Page 62 of Love in the Stacks
After I get cleaned up, we walk slowly back to her apartment, stealing kisses every few yards. In late spring in St. Anastasia, the jasmine vines blossom with delicate white flowers exploding onto greenery across the city. The heavy, sweet aroma of the jasmine blossoms wafts into the streets. It’s a heady combination: Nicole’s lips and the fragrant, sultry smell of jasmine. It's a scent I know I’ll forevermore associate with this night, with this woman, and with this start of a dream come true.
Chapter twenty-nine
Nicole
I’m grinning. I’m grinning and I can’t stop. And I don’t care. I’ve never felt so swept away. I reflect on every romance book I’ve read, the phase when the heroine is so enamored with her paramour that she can’t focus and can’t concentrate on anything else. To be honest, it always sounded like a bunch of rubbish to me. None of my personal experiences with romance up to this point have ever felt like this—so light, so hopeful, so full of promise.
Adam and I text all through the weekend. Memes, of course, but just idle chatter, too. He sends me a meme that says:
Good Flirts: I’m enjoying getting to know you and don’t want it to stop.
Better Flirts: I’m trying so hard not to kiss you right now.
Me Flirting: Did you know, according to NASA, 1993’s Jurassic Park is the 7th most scientifically accurate film ever made?
I answer with a laughing emoji and then a kissy face emoji and the words “Obviously your brand of flirting works for me.”
I know. We’re disgusting. And I don’t care.
You know when you’re down about something, a breakup maybe, and you just wallow in your cruddy emotions? Eating your feelings and bumming around watching comfort movies? My Saturday is the opposite of that. Instead of wallowing, I’m luxuriating in my giddy emotions. Forgetting to eat and sighing dreamily through my romance books, my heart jumping every time my phone pings.
On Sunday, Adam has my favorite sandwich delivered to my door. With a side of tater tots.
I call him after the delivery guy leaves. When he answers, I just say, “You sure know the way to a woman’s heart.”
“Yeah?” he asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Yeah,” I reply. “Tater tots.”
His rich laugh echoes over the phone line. “I’m glad you like them,” he says. “But listen, can I come over for a couple of hours this afternoon? I want to talk to you.”
With his change in tone from flirty to serious, my stomach clenches. “That doesn’t sound great,” I say.
“No, Nicole, I promise. Nothing like that. But if you’re free…” He trails off.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, trying to sound breezy.
“Okay. About two o’clock?”
“Sure,” I answer.
“But, seriously, Nicole,” he says softly. “I know this is the exact wrong thing to say to you, but please don’t worry.”
“Worry is my default setting,” I joke weakly.
“I know,” he murmurs. “But you don't need to with me. Ever. You'll see.”
Over the next couple of hours, I try “not worrying” as Adam requested, but I’m going a little stir crazy. I’m writing a mental list of anything and everything this talk might be about. I think I’m up to one hundred items. Maybe he likes me, but like, doesn’t think he has time to date right now. Or maybe after spending more time with me, he doesn’t like me as much as he thought he would and figures it will be easier to break things off now. Oh, maybe he’s moving. I gasp aloud. Maybe he’s dying!
Promptly at two o’clock, a knock sounds on my door. I open it to reveal Adam, looking delicious in basketball shorts and a white T-shirt that’s tight across his chest and arms. He hasn’t shaved, and the scruff covering his jawline makes my fingers ache to scratch against his chin. He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers and several leaves of paper. He holds out the flowers and I take them as he kisses me softly on the cheek, his stubble scraping against my face.
“Hi,” he says in my ear. He takes a step back, closing the door behind him. “I brought the flowers as a romantic gesture,” he explains, “because I recognize that the main reason for my visit today is very, uh…” he grimaces, “not romantic.”
“Oo-kaay,” I respond.
As we move further into the living room, I realize this is the first time he’s really been inside my apartment. He looks around the spacecuriously, drifting over to the bookcase and skimming the titles on the spines.
“You read romance?” he asks.
