Page 113 of Don't Be in Love

Without realizing it, I was outside the bookshop. “I’m here,” and filled with a mixture of dread and eagerness.

“Just be honest with her. Women really aren’t all that complicated. We’re just overthinkers.”

“Thanks, Jasmine. I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you,” she responded before hanging up.

I smoothed out my navy sweater and straightened my cap before pushing the front open.

My heart was running at the speed of the transit system, whirling around in my chest with no track and a broken brake. I glanced around the bookshop as if it’d slow the speed.

Several people were shopping, wrapped in scarves and twill coats, noses bitten by the wind. Books smacked the shelves, shoes scuffed the floor, and conversations were quiet but blended, bringing a collective loud noise into the store.

Then it stopped.

And I found her on a short ladder at the back of the store with a box in her arms that she was pulling books from and sliding onto the top shelf. I watched her for a moment as she’d check her long sleeve top to make sure the box wasn’t ruining the fabric.

She looked so beautiful. With a long skirt on and heeled boots, she was picturesque. Watching her push a strand of hair behind her ear felt like a missed opportunity for a painting.

I didn’t even realize I had been holding my breath.

It felt like my heart was wilting and thriving all at the same time.

A century old fireplace sparked to life in my chest. One that had been dormant for what felt like my entire life. The flame flicked at the hearth as she searched the shelf. Her deep browneyes read the spines. The same brown eyes that pulled every etched note out of my chest.

Nothing was just brown anymore. The purse that hung from her shoulder most days was no longer just a glove-tanned leather, but the same color as her hair under the darkness of the bookshop awning.

The tree that greeted us outside her flat at night was the same shade of her eyes before she leaned forward and kissed me. They were the color of the espresso I made every morning for the past five months. Most mornings I made it just to remind myself of the color without having to stare at her.

I love her.I love her so much.

She dropped a book and yelped as it struck the floor. No one seemed to notice though.

I jogged over and picked it up, handing it back.

“Hi,” I said, looking up at her. It felt like a warm shot of espresso ran over my skin standing this close to her.

And then she looked at me like I was a ghost. Her eyes were wide with surprise. An unwanted surprise.

After accepting the book, her hand recoiled into her frame.

My heart sank. I was back on that sidewalk in the rain in October.

Don’t waste your time because I’m not capable of loving you,she had said.

“What are you doing here?” she asked before stepping off the ladder. Her skirt swished around her ankles as she stepped down.

“I came straight from the airport. I wanted to see you.” I scratched the back of my neck. All of the confidence I gained on the flight diminished.

The unexpected alertness in her eyes quickly shifted to reservation. She put the box of books down. “Really? You wanted to see me?”

“Of course I wanted to see you.”

She brushed her hair out of her face before finally looking at me. “Did you stop and see Victoria too?”

“You saw the photos.” I had completely forgotten. The news was a quick phone call between me and my publicist, but it wasn’t anything new. Nothing anyone in my immediate life had paid attention to. I assumed by now that she’d realize none of it was fact.

But this only made her scowl deeper. A crease formed between her brows, not unlike how it appeared during our earlier arguments.