Page 33 of The Spellreader and the Phoenix

Max groaned. “That would be the worst.”

Rory laughed. “They don’t seem to mind.”

Yeah, somehow, in romance books, it always turned into the best thing that could ever have happened to the main characters, despite the fact that in reality, it would surely be awkward and uncomfortable. And what was the statistical probability that you would happen to be trapped somewhere with your ideal partner?

Max snuck a glance at Rory. What were the chances that of all the places Rory could fly, he happened to fly down the street of Max’s bookshop, happened to look in, and happened to see Max?

Not that Max believed that was fate.

Surely, it was pure chance.

Max set the ward spells, and they headed upstairs, where Max caught a glimpse of his bedroom, and it belatedly occurred to Max that he only had one bed.

Oh, gods, had he somehow stumbled into the plot of a romance novel? How did he get out of it?

Apparently, he looked as horrified as he felt, and Rory saw where his gaze went. He squeezed Max’s arm. “Hey. It’s nothing to worry about. You have a perfectly usable couch.”

Max had a couch that was fine for sitting on, but he’d fallen asleep on it occasionally, and honestly, it wasn’t great for that. And while Max’s hospitality was rusty at best, he was aware that he really shouldn’t be making his guest sleep on the couch. But he had zero interest in losing his bed.

Rory huffed a soft laugh, still not looking at all perturbed. At least one of them wasn’t stressed.

“We’ve got lots of options here,” he pointed out. “First of all, I don’t have to stay.”

“Of course you’re staying,” Max said flatly.

Rory couldn’t hide how pleased he was at this declaration, and Max chose not to question his own vehemence. But seriously, he couldn’t envision throwing Red out onto the street and just trusting that such a tiny bird was going to survive. The world could be a terrible place. There was no way he could let that happen.

“I really could sleep on the couch,” Rory assured him.

“It’s not the best for sleeping on,” Max admitted.

“I don’t mind.”

“Next suggestion?”

Rory eyed him carefully. “Anabelle from this morning reminded me—”

“Who’s Anabelle?” Max interrupted.

“The nice lady who wanted to talk to you about romance tropes. She bought half a dozen books, and we had an excellent discussion about our favorites. It’s how I ended up picking out my novel for tonight. I had forced proximity on my mind.”

“Okay,” Max said, confused.

He’d already known it, but here was another reminder that Rory was definitely an extrovert who liked people. He knew the names of customers. Deliberately. Probably because he’d introduced himself. Ugh.

“Yeah,” Rory said cheerfully. “She reminded me that there’s all sorts of occasions where sharing a bed isn’t the start of a romance novel. Siblings share. Friends share. Uninterested people share when the occasion calls for it. Despite what romance novels would have you believe, it is absolutely not the start of foreplay and sex 100% of the time.”

Max blew out a breath. “I know that.”

The issue was how to be sure that both people felt the same way. As someone who had zero attraction awareness, he’d been caught out more than once at university in what rapidly became very awkward situations.

Avoiding people was so much easier.

But he couldn’t avoid Rory, because if he did, Rory would wind up on the street. And even if it was on the street as a cardinal, that wasn’t okay.

Rory was still smiling, not seeming put out at all. “We’re not doing anything you’re not comfortable with. There’s an even simpler solution.”

Max could buy an inflatable bed? But, like, not right now…