Page 60 of Love in the Stacks
“Hey,” I say gently, tapping the top of her hand across the table. “What’s going on?”
“Well, it’s just…” she hesitates and then blurts, “this is a date, right?”
“Yes,” I say firmly. “This is absolutely a date.”
“Okay, because it’s just I wasn’t totally sure, and I know we held hands in New Orleans and my sisters were like definitely it’s a date, but maybe I was reading too much into things?” She looks down at her plate.
This tentative, unsure version of Nicole kills me. At work, she’s the picture of confidence and strength. Never hesitating to speak up in meetings. I would never have known, had she not told me, the way she agonizes over each conversation after the fact, obsessing over her choice of words and the reactions of others in the room. It strikes me then that knowing this about Nicole, knowing the parts of her that she keeps hidden, is a privilege. I’m honored by her trust. And though she fears that sharing these parts of herself will drive people away, for me, I’ve never wanted to be closer to her more than I do now. She’s no longer the Nicole I saw in my early infatuation, pretty, but two-dimensional, hazy at the edges. She’s in focus now, a full person with depth and weakness and joyful beauty. A person who loves tater tots but doesn’t think she ought to eat too many. Who makes bold choices, and then overthinks the risks when it’s already too late to turn back. Who charms the whole room but allows fewpeople to see who she is beneath the sparkling personality and fearful of rejection.
“Nicole,” I say, wanting her full attention. “Look at me.” She raises her eyes, and I hate the uncertainty I see on her face. I reach across the table and take her hand in mine. “You’re not reading too much into this. To any of it. I like you. I like you a lot, actually. I want to date you.”
“You do?” she whispers.
“I’ve never wanted anything more.” The truth of that statement hits me in the chest as I say it. She’s it for me. I knew it the minute I saw her standing in the doorway of my office.
She slowly smiles then, her lips curving up shyly. “Okay,” she says softly.
She picks her fork up and takes a bite of her braised short rib. My eyes track the movement up to her mouth. “So delicious,” she sighs.
My whole body heats, and I let myself imagine, just for a moment, what her lips would taste like.
She looks up at me then and blushes at whatever she sees on my face.
“What?”
I clear my throat. “Nothing,” I say.
The moment passes, and we fill the rest of the time eating and chatting with our typical ease. She catches me up on the library gossip from the week, and I recount my trip to Naples.
“Do you want to get dessert?” I ask as we finish our meals.
Nicole groans and rubs her stomach, then brightens. “Can we get ice cream?” she asks. “Somewhere else?”
“Anything you want,” I say. “Do you want to walk a bit first?”
Nicole shrugs. “Sure.”.
After I pay the check, we leave the restaurant and start walking. I take her hand right away and guide our steps to the waterfront. We walk all the way down the sidewalk by the water, and then back, holding hands and talking about everything and nothing.
We turn down Cannon Street, a narrow pedestrian thoroughfare lined with restaurants and shops. We stop at a shop known for its chocolates, but that also has amazing ice cream. We both order waffle cones—she chooses chocolate chip cookie dough and laughs at my order: Superman swirl.
“No, nuh-uh,” she laughs. “You are not ordering Superman ice cream.”
“Sure I am,” I shrug. “I like the fruit flavors.”
She rolls her eyes as we step outside the shop and find an empty bench. “This is like the sour gummy worms all over again,” she sighs.
I sit first on one end of the concrete bench backed up against the smooth stucco wall of the candy shop. My pulse ratchets up when Nicole sits directly next to me, our thighs touching.
She’s still teasing me as we start eating our ice cream. “That’s the ice cream Mr. July is going to order? Really?” Her eyes sparkle.
I groan. “You’re never going to forget that story, are you?”
She leans toward me, her shoulder only just brushing against my arm. I instinctively angle closer, and I’m staring into her eyes, our lips inches apart. “Never ever,” she hums, before tilting her body away again. I catch my breath as she focuses on her ice cream.
I look up to see Nicole watching me over her cone. “Can I ask you a question?”
I grin. “You just did.”
