Page 73 of The Fear of Falling
“If you’re offering, I’ll take the help, but that’s the easy part.” But I really mean stressful because there are so many ways to organize a bookshelf, but I’m not about to tell him that I’ll likely move the books multiple times before I’m satisfied with the setup.
With eyebrows furrowed, he takes in the dozens of piles littered around my apartment again. “Where do we start?”
We. It takes all my self-control to hold back asqueeand remain composed. “I like to dedicate a shelf to my favorites. Maybe we start there?” I point to a pile only a few feet away from him.
“Favorites, huh?” He lifts the entire pile with ease—what I wouldn’t give for bigger hands—and starts reading the spines as he heads into the book nook. “Pride and Prejudicemakes sense, and so doesTreasure Island, but I did not expect to seeDunemake the list. Was this in the wrong pile?”
With my own armful of books, which is much smaller than Benson’s load, I nod to the shelf where he should put the books and give him a big smile. “Nope, it’s actually a favorite.”
“Huh.” He deposits the books in his hands and straightens them. “I didn’t think people read the book. I thought we all relied on the weirdness of the original movie to understand what the story was about. At least until the new movies came out, though they’re lacking in ginger-haired Sting.”
“I haven’t seen any of the movies,” I admit, laughing when Benson gapes at me. “But the book is great. It’s bold, you know? Frank Herbert went all in with his world building in a way no one else was doing at the time, and he wasn’t afraid to address the problems that come from certain kinds of politics. And all through that he had an unconventional hero in a story about religion, environmentalism, free will and fate…” I should stop myself before I get carried away.
I reach out and stroke the spine of my well-loved copy. “It’s not an easy read, but there’s so much to learn from it, you know?”
Benson blinks wordlessly, looks at the book, looks at me, back at the book, and then pulls out his phone. I have to rise on my toes to see what he’s doing, but my heart warms when I see him order the eBook ofDune. “What books are next?” he asks, slipping his phone back into his pocket like ordering one of my favorite books wasn’t an adorably sweet thing to do.
I should set him loose and send him home, but I don’t want to. Moving furniture and talking about books feels nice. It feels real. And Benson needs more of that. He needs genuine connection with people. Friends to make sure he’s never lonely. Someone to care about him enough to ask him to stay.
“I have all the R&Q books, and after that we can tackle romance.” I smile, laughing when he turns a deep red. “Books,” I clarify, though I’m not opposed to real romance. “There are a lot of them.”
He doesn’t make a comment, simply following me to the living room to grab another pile of books.
Chapter 25
Benson
Atsomepointyou’dthink I’d learn. Flirting over text is bad. Flirting at the office is bad. Flirting in Avery’s house while sorting books is very, very bad.
I’ve been ignoring the clock on my phone as it keeps creeping toward midnight. I’ve been ignoring the sting of exhaustion behind my eyes despite desperately needing to get more than one good night’s sleep a week. I’ve been ignoring the phone call I got this afternoon from the company in Australia, who told me the consultant they hired backed out of the job and they will do whatever it takes to get me to work with them starting next week.
My attention has been entirely on Avery. On the way she lights up every time I ask her about a book. She hasn’t read everything in her library, and yet even the books she hasn’t read bring a sparkle to her eyes as she tells me who recommended them or why the covers convinced her to buy them.
It’s clear this is one of Avery’s passions and she was meant to work in books, and I can’t fault Eric for following her into acareer he never would have chosen for himself had he not met her. If I didn’t have an established business and the looming potential of turning it into something more, tonight’s bookshelf adventure would have convinced me to follow Avery to the ends of the publishing world.
I thought I discovered the “real” Avery in Florence when I coaxed her out of her strict schedule, but I’m starting to think I was wrong. I saw hints of her, of course, when architecture surprised her or she tasted something delicious, but it wasn’t until tonight that I finally saw what makes her tick and brings her joy. She is a woman who loves the human experience in all its forms.
“And that’s why everyone should readPeter Panas an adult,” she says, finishing her explanation of why Disney’s movie doesn’t do the book justice. She adds another book to a stack on an overflowing shelf and frowns when she needs to find a place for another book. I’ve already rearranged the books for her three times because I could see in her eyes that she wasn’t satisfied with the current setup, but now we’re at a point where she’s simply out of space.
“You were right,” I admit.
“I’m always right.” She smirks at me as she sends my words back to me. “But what was I right about this time?”
“You need another shelf.”
She sighs and nods. “I really do. But then I’ll have to reorganize everything again, so maybe I should shift things now and plan ahead.”
When she reaches up, ready to pull a whole stack of books from a shelf above her head, I’m exhausted just thinking about moving these books again. And Avery was already tired to begin with after the day she had today. So before she can get a firm grip on the books, I grab her around the waist and drag her from the shelves.
Unfortunately, I misjudge the size of the room and topple backward onto the massive armchair in the corner, bringing Avery with me. We sink into the cushion, much deeper than I anticipate, and I already know this was a bad move.
“This is comfier than I expected,” I murmur, all too aware of my arms holding Avery pressed to my chest when I should be letting go.
She wiggles a little, like she wants to get free, but instead of getting up when I loosen my grip, she adjusts herself to sit at an angle, her head tucked under my chin and her legs over mine. It’s a big enough chair that she isn’t sitting on me anymore, which makes this spot all the more comfortable. “I’ve shared this chair a lot over the years,” she murmurs, “but never like this.”
Ugh, she’d better not tell me this was her make-out chair with Eric.
Giggling, she lifts her hand to stroke my jaw. “You just got all tense. Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong. Sadie, Dani, and I used to sit and read in this chair when we were kids.”
