Page 78 of The Best Parts of Him
“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing at the bookstore?”
Dabbs had looked it up. There were precisely zero events happening today at the B&N in Union Square. Aside from advertising a weekly story time, the website also listed a midnight launch party for the release of a popular young adult fantasy author’s new book, but that wasn’t for another week and a half.
“You’ll find out when you get here,” Ryland said breezily. “So hey, after the bookstore, I want to go to the hotel, fall into bed with you, and not get out except to order dinner. How does that sound?”
More turned on than he had any right to be when sitting in the back of a taxi, Dabbs bit back a groan. “Sounds perfect.”
“How far away are you now?”
“Thirty-nine minutes, Ry.”
“Ugh. You’re so far away.”
They chatted for the entire drive, hanging up only when the taxi driver pulled up to the curb outside the bookstore with its familiar green awning. Dabbs’ door was jerked open before he had time to touch the handle, and in the next second, impatient hands were dragging him out of the car.
He laughed as Ryland pulled him close, and he burrowed his nose in Ryland’s neck where there was a gap between his scarf and his skin. It had been a month since the Pilots’ holiday party—a month since he’d felt this man’s arms around him, and there had been days when Dabbs had felt like he was going to jump out of his own skin because of it. Holding Ryland was magic in a mundane world.
The trunk of a car slamming closed wrenched him out of his Ryland-fugue, and he straightened, already reaching for his wallet. “Sorry.” He smiled sheepishly at the driver, who stood by the back of the car with Dabbs’ suitcase—like he was holding it hostage. “What do I owe you?”
Once he’d squared away his tab, he turned to Ryland and held out a hand. “Come here.”
Their lips met, cold but warming quickly. Ryland rose onto his toes, and Dabbs held him close, wishing he never had to let him go.
Ryland gave him a series of quick kisses, then bounced in place. “Save the rest for later. We’ve gotta go.”
And, grabbing the handle of Dabbs’ suitcase, he began walking down the street.
Away from the bookstore.
“Uh . . . Ry? Aren’t we going in the bookstore?”
“Nope. Well, yes. Just not that bookstore.”
“I’m so confused.”
He followed along behind Ryland anyway, getting more confused by the second.
They headed up what Dabbs thought might be west along East 17th, passing shops and restaurants and a public parking lot that charged thirty bucks a day. On the other side of 5th Avenue, East 17th became West 17th, and Dabbs was no closer to figuring out where they were going. Ugly beige buildings rose on either side of the street, a mix of apartments and office space.
“If we weren’t going into the Barnes & Noble,” Dabbs said, “why did you have me meet you there and not wherever we’re actually going?”
“Because having you meet me where we’re going would’ve spoiled the surprise. Which . . . ” Ryland stopped and made jazz hands. “Surprise.”
Behind him was a children’s bookstore.
“Okay, now I’m really confused,” Dabbs admitted.
Ryland held the door open and waved him in.
Inside was a kid’s dream. Rows of colorful books, fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, and artwork from children’s classics painted on the wall—Winnie the Pooh, Mary Poppins, Clifford the Big Red Dog, Babar, Charlotte’s Web. Dabbs would’ve gotten lost in here for hours as a kid. Hell, he could get lost in here for hours as an adult too.
A voice came from somewhere near the back of the store, too far away for Dabbs to make out the words, though it had the cadence of someone reading aloud. Had they walked in on story time?
“Hi there.” An employee wearing a smile and a name tag that read Marge approached. “Can I help you find anything?”
“We’re here for the event.” Removing his gloves, Ryland pulled out his phone and showed her an email. “That’s my ticket confirmation.”
“Sure. Go on back. The reading has started already, but there should still be some empty seats. The signing will begin after the reading.”
