Page 79 of Love is an Open Book
I frown at the screen. She wouldn’t be asking unless something’s come up, but I absolutely do need help. The con is a huge event, and there’s no way I can manage on my own. Up until recently, she was my assistant at most big events, especially in the summer. Then she got busy with her second master’s degree program, and I hired Lydia, who also assists with shipping, my newsletter, and administrative tasks. But she’s spending the summer in Europe.
“Everything okay?” Gavin’s cheeks are flushed, eyes bright, and I want nothing more than to go on kissing him.
“Kim was supposed to be my assistant at the book con this weekend, but I don’t think she can make it, after all.” Sure enough, another text appears letting me know they had to reschedule a back-to-school picnic. “I’m sure Evie wouldn’t mindfilling in, but she’s signing this weekend, too, and there’s no way I can go it alone.”
“Take me.”
I eye him. “You’ve got better things to do with your weekend. And no offense—” I slide off the desk and press a quick kiss to his lips “—time management is not your forte.”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because one of the things my assistant does is keep me on schedule.” I put the lid on a plastic bin full of books. “I’m on two panels, and with the long lines, it’ll be easy for me to lose track of time.”
“So I’ll set a timer.” He starts to sit in my chair but thinks better of it, leaning against the desk instead. “I’m used to running full shifts at work.”
“Your employees have nothing on eager fans who’ve waited in line for hours.” Meeting readers in person is my favorite non-writing aspect of my job, but it’s also overwhelming and draining at times.
“Try me.” He kisses me again, on my neck this time, his hand straying to my waist.
It’s tempting, but he’s already done so much for me this summer. “You’d be stuck inside all day,” I murmur, eyes falling closed. “Pretty much your least favorite.”
“Being around you is my favorite.” His thumb traces the skin above my waistband, and it’s hard not to melt into him.
“You won’t be saying that when you’re juggling Post-it notes and the map of the convention hall.”
“If you can plant trees for me, I can get out of my comfort zone for you.”
“Is this your attempt at fish-out-of-water?”
He shakes his head, stubble grazing my cheek. “I never needed an excuse to be near you.” His blue eyes connect with mine. “But I’m guessing none of this at the booth?” He smirks, but his eyes are serious.
That breaks through the haze. I want to keep things between us a little longer, but I feel bad asking him to pretend again. “Let’s get through this weekend, and I’ll finish my draft, then once it’s turned in, we can tell everyone that...” At a loss, I look to him. How will we frame it?
“That we’re not just friends anymore,” he says, like it’s that simple. And maybe, hopefully, it is.
“We’re out of sticky notes.” Gavin squats down next to where I’m seated at the signing table so I can hear him in the crowded convention hall. The two-day event kicked off this morning and will wrap up on Saturday evening, but I checked in to the hotel last night to get settled in. Gavin had to open the garden center this morning then took the rest of the day off to help.
He dressed up for the occasion in a button-down shirt and gray chinos paired with low-top Chucks. With his glossy hair freshly trimmed, and the sleeves he’s rolled up to his elbows not doing a thing to disguise his muscles, he looks more than cover-model worthy.
But I need to focus on the issue at hand, not ogle my former friend. We pass out sticky notes for readers to write their names on while they’re waiting in line, and the last thing I want to do is misspell someone’s name.
“There are more in the clear storage bin,” I say through a smile, cheeks stiff after a couple hours of this, then finish my signature and slide the book back toward a beaming reader. So far, I’ve been able to deflect questions about the next book, and I hold out hope that today will go off without a hitch.
“I checked there, and there aren’t any. Not in the crates, either,” he adds.
I’m sure there are, because I checked everything off on my laminated packing list. But I’m too distracted to tell him where to look.
“Meghan with anh,” the woman in front of me says, liftingher badge with her pronouns and first name in front of me. But it’s too late, I’ve already writtenMegan. “Don’t worry about it,” she says, waving me off, but I’m not about to let her cart around a book personalized with the wrong spelling.
“Gavin, can you pass me another copy ofRosette?” This is the last one we had on the table.
“Uh, and that would be where?” He’s glancing around, hands in his pockets, as if the book will appear out of thin air. My assistant would know exactly where to look, my sister, too, because she would’ve taken notes when I explained everything in painstaking detail. Gavin had just tapped his temple and told me he’d remember.
Except now he doesn’t, and since he’s the one who brought in most of the supplies while I set up, neither do I. “Um, in whatever box the rest of the series is in.”
“It’s fine,” the woman repeats, with a nervous glance at the winding line.
“No, really, I insist.” I swivel on my folding chair, the metal digging into my seat bones after two hours of signing, and see Gavin digging in a bin of what’s clearly just bookmarks and stickers. “Never mind.” The words come out terse, and I paste on a smile. “I’ll find it.”
