My Book Boyfriend (New York Spark 1) by Kathy Strobos

Author:Kathy Strobos [Strobos, Kathy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Strawbundle Publishing
Published: 2023-08-09T18:30:00+00:00

“Shush,” Lily says as she slowly closes the door behind us. A table for two is right there. She puts our coats on a chair. To my left is a door, and there’s another door to my right that must be a closet. Bookcases cover almost every wall.

I take off my shoes, following her lead. A cat comes over to sniff me. That explains Aiden’s cat grass gift.

“Should I hang up the coats?” I open the closet door, and various posters fall out.

“Save Our Community Garden!” “People Before Profit.” “Community Over Corporations!”

I stare at them in silence.

“Oh.” She rushes over, picks them up, and shoves them back in the closet. “It’s not like it should be a surprise,” she whispers.

“No.” I pick some up from the floor. “I particularly like ‘Healthy Vegetables Over Profit!’”

“One of my five-year-olds made that. The marching carrots really add that extra emphasis.”

“You do know that we are including affordable housing units.”

“Like, five?” She shakes her head. “Versus the whole community that this garden creates. A place for the older people in our neighborhood to find friends, for families to grow their own vegetables, for teenagers to hang out in a safe environment? And it’s a false division. You can build affordable housing somewhere else. There are other lots in the city.”

“Should I go?” I want to stay, but I should go.

“I promised you hot chocolate. It’s not like the posters were a surprise to me. Were they really a surprise to you?”

“More of a painful reminder,” I say.

She stares at me, her eyebrows raised, and then pulls me by the hand into their kitchenette. This is a small apartment. The oven and dishwasher have been slimmed down. A hose seems to run from the dishwasher to the kitchen faucet. She clicks on the under-the-counter lighting, pulls a saucepan off a wall hook, grabs milk from the small refrigerator, checks the dishwasher, turns off the tap, and unscrews the hose—all completely efficient, like this is something she does often.

The white, metal cabinets stand out against the royal-blue kitchen wall. Red potholders hang off a hook, and an orange, clay pitcher holds a wooden spoon and other cooking utensils. It gives off a very cozy, cheerful vibe.

I can never invite her to my empty, cavernous apartment. I’ll look like a total, spoiled millionaire.

“We don’t have a living room,” she says. “We used it to create another bedroom, so maybe we should take the hot chocolates to my bedroom? That way, we won’t wake up Bella.”

She takes out two packets of milk chocolate mix. “Marshmallows or not?”

This kitchenette is so small that we’re right next to each other.

“Definitely marshmallows.”

“Good choice.” Her arm brushes mine as she pours the milk.

“Can I do anything?” I ask.

“There’s really nothing to do.” She stirs the milk.

Nothing can happen. This is merely a friendly overture. If the signs that fell out of the closet are any indication, soon we’ll be on opposite sides of a picket line.

I shouldn’t have come over here. In

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