Page 55 of A Novel Love Story

“Ah yes,” he said, adopting an offensively terrible Transylvanian accent, “‘Come for me, suckling, moan for me, suckling, taste my nectar and beg for more, suckling’—it’shorrid. I’m shocked you don’t have better taste.”

I giggled. “You’re the one who memorized those lines, so whoreallyhas bad taste?” I tried another bite of the spaghetti, and made a face, pushing my plate away. “Okay. It was a valiant effort, but I’m not a cook.”

He shook his head, and motioned with his fork to a few magnets on the refrigerator. “We can order in pizza, or there’s a taco joint the next street over, but just don’t bother looking at the menus. They’re all gibberish, so it’s impossible to order if you aren’t already a part of the town, with it in your head.”

“Everything feels half-finished,” I muttered.

Quietly, he ate another bite, and then also gave up.

I leaned over my plate. “If there are so many other options, then why do you always go to Gail’s? Is it just convenience, or are you waiting for something? Do you get lonely, without your fian—” I quickly shut my mouth, kicking myself. “I mean, faaaather, yeah. Father. Fiaaather. I’ve an accent sometimes …”

“I know Lily told you,” he said, setting down his fork, and leaning back in his chair. “She is very good at meddling, just like her mother.”

I cleared my throat. “Gemmadidget Bea and Garnet together …”

He nodded, silent. “To be honest, it doesn’t feel awkward eating alone at Gail’s. Never has. I sort of stumbled into town by accident. The bookstore was vacant, so I asked Gail about the place. That was …” His voice turned tender as he tried to remember. “It was a long time ago.”

I studied his face. He had to have come into town after the fourth book, when Bea and Garnet left, but by taking a look around, and talking with everyone—I couldn’t get a sense for how long ago that was. A few years? A few months? Time felt strange here, like the longer I stayed, the less it moved, but that seemed characteristic of every small town in America.

I wonder what plans Rachel had for you, I thought. I hoped it was a better plan than what life had in store for me after Liam left. No one deserved that kind of heartbreak, not even Anders.

“Can I ask you a question,” I asked, “and you’ll tell me the truth?”

He took another sip of wine. “It depends on the question.”

“Then will you at least tell me if you lie?”

His lips quirked into a half smile. “Sure.”

“Everyone in Eloraton is where the author left them, aren’t they?”

He looked away, running his thumb over the rim of his wineglass,thinking. “Yes,” he finally said, and a knot wound tight in my chest because of just how sad that was—a story, half-done, like a theme park that never closed its doors.

Or a book that you never finished, lying open on the coffee table, half-forgotten and right where you left it years ago.

“And everything is good where it is.”

In a town where the burgers at Gail’s were always burnt, and the inn was in a perpetual state of disrepair, and Frank went fishing every weekend, and the rain always came at dinner and left by midnight.

Not perfect, but good.

Good enough to not want to dance around the idea ofbetter.

“Now, if that’s the only question, I need to find someactualfood before my stomach eats itself,” he said, pushing himself to his feet, grabbing both of our plates and putting them in the sink.

“You’re the one who let me cook,” I replied.

“You offered.”

“Because you asked me red or white!”

He gave a lazy shrug. “Weaponized incompetence.”

I threw my napkin at him, and he dodged it with a chuckle. The edges of his mouth quirked up in a smile he couldn’t quite hide. It slipped across his face, slow and sweet, like molasses. I scowled, realizing that he wasenjoyingbaiting me, and also that I was enjoying being baited by this infuriating, and handsome, fictional man.

Fictional, I had to remind myself.He’s not real.

So I forced myself to my feet and toward the sink to discard any evidence that I had, in fact, been allowed in the kitchen.

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