versions, especially of classics they can get cheap or even free. Or they get them out of the library.” He put the book back down. “I order fewer books than I have students, and I still end up with too many. I’ll assign it again in a few years, and Chris will sell them to a new group of kids.”
I stared hard at the book display. “Recycle your assignments. Sure.” I didn’t want to talk about his students or their reading lists. But that seemed to be where we were.
“Hey.” His voice dropped an octave, and when I looked up he was studying me with concern in his eyes. “What’s the matter?”
I shrugged out of the hand he started to place on my arm. His touch was too confusing right now.
His face fell, but he didn’t reach for me again; his hands went into his front pockets. “Come on, Emily. Talk to me.”
Oh, God. I’d put that uncertain look on his face, and I hated myself for it. Give the guy a chance, April had said. Okay. I took a deep breath for courage. “I need to know how you want me to play this.”
“Play what?” He looked flummoxed.
“This.” I fluttered a hand in the space between the two of us. “I told you, Chris knows. The banner ad, remember? So how do you want me to act on Saturday? Just . . . same as ever?” I choked on those words, because that was the last thing I wanted. I wanted to be kissing him right now. But I soldiered on. “Because I can do that, if that’s what you want. Go back to that. If you want.” My breath came fast in my chest and I was repeating myself, babbling like a robot starting to break down. But the thought of going back to the way things had been with Simon hurt more than I had thought possible.
“No. Hey . . .” He reached for my arm again but stopped himself, his fingers flexing in the space between us. “Why would you think that? What did I do?”
“Nothing.” This was terrible. He’d looked so happy the morning before at his kitchen table, and I’d ruined it all. Could I fix this? I reached for him this time, and he let me take his hand. “This is all me. This is your town, you know? These are your people. And I . . .” I took a shaky breath as his thumb stroked lazy, soothing circles along the back of my hand. Even when I had hurt him he was trying to make me feel better. “I’m not very good at this.”
“At what? Living in a town?”
I laughed weakly. “At relationships. At knowing when I’m in one.”
The uncertainty on his face turned to even deeper confusion. “But you said you’d been with your ex a long time.”
“Five years.” I nodded. “But it was a drunken hookup that kind of became . . . comfortable. It wasn’t like he ever asked me out.”
“And neither did I.” Understanding dawned on his face, and his confusion became horror. “Oh, Emily, I never meant . . . I don’t want you to think . . .”
“No, it’s okay!” After talking over each other, we both fell silent together. Finally Simon took a breath.
“Can we start over?” He tugged a little on my arm as he stepped closer, and we met in the middle. “Emily?”
“Hmm?” I could never get over how many colors were in his eyes. From a distance, they looked like a plain brown, almost dull, but up close they were a riot of color. He was my very own pointillist painting.
“Hi.” I caught a flash of his smile as he bent to kiss me. His lips were warm and his kiss was sweet. Gentle. He only deepened the kiss a little while his hand slid into my hair and his other hand curved into the small of my back.
I smiled as he pulled away. “Hi.”
“That’s better.” He cupped my cheek in his hand, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone. “I’ve missed you since yesterday. Is that weird? Does that make me one of those stalker guys?”
“Only if you follow me home. Cut off a lock of my hair while I sleep. Something like that.”
“I thought I’d save that for next weekend.” He bent to kiss me again but swerved at the last second to brush his lips against my cheek instead. “I have a theory about you, Emily Parker.”
“You