“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay. I won’t bring it up again.”
“Thank you.”
We sit in the quiet for a spell, letting the intensity of the conversation slowly dissipate. Black Cat has resumed his Goldfish theft, crunching contentedly between us like he hasn’t just witnessed a significant emotional moment. The LED candles flicker. Outside, distantly, I can hear the hum of the central air, the sounds of the massive house settling around us.
That’s when I notice it.
A book, tucked into the corner of the fort near Taio’s knee. Worn cover, soft pink, spine cracked from multiple readings. I know for a fact it’s not mine—I read all my self-help books on my Kindle, and I definitely don’t read anything with a cover that involves two people in a dramatic clinch.
“What’s that?” I point.
Something fascinating goes on with his face. A flush creeps up his neck, splashing across his cheekbones and making him look suddenly, endearingly boyish.
“Nothing.”
“Really? Because it looks like a very loved book with a very pink cover.” I’m already reaching for it before he can stop me. “Is that…is that a romance book?”
“Charlie—”
Too late. I’ve got it in my hands now, turning it over to examine the cover. Two figures locked in an embrace—a woman with windswept hair, a man with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. The title is in gold embossed letters. The tagline promises passion, heartbreak, and a love that conquers all.
I’m grinning so wide my face hurts. “Taio Wilkes. Do you readsmut, as the kids these days call it?”
“The kids these days? Youarethe ‘kids these days.’”
“True but I have the soul of a sixty-year-old.”
He makes a grab for the book but I twist away, clutching the book to my chest. “Hey, whoa, stop.”
“Give me my book, you animal.”
“No way. This is my new favorite thing about you. Screw cheese dip. You read romance for fun?”
His face has gone fully red now, which only makes me more delighted. “Lots of people read romance. It’s the highest-selling genre in publishing. There are statistics.”
“I’m not making fun of you!” I protest, though I’m definitely still grinning. “I think it’s sweet. Really. I think it’s the sweetest thing ever.” I soften slightly, clutching the book to my chest. “Why romance?”
He’s quiet for a moment, the flush slowly fading from his cheeks as he realizes I’m genuinely asking. When he speaks, he sounds almost shy.
“I like the happy endings.”
I pump my brows at him before shooting him a wink and clicking my jaw. “Happy endings.Got it.”
“I’m not talking about seedy massage parlors, Charlie. I mean actual happily-ever-afters. I find them cathartic.”
The simplicity of the answer catches me off guard.
“I haven’t had a lot of control over how my life turned out,” he continues, not quite meeting my eyes. “My parents’ marriage. My career. My dad’s mess. My family’s reputation. None of it ended the way it was supposed to. But in books like this…” He indicates said paperback still clutched to my chest. “…the good guys win. People find each other despite impossible odds. Love is enough to overcome all the obstacles and mistakes and misunderstandings. It’s nice to believe that’s possible, even if it’s just for a few hundred pages at a time.”
My heart clenches so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t make a wheezing sound.
“I sing songs like that,” I hear myself say. “The ones I love most are all about the experiences I’ve never had. Love that lasts forever. Being chosen. Finding someone who sees all the brokenparts of you and decides to stay anyway.” I hand him back the book. “I guess we’re two peas.”
“Two peas in a delusional pod.”
“The best kind of pod.”
He’s smiling now—really smiling, not the guarded half smile or the professional pleasant expression he usually defaults to. It transforms his whole face, softens all the hard edges, makes him look younger and more open and achingly, stunningly beautiful.
