Page 26 of A Storybook Wedding

“Not at all. I don’t want you to leave,” he corrects me. “I want us to leave. And hey, I am the literary scene, am I not?”

“Wowwww,” I say. “I hope you have extra space in your pockets for all that ego.”

“No ego here at all. I’m just saying. You came here to see me, and here I am. Now I’m basically begging you to come have coffee with me so we can talk about all the ins and outs of the publishing industry, and you’re going to leave me hanging?”

I consider this offer. It’s not every day a New York Times bestselling author asks me to have coffee, so I concede. “Fine,” I say. “Are you just yanking my chain though? You’re not trying to kidnap me?”

“Kidnap you? You’re a grown woman. And no, this is not some kind of trap, CJ.” He leans in toward my ear, and I can feel his breath on me. “I told you, I don’t like events. You’d really be doing me a favor if you let me take you to Starbucks. Please?”

I get chills, starting from my ear and running down my neck. I’m not expecting them, and combined with the scent of this man’s body, well, let’s just say it’s reminding my lady parts that it’s been a while. “Fine. Let’s go.”

“Okay,” he replies. “Hang tight for just a minute. I pre-signed copies of the book for the store, so I just want to make sure that they don’t need anything else from me before we take off.”

“Okay, Pen. Do you. I’m going to peruse these fine books over here,” I say, pointing at the wall, which results in my body shifting in the direction of the wall as if I was on ice skates.

Nate places his hand on my lower back to stop me from spinning all the way around, and a surge of heat radiates from his hand down to my ass. “Easy, killer. Stay right here.”

I watch him carefully remove his palm from my spine as if he is concerned that I might fall down (Pish! I am sturdy as a tree!) and then he walks away from me.

Well. I did not expect to notice this, but Professor Nate Ellis has a mighty fine posterior.

He speaks to a group of city folk, and I stand very still, like a statue. It is a game I am playing with myself. How still can a statue stand? This is a tongue twister, and everything I say is brilliant, I decide.

I pause my game to take another sip from my glass, which I realize is almost empty. Upon this discovery, I become sad. I should get more of the yum drink, I tell myself. I move from side to side, almost as if I am gently dancing, creating a beautiful, soft zigzag from the giant bookshelf over to the bar.

The bartender approaches. “Hey,” he says. “What can I get you?”

“You, kind sir, have a ring in your lip.”

“I do,” he says. And now he is smiling. I make people smile. Literary people are happy, smiley people, and I am—

“Okay, I’m back.” Nate has returned to my side.

“I was just about to order a refill of this,” I tell him, holding up my empty goblet of deliciousness.

“But we’re going, remember?” he asks. “For coffee?”

“We have coffee here,” Mr. Lip Ring shares.

“Did you see his lip?” I whisper to Nate.

“Yeah, thanks, bro,” Nate says. “But we’re going to head out.”

They exchange a fist bump. “See you soon, man,” Mr. Lip Ring says.

I offer my fist to Mr. Lip Ring. “Yeah, bro dude,” I say. His expression is now entertained. “Don’t leave me hangin’ here, Broseph.” He laughs and gives me a pound, and I have done it. This outing has been a success. I am now an official member of the literary community.

Nate offers me his arm, and I link mine through it. “Chivalry,” I say. We walk outside together. It is colder than I expect.

“So there’s a Starbucks on First Avenue,” he says.

“What time is it?” I wonder aloud.

“Like nine thirty.”

“I like the city at night,” I say.

“Yeah, it’s not bad. This is a good time of year too.”

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