Page 41 of Crushes to WHAT

“There are definitely scales when you’re holding hundreds of dollars worth of books, some of them being special editions with fancy sprayed edges. Balances love fancy sprayed edges. Can’t get enough of them. They cling to the fancy sprayed edges like we clung to that last slice of triple chocolate brownie on Thursday.”

His lip twitches, and he snorts before rolling his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I can afford a few books.”

Right… but… “There are way more than a few books in that pile, and you keep adding to it. If you buy all of those, I’ll bankrupt you, and if I buy all of them, I’ll bankrupt myself. We must exercise self-control and responsibility. For the sake of someone’s wallet. Namely, my wallet. Because I can’t let you buy me a hoard of books, for all of the aforementioned reasons.”

He sighs, takes what he probably believes is a normal-sized step toward me, covering half the span of the six feet between us, and addresses me seriously. “Baby, I promise you, you don’t need to worry about this. Not only can I afford it, but I have a fund specifically set aside for Almond-related purchases, most of which I expect will be books. I’ve been adding to it for a while, so it’s pretty substantial. As in I would have to buy a quarter of the books housed in this building to wipe it out. I’ve got the books, and I’ve got anything else you might need when I’m around.” He bends, putting us eye-to-eye for when he commands, “Don’t worry about it.”

That sure was a lot of words all put together to say a whole lot of insane things. “You have an Almond fund?” I squeak, eyes as wide as saucers.

He nods decisively. “I started it the first time I drove by this bookstore, and I’ve been adding to it every week. I told myself that if you never got over your inability to talk to me, I’d donate it to charity in your name or something when I die.”

“You’re a single man with a well-paying job and no dependents,” I note, shell-shocked.

He hums a confirmation.

“You don’t even have a niece to spoil horrendously.”

“No niece,” he agrees. “The only person I have to spoil horrendously is you, and I’d appreciate you letting me.”

“I can’t begin to conceptualize the amount of money a single man with a well-paying job, no dependents, and no niece would have if he put his mind to setting aside even a small amount every week for… who knows how long. You said the word ‘years’ earlier. ‘Years’ is crazy. That’s bonkers. You did that when I was becoming one with shrubbery?”

“I added another twenty bucks every time I saw you bolt into a bush.”

Freak, he’s got a million dollars in an Almond fund.

Freak, freak, freak, Poem might be right.

“Are we dating?” I blurt, hardly believing I have the nerve.

Emerson shrugs. “Depends on who you ask.”

“If I ask you?”

He smiles. “Yes.”

A noise of pure distress gurgles in my throat. “If I ask anyone else?”

He rocks on his heels, lips twitching. “I’d say nearly everyone else would also answer in the affirmative.”

My breathing shallows. “Is there anyone that would disagree?”

He hums. “Well, my girlfriend thinks we’re fake dating. She was just so excited about it, you know? So I didn’t correct her, or point out that fake dating is, essentially, real dating with more steps, particularly when both parties have been crushing on each other for quite a while.”

My eyes bug fully out of my head as I squeak, “Both parties?”

“Been crushing on you longer than you’ve been crushing on me, baby. Since before you were with that moron, and since before the moron before him, too.”

“There’s no way,” I deny, because there isn’t. There is not one single way that’s true. “But I’d never seen you before!”

His eyelids lower, hotly. “You think you’re the only one who knows how to take cover when the person that makes their stomach twist and their heart thunder is around?” He tsks. “Of course not. I’m just better at hiding than you.”

Better at… “You’re twelve feet tall and half that wide! How could you possibly be better at hiding?”

At this, he full-out grins, canines winking menacingly. “It helps that I don’t yelp when I dive for cover.”

“Oh my freak,” I whisper. “This is this, isn’t it?”

“I’d say this is more of a that situation. This is a little more…” He trails off, searching for an elusive word, then shrugs. “This.” He steps forward, grabs my jaw with his free hand, bends, and presses his lips to mine.