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“Romance,” I reply without hesitation. His eyebrows raise and his eyes widen in surprise. He leans back on the curb. “Romance?” “It’s fun and emotionally comforting to know more or less how the story is going to play out. I like knowing what to expect. But I will say that my standards for romantic partners are now impossibly high.”
“Someday, Mac, you’re going to realize exactly how much I enjoy staring at you all day.”
“You’re not any less intelligent or successful because you didn’t go to college.”
I smile and wave back and then I’m off, but I make sure I run with excellent form until I reach the boundary of the park, just in case he’s watching.
and then I do the completely Midwestern thing of slapping my thighs and standing up.
“That’s the beauty of literature. It makes us feel. Or maybe a better description is that it allows us to feel in a safe space.
“Don’t cover yourself. Don’t shrink away. You can say no to me, but don’t for one second think that you need to cower or feel embarrassed. You are fucking beautiful. You are beautiful tonight, and you were beautiful when I scared the shit out of you on your run, and you are beautiful every damn day from the minute you walk into my line of sight until the minute you walk out.”
“I want to be what you need today.
These past few weeks have been an absolute whirlwind, but one thing I know clearly is that I want to be here with you, Mac. With all of you. Even the messy parts.”
“Did you know,” I continue, “that as books decompose, the paper releases a chemical compound similar to vanilla, and that’s why old books smell so good?”
I’ve never seen anyone experience literature like you, Mac, and it’s irresistible.
“You’re exquisite,” he breathes, barely audible. “I couldn’t write you if I tried.”
