Page 14 of Drawn Together
Goodness, just kiss him already, Maria. It’s been thirty-two chapters of glancing touches, forbidden longing, and sexually tense chess matches, and I’m now listening at 2.75x speed just to get through this emotional edging.
I’m standing behind the counter at the bookstore, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and a clipboard that I’ve scribbled somany little hedgehogs and bunnies on that it’s got a whole woodland border.
Every inch of the store smells like dust jackets and the ghost of spilled pumpkin chai lattes from seasons past. The front windows are fogged slightly from the overworked radiator, and the flickering ceiling bulb near the true crime section is giving horror-movie jump scares. It’s rare that I’m the only one here, but the usual afternoon shift worker, Cliff, said he had to leave early to finish his exact replica of his Naruto costume for an upcoming convention, so here we are.
I’m trying to take inventory, but I’m juggling my phone between the crook of my neck and a clipboard in my hands while scanning the barcodes of new arrivals. My pen is dying—its pretty, smooth ink dried to a scratchy ballpoint—my phone is threatening to slip, Maria is whispering breathlessly about petticoats and forbidden castles, the steady thrum of Edith’s autumn playlist keeps getting stuck on Frank Sinatra’s ‘You Make Me Feel So Young,’ and all I can think about is Buddy the Elf. It's pure chaos in here tonight.
I’m so caught up in said chaos that I don’t register the soft jingle of the front doorbell—despite having flipped the sign to ‘closed’ half an hour ago. My hands continue to move of their own accord—scan the barcode, check the clipboard, mark the inventory off, set the book on the cart to be shelved before I leave. Wash, rinse, repeat.
Maria’s head is leaning close to the pirate, and she is going on and on about destined futures and something else I am blocking out, because I cannot get this stupid pen to work right. I mean, it’s a brand new one out of the box in the back, how could I possibly have broken it that quick—
“Do you think they’re about to kiss?”
A voice—sharp and sudden—slices through the quiet air. Fletcher is leaning over the other side of the counter, elbowpropped right next to my stack of new thrillers to scan. I jump so violently my phone is hurled across the room. It clatters to the floor and skids directly into the YA anime section— the single worst place for Maria and…Whatshisname to consummate their centuries-old slow burn.
The audiobook does not stop.
Maria gasps, breathless and doomed, “Take me, even if it damns us both—”
Good God. I dive for the phone like it’s a live grenade set to go off any second. My fingers are frantic on the device, and the volume somehow increases. Maria moans. I fumble. Fletcher is here. I hit everything but the pause button. My camera opens, my thumb slips and takes a picture of Fletcher’s shoes, and I frantically lock it so many times that I have ten seconds before my phone automatically calls emergency services—a feature Sloane insisted on prior to my move that I would now like a time travel machine back to tell myself not to do.
Or maybe I would use the machine to go back to the last thirty seconds of my life and just wipe the memory clean.
My thumb slams against the pause button, just in time for Maria to whisper something about lace and sacrifice. I am left with flushed cheeks and awkward silence.
Fletcher has yet to move from his position at the desk, beyond a single eyebrow quirk.
“Can I help you?” I clear my throat and hold my clipboard, like I’m the pinnacle of professionalism.
He raises the other hand behind the counter, and a familiar flash of green pops up. “You forgot your jacket the other night.”
“You took my jacket the other night,” I correct.
“It was an accident.”
“Well, you can give it back now.”
My face is still so hot that I don’t know if I’ll ever need a jacket again. But, I am no fan of Fletcher having something of mine,so I reach my hand out, palm up, with what little of my pride remains intact.
Fletcher nods and replies simply, “I will.” But, he makes no move to actually give it to me. When I stretch my hand out to grab the fleece zip-up, he stretches his arm back for miles. “In a few minutes.”
“A few minutes?”
I still can’t get the image out of my mind of this man hearing bodices being ripped and getting his own taste of what a desperate man sounds like. I can’t handle another thirty seconds of this, let alone a few minutes.
He reads my face with a considering expression. “It might be shorter than that.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“If you had turned off your…book sooner, we would probably have been done by now.”
It’s not like I wasn’t making a valiant effort, but okay. “Been done with what?”
My feet have me slowly backing up to the desk behind me, so I can hide my phone and pray with all my being that nothing else comes out of it.
“I prefer this conversation just between us.” Fletcher dips his chin at my phone. “So, if you could leave those two alone to wrap it up, that would be great.”
I narrow my eyes and direct him to a secluded space. “By all means, then, let’s get on with it.”
