Page 5 of Love is an Open Book
His mouth quirks up and he eyes me speculatively. “Nice to meet you, Mia Brady. I can totally see that on the cover of a bestselling book.”
“Says the guy who doesn’t like to read.” I let go of his hand and shift to sit cross-legged, facing him. “And what does that even mean, by the way? You can’t dislikeallbooks. There areso many genres. Thrillers, graphic novels, biographies... My personal favorite, romance.”
“Most of the books I’ve read are just sad.” His tone sounds dubious. “They’re all about human suffering and tragedy. People die.”
I remember telling my English teacher something similar. To confirm my hunch, I ask, “What books have you been reading?”
He bites his lip, a flush blooming on his cheekbones. “Lately? None. But in high school we readThe Great Gatsby.Grapes of Wrath. That one about the guy and the fish.”
“The Old Man and the Sea?” I ask, stifling a grin at his description.
“Yeah, I think so,” he says. “So depressing.”
“But okay, those were required reading. Fun novels exist.”
His eyes dart to the pages in my lap, then back up, like he doesn’t want to violate my privacy. “Is yours fun?”
Surreal to hear him refer to my manuscript like it’s an actual novel. “That’s what I’m going for. But it’s hard to be objective about my own writing.” Hence why I asked Ted’s opinion. He’s always carrying around the latest bestseller, and I figured he’d be the perfect person to give me feedback. Guess I was wrong about him in more ways than one.
“I could read it, if you want.” Gavin’s unexpected offer breaks through my musing.
Flustered, I lift my gaze to his face. “Let the guy who hates books read my first attempt at one?”
“Yeah. If I like it, you’ll know it’s great.”
“Pretty sure you’re not my target audience.” I’m not clear on who exactly my “target audience” is, but it’s been mentioned often enough on the writing blogs I’ve started reading that figuring it out must be important.
“You said it’s fun, right? I like fun.” The corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile. “But no pressure.”
It doesn’t feel like he’s pressuring me. His interest in my story, inme, makes it feel like tonight is more beginning than end. The start of something. “You want me to hand over my story to someone I just met?”
“Give us a little more credit,” he says. “Our friendship is sealed with breaking and entering.” All sparkling blue eyes and casual eagerness, he grins at me. “Ride-or-die shit. You said it yourself.”
Prompted by a rush of feeling too intense for a chance meeting in a deserted hallway, I pass him the pages. “Just don’t leave me hanging for a whole semester, okay? Even if you hate it.” Criticism, constructive or not, would be worlds better than getting ghosted again.
He takes the pages, but when I try to hand back the plant, he shakes his head. “Keep it.”
“You’re giving me Frank?” Already it’s more than a plant. It’s a piece of Gavin, and he’s offering it to me.
There’s that smile again, like he’s pleased I remembered its name. “I’ve already got plenty of plants. You’re giving me your book. Only fair you have something of mine.”
“He won’t last a week with me.” But I can picture how cheerful it would be to wake up to the bright green leaves fanned out against the window that catches the morning sun.
“Don’t underestimate yourself.” He’s talking about taking care of the plant, but he’s right. I’ve been sticking with what’s safe. Look where that left me.
“I’ll do my best.” My palms curl around the terra-cotta pot.
When I step out into the snowy night a few minutes later, I hold it against my chest, coat draped protectively over the leaves. Tonight I lost a boyfriend, but I learned a valuable lesson: Never let romance ruin a good thing. And becoming friends with Gavin feels like a very good thing.
Two
Mia
Present Day
My sister throws open the front door of her apartment and pulls me into a hug. “Thanks for showing up.”
The silky bonnet covering Kim’s curls brushes my cheek, and when she pulls away, I can’t help but notice her moving-day outfit of cotton shorts and a T-shirt with the mascot of the high school where she was just hired as assistant principal is nearly identical to the writer-on-deadline style she teases me about.
