Best Laid Plans

“The one and only.”

“I saw the movies.”

I die a little inside. “You can set them right here.”

After he leaves, I grab my X-Acto blade and slice open the box, squealing with delight to find the new book. It releases early next week. I run a hand reverently over the jacket, reveling in the smooth finish, then gently open the book and draw a deep breath and inhale the scent of paper.

This is better than perfume.

This is my favorite scent.

I sneak a glance at the first page, and chills sweep over me, chased by giddiness. I can’t wait to share this with Gabe’s mom, to sneak a copy over to her and delight in the look in her eyes when she sees the booty I’ve plundered for her.

But as quickly as that thought arrives, another one slides in. Can I do that?

Sure, if we’re dating, I can easily give his mom a gift. But what if it doesn’t work out between us? What if the dates peter away? That’s his MO. He dates and moves on, and more power to him. But he hasn’t exactly indicated he wants more than sex and a date.

And if our dates fade away, would I still set aside books for him to give her? Would we still be friends in the same way?

Or at all?

That’s why I said, What if it doesn't work out? I don’t want to risk our friendship for a casual string of sex dates. I don’t want to risk it unless we’re both taking a chance at the biggest of prizes.

My stomach pitches, churning with that abhorrent thought. I try to shake it off. We’d be fine, right? We’d stay friends. It’d be the same—we’d make sure of it. We’d have sex again, and date, and then . . .

I don’t know what would happen next, so I focus on the now.

I lug the box to the storeroom in the back, safely stowing the treasures away until I can sell them.

I head to the new fiction shelves and begin arranging the books, when a shelf wobbles the slightest bit—the one Gabe texted me about the other day, asking if it was okay.

It was okay then.

Or so I thought.

I glance around for a cat, in case one of them knocked it looser somehow.

But Henry’s moved his hygiene to the window and is giving his boy parts a very thorough licking for the whole town square to see.

“Get a room,” I say to him, then scan for Clare, finding her sprawled out on the floor, napping luxuriously in a ray of sunlight. I fiddle with the shelf again, trying to figure out where it’s loose, but I’m not handy. I can cook, I can clean, but I’m not known for my skills with a hammer and a nail.

I turn away from the shelf, heading to the counter to text Gabe.

He’s my go-to guy, after all.

But I stop when I open his contact.

How will he be my go-to guy if we take the chance of dating? Or, more so, how will he be my go-to guy after?

Because, I gulp, remembering his words.

I had a good time tonight. What if we tried this again? This, and other things. We could go on a date.

He asked me to date. But he asked me to screw again too.

For all I know, that’s how he asked out Darla, and look where she is. She’s not hanging in the friend zone. She’s in the cold zone.

Fact is, I like the friend zone. The friend zone is safe. I don’t want to be unfriended, and that’s a distinct possibility if our dating goes haywire.

He only said he wants to do it again. He didn’t say he wanted to be mine. I didn’t speak my truth either, yet now as I look at last night in the clear light of day, I don’t think there was a reason to put myself on the line like that. To let him know I want much more than sex and dates.

There wasn’t, because he didn’t say he wanted to go all in.

He only wants to go all in with sex.

And I want it all.

That’s when I realize I’m in this way too deep.

The only way to save myself, to save the friendship, is to stay friends.

I find the hammer in my office and fix the shelf myself, but it’s still a little loose, and that leaves me with a tight, cold knot in my throat.





37





Gabe





Let the record reflect that I’m not happy that anyone suffered an asthma attack, was struck by a vehicle, or experienced a mild seizure.

I am thrilled none of the incidents resulted in serious injuries.

Selfishly, I’m also glad that all of them, as well as the brush fire on a hillside by the highway that we extinguished in twenty-five minutes, kept my mind off Arden.

There’s no room for thinking about women when you have to put out flames.

But now my shift is ticking near to closing time. As Shaw and I check the equipment on the truck, he gestures toward Charlie, who’s hanging out with us at the end of his shift. One of his last shifts. “Did you hear Charlie’s boss says he found a new guy already?”

“That so?”

Charlie affects a frown. “They don’t let the bodies get cold in our field.”

“He’s not starting for another week or so, but yeah, the boss man found someone from . . .” Shaw stops and scratches his head. “Hell, he told me when I saw him at the ER, and I already forgot.”

I’m tempted to make a wisecrack about his mind going to hell, like I usually do, but I’m not in the mood to joke.

Which is odd, since I usually am.

But I’m antsy, waiting to hear from Arden. As we wrap up the checklist, my phone dings with a text from her.



Arden: Working late. Doing inventory. Are you almost done?





Smiling, I figure she must want to see me ASAP.

It’s ten, and it’s been quiet for a spell. Plus, her store is only two blocks away. I clap Shaw on the back. “I’m going to see Arden for a few minutes. Call me if anything comes up, okay?”

His eyes widen in surprise. “A booty call? You dog.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, exactly. I’m going to her store for a quickie in the stacks. No, you dickhead. But I did finally tell her how I felt.”

“About time. And what did the future Mrs. Harrison say?”

“That’s what I’m going to go and find out.” I rub my hands together, a burst of excitement zipping through me.