Page 30 of The Lost Book of First Loves

She wanted to rest her head against his chest and stay there forever.

Xander had been her closest friend since they were kids. Well, since he came to live with his great-aunt and -uncle when they were both in fourth grade, anyway.

He had been painfully shy, in torn jeans, thick glasses and an ultrashort haircut.

Years later, after he had come to trust her, Xander had confessed that his grandmother had to shave his head because of lice he brought with him when his drug-addicted mother had dropped off him and his younger sister with Sylvia and her husband, Robert, then took off.

Because Ali had been relatively popular and well liked, her teacher had asked her to befriend the new kid so he didn’t have to sit by himself in the cafeteria.

She hadn’t wanted to, she remembered now. He had seemed so strange and awkward and in the cruel, thoughtless way of children, she had been afraid that sense ofotherabout him might be contagious.

But she had been a dutiful girl so they had sat together at lunch, where she discovered after some painful initial conversation that they both were reading the same book series. As they talked about the books and their favorite characters, she had also discovered Xander was funny and smart and kind, despite the chaos of his first nine years.

He was also fiercely loyal. He passionately defended her and his younger sister against any possible slight or insult.

Xander had been her rock during her mother’s brief illness and after her subsequent death. Whenever she was at her most low, he would text her a funny meme or video clip he had seen or a thought-provoking quote from whatever book hewas currently inhaling. She didn’t always feel better but knowing he cared enough to try lifting her up invariably helped.

Sometimes they would meet up at the library to ostensibly study together, and she’d find herself simply staring into space while fighting a flurry of emotions that felt too big for her to handle at the time.

He wouldn’t say a word, but he always seemed toknow.

Unfortunately, as much as she wanted to, Ali knew she couldn’t stay here in the bookstore forever, grasping hold of him like a lifeline. Too soon, he released her and hugged her grandmother in turn. “Loretta. Good to see you again. Twice in a week. It must be my lucky day. You look beautiful, as always.”

Loretta snorted. “I wasn’t beautiful even when I was forty years younger. Luckily, I’m fine with that.”

She gave him an appraising look. “I would say that you haven’t changed a bit, but that would be a bald-faced lie. Ali and I were just talking about how you don’t look at all like the shy boy with glasses and crooked teeth who used to come in here to do his homework and read the latest science-fiction release.”

He raised an eyebrow and slanted a look at Ali. “Were you?”

To her dismay, she could feel herself blush, though she couldn’t have said why. Later, she would have to tell him how her grandmother had described him as a snack. It would make him laugh.

“We should run. I don’t want to be away too long. Lindsey is staying with Sylvia while I’m gone, but her kids tend to run wild. They might tear the house apart.”

His sister was three years younger than Xander, but had been married since right after high school, with two young children and a third on the way. Ali knew that spending time with her and his niece and nephew was one of the main reasons Xander had come back for the summer.

“I’m ready. Bye, Grandma. Can I bring you something back from the café?”

“I’m good. I packed a lunch. Thanks, though. You two have fun.”

That bubbling happiness continued fizzing through her as they walked out into the drizzle toward the restaurant next door. The Owl used to be a run-down dive that nobody ever went to until a friend of theirs from high school had bought out the old owners and reenergized the place.

The interior had been redesigned to focus on the tin-stamped ceiling and the original long polished wood bar that had once been a soda fountain.

Because of its historic Old West decor as well as the delicious food and canny marketing by the owners, the Owl had become something of a social media sensation, with people traveling from as far as Jackson to eat there, and of course photograph themselves and their meals for the rest of the world to see.

The frenzied-looking hostess told them to find their own seats in the crowded restaurant, if they could, so they chose a booth near the front windows.

“I can’t believe we have finally managed to find ourselves in the same space,” Xander said as they slid across from each other. “How long has it been?”

“You came to Dad’s funeral. And you stopped briefly in Salt Lake to see me at the U that time you were doing a series on the national parks of the Mountain West,” she reminded him.

“I forgot about that series. That must have been, what, two years ago?”

“Something like that.”

“Your dad’s memorial service wasn’t exactly the best opportunity for us to catch up.”

“No,” she agreed.

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