Page 92 of I Heart Mason Cartwright
My phone beeps.
ZACH: Hey, do you remember if there was a copy ofStrangers on a Trainin the Noir section?
ME: Not sure. Want me to check?
ZACH: If you don’t mind. Highsmith is the author.
ME: Smart to tell me. Thanks!
I place books in our seats to save them, just in case someone else comes back here. I think it’s funny that Zach has started reading Noir since having a few book conversations with Mason. I head to the section and find the Hs. There’s a guy kneeling in the aisle looking at the bottom shelf. Kind of scruffy looking, wearing dirty shorts, a flannel shirt with maybe another shirt under it, and a grungy baseball cap. A semi-full, uneven beard covers his face. When I get closer to him, I realize he’s right in front of the Hs.
Figures.
I lean back on the adjacent shelving and wait for him to finish. He finds the book he’s looking for and straightens. He’s tall. He’s got almost half a foot on me. I wish I read more. I could strike up a conversation with this guy, who is obviously a reader, and maybe we’d fall in love and live happily ever after. And I could wake up each day thinking, Mason who?
He turns.
I feel faint.
Unless I’m mistaken . . . oh holy hells balls!
