Page 61 of Book and Ladder
I want the host ofBurning Through the Pages.
No one else makes me feel giddy and grounded at once.
I’m utterly doomed.
I’ve got a crush on a man I’ll never meet. Might as well pine for Mr. Darcy—I’ve got the same odds with him as with my online mystery man.
Chet and I walk to our cars. He asks if he can give me a hug, and I say yes. I try to muster anything but a fondness when I’m being held by him. Still nothing. Friends it is.
I drive home, wistfulness pooling in my chest—part worryover Moss and Maple, part letdown from another “not my man” night.
And, speaking of “not my man,” Patrick happens to be on the porch when I pull up.
He doesn’t move as I climb the porch steps, just watches me draw closer.
“Daisy,” he says cautiously.
I haven’t seen Patrick since the fire station book pickup—and that’s been just fine by me.
“Patrick,” I answer him.
He simply stands there, staring.
“I … uh …” he stammers.
His hand lifts, then drops to his side, fist curling tight.
Was he reaching for me? No. Of course not.
The porch light carves shadows over the sharp lines of his jaw, and his gaze burns through the dark, undimmed.
I cross my arms, waiting for whatever he needs to say.
When he stays silent, I huff, unlock my door, and all but slam it behind me.
Chet left me lukewarm. Patrick? He sets me on fire.That man!
What’s crazy? I want to fling the door open and shake him. Pound my fists against his chest. Release the chaos swirling through me. The pull is magnetic. But our poles repel.
In the best of worlds, we’d turn back time. He wouldn’t have stranded me, wrecking my dream with his misplaced loyalty to his family. And his dad wouldn’t return to Waterford hell-bent on overshadowing and eliminating my shop.
“Then what?” I whisper.
The answer chills me. I snap the deadbolt with a clammy hand.
I eye my laptop. Is it healthy to lean on the host of BTTP as my emotional support person? Who knows. What I doknow: he’s been there, freely giving advice, in my corner—a true friend.
I settle into my couch, tugging the cushions just right, and pull my laptop onto my lap.
I literally release a contented sigh as I open the DMs. I’ll take a shot at him actually being online.
M&M: You’re going to think I’m terrible.
His cursor blinks to life, and I can’t stop my smile.
BTTP:I won’t, because you’re not. What’s up?
M&M: Confession: my neighbor is getting on my last nerve. I’m trying to be neighborly. He’s impossible.
