He tilts his head, faintly impressed, or pretending to be.
“You’ve been busy. Good for you.”
I nod, forcing a calm I don’t feel. “Yeah. Busy.”
A beat passes. Then he smirks. “Still… dreaming big, huh? Fairytales and little worlds.”
I stiffen. There it is. The subtle jab, the “You’re still a kid” comment wrapped in charm. I clench my jaw, counting my breaths.
“Yeah,” I say carefully, “but I like them. They’re… mine.”
He used to like that about me too… until he didn’t.
He studies me for a second longer than necessary, then nods, almost approvingly.
“Alright, Oren. Keep your worlds. Just… be careful which ones you let people into.”
If only someone had told me that before I started datinghim, but I swallow, unsure if he meant it as a warning or a tease.
“Right,” I say, gripping my book tighter. “Take care, Vince.”
He flashes that same smile—too perfect, too smooth—and turns, leaving me standing there, heart still racing.
A breath whooshes out of me. Small victories. I survived the encounter without tripping over myself or giving him anything to use. I’m fairly sure my Daddy would agree that I earned a whipped cold brew!
I wander the aisles, letting my fingers trail over the spines, savoring the smell of fresh pages and coffee lingering in the corners. Somewhere in the middle of the new releases, a familiar name catches my eye. I pull the book from the shelf and glare at the cover, scrutinizing every detail. My jaw tightens, and I mutter under my breath without thinking.
“Seriously? Nobody cares about your stupid anteater, B.L. Spears.”
A kid clutching a box set jumps back a little, eyes wide, and scurries off down the aisle.
“Oops,” I murmur, clearing my throat. Great. Way to intimidate the audience.
I glance around, hoping nobody noticed. But the thought makes me smirk a little. Honestly, I’ve been doing the same thing for years in my head—silently competing, critiquing, sneaking in a little one-sided commentary about the books that sandwich mine on the bookshelves. Nothing but petty, harmless fun.
I take a deep breath, shake off the irritation, and focus back on the titles I love. Even if B.L. Spears is still somehow gracing the shelves, I have my world. And my stories. And, in the back of my mind, someone waiting for me that actually makes me feel… secure.
Also, Molly the Hedgehog puts Arthur the Anteater to shame every single day of the week!
I let myself linger a little longer, picking up a bright, cheery book that makes me grin. The cover is ridiculous, but I don’t care. It makes me happy, and right now, that’s exactly what I need.
Then I wander over to the gay romance section—the tiny, sad little corner tucked between memoirs and cookbooks. The selection is pitiful. A couple of sweet, tame romances withillustrated covers, nothing that really makes my stomach twist the way I crave.
I pick up one with a blushing cover couple and a cute title. It’s… fine. Not nearly naughty enough, but what can you expect from a bookstore? The real heat lives online, hidden in those digital shelves where the stuff nobody else can handle thrives.
I set the book down for a moment, feeling that familiar itch—wanting more, craving stories that push boundaries, make hearts race, and maybe mirror some of the things I’ve been daring to imagine myself.
I head toward the checkout, juggling my new treasures in my arms, and before I even realize it, my thumb is hovering over Keane’s name.
“Hey,” I say when he picks up.
“Hey, kiddo,” he replies, and just hearing his voice makes my chest warm in that way it always does. “Bookstore trip?”
I laugh softly, a little sheepish. “Yeah… Kind of a reward. Turned in the new manuscript yesterday.”
“That’s amazing. I’m proud of you.”
His tone is gentle, and it makes me want to grin like a nuthead.
