Page 67 of Darkest Kiss

Dr. Amunson tsks. "You should learn to take pride in your accomplishments."

I lift a shoulder. "I'm working on it."

Across the shop, Rian meets my gaze and then looks pointedly at the circle of expensive folding chairs. He set the circle up an hour ago without being asked. That’s one of many ways he shows love.

I blow him a discreet kiss and try to move things along with my last customer of the day. It’s time for the book club to convene.

I ring up Dr. Amunson’s book, then hand him a little bag with Poor Yorick Books logo printed on it. It’s a skeleton hand grasping a book. "You know,” I say as I give him change, “Book club starts right now. You should stay."

He looks at me over the rims of his glasses. "I don't read romance novels, Noemi."

"They’re not all romances. Esther picked this month, so it's an alternative-history science fiction book by Neal Stephenson. About what, I have no idea. You'll fit right in."

His mouth twitches. "That's an unusual pitch."

"That's the best I've got. Will you stay?"

He considers the middle distance for a long beat. Then he tucks the fish book under his arm and shuffles toward the circle without a word. His chair squeaks when he settles into it. The book goes on the floor by his ankle, spine up.

It’s only our third meeting, but our little club is growing.

The circle fills fast after that. Sherrie sits with a bottle of wine she didn't need to bring, a battered hardback copy of Cryptonomicon, and a face already primed for an argument. Esther and her wife arrive next, matching turtlenecks, matching smug expressions. I would bet that Esther knows exactly what she did picking Stephenson and is pleased with herself.

My husband finds his usual seat where he can monitor the door. And then Christopher slides in last with his notebook open, three pens clipped to the collar of his shirt. He's a graduate student in something none of us understand. He also wears the largest black-framed glasses I've ever seen on a human face. His entire personality is manga and structural engineering, in that order. I adore him.

Christopher takes the chair next to Dr. Amunson and arches his brow at the book Dr. Amunson has taken out and is stealthily admiring.

"That book any good?" Christopher taps the cover gently with a finger.

Dr. Amunson looks up at him, his eyes narrowing. "I've had it in my hand for six minutes. Ask me in a week."

“Hah!” Christopher’s laugh is more of a statement. He tilts his head. "What are you reading otherwise?"

"Everything. Anything that has printed words in either English or French.” The older man puffs his chest out when he says the last; his love of Proust is a particular pain point for me. But that doesn’t seem to bother his young companion one bit.

"I’m much the same," Christopher says. He pulls a battered volume out of his bag with a woman on the cover holding a sword. "Have you ever tried manga?"

Dr. Amunson squints at the cover. "I have not."

"Oh, we're going to fix that."

They lean in. Rian catches my eye across the circle. He doesn't smile, exactly. He’s still jumpy anytime I’m not lying on top of him in our bed. But we’re working on it.

He’s hinted that he’ll feel even better when I’m wearing his ring. I couldn’t for the life of me think of a reason why that wasn’t a great idea.

I take a deep breath. Every Tuesday, an hour before I have to speak in front of eight people about a book I love, my body decides I'm about to die. My therapist calls it a fear response. I call it a nuisance. Either way, the goal isn't to stop it.

The goal is to keep doing the things I want to do while it happens.

I take another breath. In, out. Rian's gaze flicks to me, one eyebrow lifted a fraction. I just shake my head once.

I don’t need rescuing.

"All right." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "Esther picked. Esther, you get the first question."

Esther’s face looks pinched. "Oh, no. You're moderating. You go."

"You picked the book. You get first question."