Page 56 of A Novel Love Story

“You can leave the dishes,” he said, rolling up his shirtsleeves, and taking the sponge and plate from my hand. “You cooked, after all.”

“You mean almost poisoned you with sugared spaghetti,” I remarked, taking the dish back. “This is my penance.”

He wrinkled his nose. “You won’t take no for an answer, will you?”

I inclined my head. “No.”

“Very well. You wash, I’ll dry them? And then … how do you feel about pizza? I think Luigi’s is still open for another half hour.”

I finished scrubbing the dish and rinsed it off in the sink. “Pizza is agreeable,” I replied—and turned off the water. Something was off. I listened, but at first I couldn’t place it.

He took out his cell phone and punched in a number he got from a flyer on the fridge. “Pepperoni or—”

“Shh,” I muttered, and pressed my fingers against his lips.

Out the window, dusk had slowly fallen into night, a bluish color that I hadn’t seen since arriving here. Mostly because it’d been raining—

“Do you hear that?” I asked in awe, and looked up at him for confirmation—and realized just how close we were again. My fingers were still against his lips, and he hadn’t made a move to remove them. I did quickly, and pressed my hand against my chest. My fingers tingled where they had touched his mouth. “Sorry, sorry—I just—I wanted to hear if …”

His gaze strayed to the window, too. His eyebrows furrowed, like he couldn’t quite believe what he heard—or didn’t hear, actually. He stepped close to the window and pushed it open. A strong, humid summer breeze swelled into the kitchen, carrying with it the scent of wet grass.

But it was no longer raining.

“Is this normal?” I asked, thinking that maybe the rain only came on certain nights, but the look on his face told me otherwise.

“No,” he replied, and returned a puzzled look to me, as if I was a new detail in a story that didn’t quite make sense anymore. “This is new.”

“Do you want to …”

The moment he nodded, we abandoned the kitchen for the front door. Anders flung it open, and there were crickets and a night sky and the sweet smell of summer.

No rain.

No thunder.

I followed him through the bookstore, and came out the front, and down the stairs. The town was still wet, but the sky was already clearing up, stars peeking out. Anders stepped onto the sidewalk, staring up with confused wide-eyed wonder.

It wasn’t raining.

Itwasn’t raining.

We made our way to the street, where Gail and her patrons had come out, too. Maya stepped out of the sweets shop, Junie from the garden shop, arms full of ferns for the inn, Lyssa behind her. We all stared up at the sky. And then someone laughed, and someone else cheered, and people were running down the street, arms out, because itwasn’t raining.

For the first time in ages, there were stars.

And then I felt Anders’s gaze on me, and I tensed. Was this my fault? Had I done this, somehow? Chased the rain away?

“Well,” said Gail, putting her hands on her hips, “I think this means I can open the patio. Frank, you get off your ass and come help me get the chairs down—I don’tcareif you just came back from fishing. Up, up!” She turned back inside the bar, and the small patio beside the building flickered to life with hanging lights. I looked up at the thousands of stars, and the almost-full moon, relieved to find out that the sky I knew was still the same sky here.Maybe the stars were a little brighter, the moonlight more silver, but still the same.

Anders’s gaze hadn’t left me, and finally, I gathered up my courage and returned it. He didn’t look mad, at least.

“Well? Gail’s, then? We can sit out on the patio,” he said.

“I could go for some onion rings,” I replied, and he went back inside and gathered his wallet and a light jacket, which he handed to me in case I caught a chill. I pulled the burgundy jacket over my shoulders, and we sat down on the patio and shared onion rings, and Gail kept serving us a steady stream of house wine and beer. Soon Will and Junie showed up with a dark-haired, gangly man in tow. Thomas, I guessed, since Gemma was at home with Lily watchingJeopardy!, and Maya came a little later, walking Houndstooth, her black Great Dane. We sat around the tables on the patio, the gas firepit crackling in the corner, and chatted—Anders and Thomas talked about a book they’d read, some memoir, and I couldn’t help but imagine what Anders would look like, sitting at Pru’s reclaimed wood dining room table, chatting with Jasper, stealing glances across the table at me.

He’d sneak a grin, maybe a wink, as Jasper waxed on about copyright law and evil corporations that are holding stories hostage, and I’d half listen as Pru ranted about her latest romantasy read, and the worst part was?

I could see it. Clear as day.

---