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“Language,” I mutter.
When my mom returns to the room, she finds the two of us twined around each other, fighting a losing battle against our laughter.
Epilogue
SUMMER
One year later
With more reverence than I’ve ever shown another book, I gently place this one in its plastic stand under theNew Releasessign.
The glossy cover of the hardback shines under the fluorescents, and I read the words on the cover again, as if they’ll have changed.
War, Sex, & Magic
Cole Allemand
Finally, aftermonths of edits and formatting, and marketing, Cole’s book is out in the world.
I’m not sure I could be more proud. Not even if I wrote the book myself.
My boyfriend, acting the self-conscious artist, didn’t let me read the story until it was in its final stages. He made the mistake of giving me a copy after dinner one evening. I stayed up until four a.m., reading. Then I woke him up and showed him how much I loved the book. Let’s just say, he didn’t mind the early wake-up call in the least, once I started kissing my way down his stomach.
Probably helped that he didn’t have work in the morning, now that he’s only part time at the shelter. Most days he’s hard at work on his next novel and building a solid bank of future chapters forThe Seven Siblings.
Not that he couldn’t work full time at the shelter. Two of the grants he and Jasmine worked on were accepted. The rescue had enough money to build an entirely new space for the felines, as well as hire an intern. Jamie just happened to nail his interview and is now learning the ropes of running a non-profit.
Realizing I’ve surpassed my allotted staring time, I return to the cart that has the other, equally as good I’m sure, new releases. One by one, I arrange each title neatly on the three-sixty, multi-tiered display stand.
As I’m setting out the last few titles, a young woman meanders up to the display. Doing my best to act casual, I fiddle with one of the books as I watch her out of the corner of my eye.
After a moment of scanning the selections, she reaches out and plucks Cole’s book off the stand I just set it on. She takes her time reading the inner cover, all the while I’m clenching my teeth together, trying not to shout, “It’s the best book ever! If you don’t check it out then you’re a fool!”
That’s probably not how a librarian should talk to a patron.
Another few agonizing seconds pass before the woman closes the cover and tucks the book under her arm.
When she turns toward the circulation desk, I abandon my task and power walk back to my office. Once the door is shut, I dial Cole’s number. He’s at work today, probably rolling around in a pile of kittens, so I get his answering machine.
“Someone checked out your book! And I didn’t even make them do it!” I announce, not bothering to say who’s calling. He’ll know. “Anyway, I love you. Have a good day at work!”
It’s dorky, but I’m not the only one who does it. I often return to my office on a break to find a phone message from Cole telling me about a funny animal story. And he always ends with the same command.
“Get back to work, Summer.”
Those messages are often the best part of my day. At least, until I get off work and climb into Cole’s truck.
I have a working vehicle now, but most days we carpool, twining our hands together across the center consul on our way back to the shotgun house we share. After letting myself love the man and accepting his love in return, moving in didn’t feel so scary anymore.
And even with Daniel behind bars, I feel safer knowing that someone is waiting for me.
That Cole is waiting for me.
At the end of my shift, I find him inside, walking down my hallway, carrying a stack of books to check out.
“You sure you didn’t make them?” Cole asks with a teasing smile before leaning down to kiss me.
“I swear! She just walked up and grabbed it herself. I’ll record a video next time,” I declare while switching the lights off in my office.
