, “but then you invited me.” He nods toward the far end of the room. “Argos’s dog bed looks decadent.”
I glance over at the dog bed, which I can admit is ridiculously plush and oversized, a gratuitous splurge. “You might actually fit on it. Be my guest.”
“I’m teasing, Ted. Give me thirty to sober up, then I’ll head home.”
“Don’t,” I blurt. “I mean, don’t head home unless you want to.”
He peers down at me, searching my eyes. After a moment, he seems to find whatever he was looking for, because he settles back into place, resting his head against mine. “I’ll stay.”
I slide my finger across the letters on his phone and spell P-A-G-E. “Because you want to?”
“Because I want to,” he says. “And also, because that dog bed looks cozy as fuck.”
CHAPTER 14NOW
August 2, one day until “vacation”
In my five years at The Bookshop, I’ve pushed for two things, and they are the two things I’m most proud of—StoryTime on Tuesday morning and Saturday afternoon, and our monthly book club that I started, which, to my profound embarrassment, Fern referred to on our website and our in-store flyers as Try It with Thea.
The first time I griped to Lauren about that, we were out for Fried Food and French Wine Friday. She laughed so hard, she snorted champagne up her nose, which felt, frankly, like justice had been served.
Try It with Thea, which runs in addition to our main book club (this one, of course, enjoys an innuendo-free name, Fiction with Fern, focused on new-release literary fiction), is a concept I came up with for people who are still figuring out what they like to read, or who, like me, love to read multiple genres but can get overwhelmed by their options.
When I first started the book club last year, I both loved and hated running it. I mostly loved it, and for many reasons. I started to make friends among its members. I had a time and place to spend with people who enjoyed reading as much as I did and see slivers of them peek through their thoughts and feelings on what we read; what they related to or what they didn’t; what they felt was unjust or, conversely, justified; and which characters they rooted for as well as which ones they couldn’t wait to see vanquished.
And I, somewhat, hated it. Sometimes, the monthly pick was a flop, even for me, and our discussion was lackluster. Then I felt like a failure who’d picked a dud of a book and disappointed everyone and waisted two hours of their lives, plus their reading hours. It made my people-pleasing skin crawl. Which was why, according to Sue, it was a very worthwhile thing for me to continue doing.
Sue was right. I’ve stuck with it long enough that I don’t hate any part of book club now, besides the name. I don’t love when a book is a flop, but I don’t want to curl up and hide when it happens, either.
