The Prince's Bride (Part 1) - J.J. McAvoy Page 0,89

me? Since when did I trip at the sound of a woman’s voice? That was Arty’s thing.

“Gale?”

“Odette?” I nodded to her as she stood at the bottom of the stairs because my brain was obviously malfunctioning. Her brown eyes filled with confusion. “What brings you here?”

“Ugh...our chef made extra Greek yogurt apple streusel cake, and my mom told me to bring you all some.” She lifted the paper bag in her hand.

“Thank you...umm, we love Greek yogurt apple streusel cake.” Jesus Christ in heaven, what were the words coming out of my mouth right now?

When her eyebrow raised and she looked me over, I was positive she knew I had lost my mind. “Are you just going to sit there?”

“Oh, right!” I stood up quickly, dusting off my hands, not exactly sure what to say as she caught me off guard.

“Thank you, miss,” Wolfgang thankfully spoke as he took the bag from her hands.

I used that as my moment to walk down to meet her.

“No problem.” She smiled at him before her attention focused back on me. “What were you saying about scuba diving? Isn’t it a bit cold for that?”

“Actually, diving when it is cold gives you better visibility. But I was thinking of going to an aquarium.”

“You can do that?”

“At the right price, you can do anything.” I wanted to bang my head. Now I sounded like a pompous ass.

“Oh, well...I hope you have fun. I was hoping you were free today, but we can go next time—”

“Wait, Odette.” I chuckled. Did she really think I wanted to go scuba diving on my own? “I wanted to take you.”

“Me? But I don’t know how to scuba dive.”

I laughed, it wasn’t really that funny, but her facial expression just made me laugh anyway. Rubbing the back of my head, I sighed, completely giving up. “I was trying to think of some extravagant date to take you on later this afternoon. And I know you said it feels like I am using moves when I do so, but I still want our time to be...memorable.”

“It isn’t already?”

“No, I mean...” Bloody hell of hells! “I’m having a lot of trouble this morning, apparently. I have no idea what is wrong with me.”

“Okay, while you are trying to figure it out, would you like to go to a poetry reading with me?” she asked and lifted a small, slightly crumpled flyer for me to see.

“A poetry reading?”

She nodded. “It’s in a small, independent bookstore. I don’t think many people will be there, so why not be among poets like yourself.”

I was thinking of scuba diving with exotic fishes, the symphony, flying off to some beach with blue waters, something magical, something extraordinary. And she wanted to go to a local bookstore to listen to poetry with me. I smiled, nodding as I took the flyer.

“Yes, I’d love to go. I think this is perfect.”

She might have been perfect, as well.

I felt bubbly—like someone had shaken up a can of pop and opened it inside my stomach. I’d never felt like this before, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it or how to make it stop.

I tried to concentrate on what was in front of me, which was a bookstore by the name of Once Upon A Time. Sadly, it was nothing like the cool, young poetry vibe I was hoping for. I knew it wouldn’t be the most eventful or popular spot in Seattle, but I didn’t expect it to be so dead. Well, at least as close to death as it was. In my mind, I had somehow convinced myself that it would be filled with people around our age, drinking coffee and wearing berets.

Instead, it looked more like a cross between a nursing home and a library. I looked at Gale to try to gauge his reaction to my slight failure of a spontaneous date. Thinking he must’ve thought scuba diving would’ve been a much better idea. However, to my surprise, he was smiling, looking up at the book stacks and the few elderly people walking through in amusement.

“What a perfectly named store,” he whispered to me.

“Huh?”

He leaned over and whispered, “The shelves have written stories, and the people have living ones.”

“Are you here for the poetry reading?” asked an elderly woman with pink-dyed hair and a wrinkled rose tattoo—at least what I thought was a rose—on her wrist as she approached with the help of a walking stick.

“Yes, we are,” Gale answered proudly, causing the woman to