“A fan of romance, I take it?”
My cheeks flame at that, and I really hope that my demeanour is not as transparent as I feel right now.
“You could say that,” I reply, looking down at my shoes. I wore my favourite sneakers with heart patterns, just for today. “Though, I’ve been wanting to delve into other genres.”
Rafayel hums, reaching up to scratch his chin.
“Hmm, well, why don’t I show you what I’m reading at the moment and see if it suits you?”
I agree enthusiastically, nodding my head a little too fast and follow his lead. He directs me toward the new adult section. His fingers skim over some titles that I vaguely recognize from posts I’ve seen around the book community on social media, before settling on a particular title I’m not too keen on reading and have been wanting to avoid.
A Whisper of the Dark. It’s a fantasy novel about werewolves, vampires and dragons and of course, forbidden love.
Book influencers have been calling it cheesy, not-good and predictable, and while I try not to get influenced by goodandbad reviews online, the excerpts floating around have been…unappealing.
Still, as he turns around, book in hand, I simply smile.
“I’m currently reading this one,” he informs, pushing the book against my hands.
“It looks interesting,” I say. I’m sure it’ll be better than what I've read online.
He holds my eyes for a moment, and before the blush can form on my cheeks, he takes the book back.
“It’s on me,” he winks. Wait,what?
He’s turning toward the counter just as I process what he’s doing.
“Rafayel - wait - no you don’t have to!” I call to him. He’s a fast walker, though, because he makes his way around the counter just as I reach it.
It’s too late. He’s scanning the book into the system and pressing his own credit card against it. I just watch in shock as he bags up my book, then hands it to me over the counter.
I’m frozen, holding the book, my jaw unclasped and gaping. Did he just…buy me a book?
“It’s a gift,’ he insists, tapping the book, “for visiting again. Maybe next time, you can treat me to something.”
Next time.
I take the book in my hands, clutching it to my chest like treasure. His gaze drifts behind me, and his expression shifts to a customer service one. I don’t even realise that a line had built up behind me.
“You have a good day ma’am,” he states. Then, softly, he murmurs, “I’ll see you soon, I hope.”
“Yes,” I manage to say, through my beating heart and red cheeks, “You will.”
I leave the store, almost reluctantly, and feel like I can breathe for the first time when I step outside.
Did that just happen? Did I seriously just learn the name of this boy plucked from the depths of my dreams and have him buy me a book?
I glance around me, wondering if anyone notices that a romance equivalent to the ones in books, in movies, is unravelling right before them. Everyone walks past me on the footpath, oblivious to it all.
The train ride home doesn’t feel as long as usual. All the way, I let myself sink into my delusions, hugging the book against my chest. I imagine what our first date would be like.
He’d take me to a nice little restaurant, where they would maybe be playing1950stunes and there’d be a dance floor in the middle. Then we’d walk along the water, share our dreams. He wants to be an independent bookshop owner one day, while I write books and make them into films.
He would treat me just like Dad treats Mum. He wouldn’t laugh at my face, like my crushes during primary school did, wouldn’t snicker or scoff like the boys in high school did. I would finally feel like the main character of a rom-com, just as I’ve always wanted. With every delusional daydream I let myself conjure, they always had the same ending.
A happily ever after.
Eight
