Page 67 of Love in the Stacks
He thinks a minute. “Brick red when you interviewed, then a cotton candy pink, but only for a few months.”
“Yeah, I didn’t like the pink as much as I thought I would,” I interject.
Adam continues, “Then like this teal color for a while, and now the lavender. Plus, your blonde hair in the picture.”
My eyes widen, my face buried in his chest. “Wow, you really have been obsessed with me for awhile, haven’t you?”
Instead of blushing or hiding, he uses the side of his index finger to tip up my chin, so we’re face to face. “Let’s just say I noticed you from the beginning and could never look away.”
The mooshy feeling is back. I lift myself onto my toes and skim my lips against the underside of his chin. He lowers his head and meets my mouth. After a few minutes, I push my hand against his chest and break away.
“Joan is waiting for us,” I remind him.
We’re quiet in the car, each of us lost in our thoughts. Then I say, “Isn’t it interesting how someone can be totally obsessed with another person, and if the other person feels the same way, it’s sweet, but if they don’t, it’s stalking?”
Adam barks out a laugh. “What?”
“I mean, if Herb had never stuck you on the graphic novel project with me or you never worked up the courage to, you know, actually pursue me, how long until the status quo would have become creepy?”
He snorts. “Are you calling me a stalker?”
I shrug. “I mean, notexactly, but…”
He shakes his head and glances at me briefly before turning his eyes back to the road. “Yes, I think that whether the attention is welcome is an important boundary line between romantic intentions and stalking. Did you ever feel uncomfortable around me? Honestly.”
I consider the question, recalling our interactions throughout the last six months and before. “No,” I admit. “Even after I realized you had a crush on me, I always thought you were respectful, if a bit obvious.” I smirk.
Adam purses his lips, then reaches across the center console and takes my hand. “You know,” he hums, “sometimes in the two years since I met you, I would look at you while you were lost in thought, in your own little world, and wonder, ‘What goes on in her head? What is she like when her guard is down, and she feels safe to be herself?’”
“Aww,” I coo. “And now you know.”
He squeezes my hand. “Now I know,” he agrees. His tone turns playful. “And I regret it just a little bit.”
I gasp and push his hand away while he laughs. “Back at you, buddy,” I mutter sardonically, but I pull his hand back and press a kiss to his palm. He closes his fingers around it and grazes his knuckles across my thigh.
“I don’t regret it at all,” he concedes. “And I’m looking forward to learning everything else.”
The conversation reminds me of something Molly said in New Orleans. I clear my throat.
“Adam,” I start, heart thumping in my chest. “Did I ever take advantage of your feelings for me?”
“No,” he says quickly.
“Really?” I ask, peering over at him, my eyebrows raised. “I know I must have sent you a lot of mixed signals. I actually hadn’t been to therapy since I moved here. The hassle of finding somebodynew and intake appointments and everything. But I had my first appointment with a new therapist last week after we got back from the conference while you were visiting your mom. I think … I think my brain was trying to protect me. After everything with my ex, my brain labeled all romantic relationships as a threat. I think I was literally in the clinical definition of denial. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“Hey,” he says softly, squeezing my hand, “it doesn’t matter. We’re together now.”
I shake my head. “But it does matter,” I protest. “Youmatter. I promise I’ll do better.”
My relationship with Steven shattered me; I placed my trust in him when he never deserved it, and it made me question my own judgment—how I could have read the situation so wrong. Adam has been showing me for months now that he’s trustworthy, that he cares about me, and that my feelings matter. Even while I was outwardly keeping him at arm’s length, my subconscious recognized Adam as a refuge—his predictability and steadiness are a balm to my anxious brain, especially compared to what I went through with Steven. More than a refuge, really, because I don’t want to use Adam to hide away from the world, I want us to confront the world together. Now that I’ve finally recognized, in spite of my anxiety brain, that I want to be with him, I’m not holding back. I know I can fall for him easily—I think I’m more than halfway there already.
Adam cooks us a chicken dish with vegetables and some kind of delicious sauce that probably contains magic. I don’t ask because I don’t want to know too much and spoil the illusion.
Joan is almost as excited to see me as I am to see her, and while Adam cooks, Joan and I cuddle on the couch.
After dinner, I take advantage of our new relationship status to choose what we watch. I know he’ll yield to whatever I want. I suggest my comfort show,Gilmore Girls. I’m surprised that Adam’s never seen it, not even one episode. So, we start at season one, episode one in Luke’s Diner with Lorelai begging for coffee.
After the second episode, I stand. “It’s getting late,” I say. “Are you about ready to drive me home?”
