Page 56 of Just My Type of wrong guy

But everything is so elegant and beautiful that I give in. I start picking out pillows, candles, picture frames… and then change my mind five minutes later, because I always find something better. A.J. stays patient, offering opinions and suggesting combos like only a truly observant guy would. And I thank God my double-door fridge has a thousand and one uses.

An hour later, everything I could possibly buy in the fancy store is packed in the trunk and back seats. A.J. drives us to another part of the city to introduce me to thrift stores, and I couldn’t be more excited.

Especially when he parks right in front of a coffee shop.

“It’s getting cold. Let’s grab a coffee.”

“Thrift stores close at five, Alexandra !” A.J. shouts over the car as I’m already at the cafe entrance.

“If we don’t go in now, we won’t make it to any of them,” I reply, pushing the door open.

The smell of overpriced coffee and polished wood wraps around me. The tables are small and cozy, made for two at most, but I stop at the counter, not even glancing at them. The hanging menu terrifies me enough to ignore the numbers and look only at the letters.

“Welcome to your first overpriced, underwhelming coffee in New York,” A.J. says, stopping beside me.

I choose a Cinnamon Bun Latte. I have no idea what that is, but I go for it. I pay for both mine and his hot chocolate, and we wait way too long for our paper cups with our names on them. Mine, of course, is spelled wrong, but holding one of these while walking through New York makes me raise my arm instinctively.

“What are you doing?”

A cab stops a few meters away, and A.J. lowers my hand, shaking his head at the driver.

“Sorry, couldn’t help it.” I wave at the silver-haired, hawk-nosed cabbie, who curses me out in some language I don’t recognize, and I turn back to A.J. “You can’t hold an overpriced coffee in New York andnottry to flag down a cab.”

“Seriously?”

I stare at him like he’s from another planet. Romanticizing this moment isn’t something I learned from Brazilian soap operas. This is American culture 101. I’m genuinely surprised he’s lived here this long and still doesn’t get it.

“You enjoying the view?” he asks. I blink twice.

“We need to add rom-coms to our movie list for this break. Animated movies alone aren’t going to teach you all the necessary culture,” I decree, walking off like I actually know where we’re going.

We spend the next forty minutes hopping in and out of thrift stores filled with old books, picture frames, china, napkins, and all sorts of things. Nothing really for the room, but I love it.

A.J. remains patient, holding bags, giving input when I ask. The only time he breaks his good-boy act is when I pick up another lamp.

“You’ve already bought two lamps, Alexandra.”

“But this one has a special charm!” I argue. He just shakes his head.

I put the tiny tree-shaped lamp with leaf bulbs back on the shelf and accept it doesn’t fit my room.

Still, I leave the store a little sulky.

By the time we get back to the apartment, the sun is already setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold. My body’s tired, my feet hurt, but my heart is full.

I don’t even think of taking a break.

I help A.J. carry everything in, and we start setting up my room in New York. We hang the empty frames, place the string lights, arrange the luxe editions of my favorite books we picked up at a bookshop on the way home, and A.J. mounts a vanity mirror on the free wall beside me. It’ll be my recording backdrop, so it’s just the mirror and the desk chair for now.

While he hammers the thing into place with scary precision, I swapPride and Prejudice_bought at a thrift store_withThe Love Hypothesisand stare at his broad back, suddenly understanding the main character in my hands. Sometimes, all a girl needs is a giant, hot man.

But A.J. is a hot man beyond acceptable limits, so I slide Adam and Olive onto the shelf and head to the kitchen to grab something for us to drink.

“Danilovesthat book,” he says, making me jump and flush, caught in the act of checking him out.

“It’s basicallythefavorite book of every girl who used to read good fanfic. I’m not surprised...”

“She made me obsessed with Adam Driver because of that author. I didn’t even think he wasthatattractive.”

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