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I’m sure that after reading so many romance books, I’m just attracted to the classic grumpy trope. That’s gotta be it. No, this is good. Being friends with James will put us right in the friend zone, and that’s a super safe place to be. Right? Right. Wrong.
James looks up from the book he’s reading (another mystery, I notice)
But the past few weeks have shown me that maybe being an introvert doesn’t mean giving in to solitude. It’s nice to have people to check on, people to cheer on, and people to talk about the simple things with.
We spend the rest of the trip comparing our favorite romance novels and before we even get to Theo’s shop, we’ve decided to set up our own little book club.
Looks like he’s solidly a paperback guy. He seems to have a new one every time I see him, and I wonder where he gets them.
He orders for both of us, and I thought that was something only book boyfriends did, but alas, here is my ultimate book boyfriend dream standing right in front of me . . . and I can’t—no, I shouldn’t—do anything about it.
“Good. I’ve got one more place you need to check out today. Have you been to the Shakespeare bookstore?”
To the bookstore!
He grabs a few books, and when he sees me start to carry a pile, he grabs them from me and holds them. I almost lose it then and there but somehow manage to keep my cool. It would be weird for me to ask him to marry me, sure, but after a stunt like that, could you blame me? No.
Sit. Enjoy your book.”
Before walking through the door, he turns to me and wraps me up in the type of bear hug I’ve been dreaming about for months now, but it’s so friendly I almost feel like he’s about to noogie my hair. “You did it, chef! Now let's go make some elevated American food. You think we can find a YouTube of an old parade?”
I have to admit that while I mourned the loss of my favorite Thanksgivings in the past, this one is quickly climbing up the ranks. Even Grandma Allen would find herself right at home in all of this to-do.
I love the ballet. Every year I beg someone to go with me to see the Nutcracker,
“That dress is . . . damn, Claire, that dress is stunning. You’re making this so hard—” he begins, but he’s cut off when his mom sees us and walks over to give us both a hug.
“I promise you, Claire Richards, that you won’t mess anything up. You are incapable of messing anything up. You are a badass—if you don’t mind me saying—and what you do, you own. I’ve never met someone more capable. And if you don’t mind, I’d very much like to kiss you right now. We can pretend it never happened when we enter the new year, and back in Paris it might be a good idea to do that until you’re ready. But I promise you, I won't let it mess anything up. I won’t.”
“I want you so badly, I’d wait in line to see the Mona Lisa on the busiest, most touristy day just to have you standing next to me the whole time.”
“Damn it, Claire, I want you so badly, I’d eat at the knockoff ninety-nine cent pizza places for the rest of my life if it meant you’d come along with me. I’d miss every flight, I’d take every crowded train, I’d shop every market, I’d do every tourist activity Paris has to offer four times over, and I’d even go on those runs you do every other morning if it could convince you how badly I’ve wanted you all these months.”
“I love you, you weirdo.” “You love me?” “Are you going to believe anything I tell you?” “I love you too, chef.”
All I need is one of your stares you gave to poor Gabe the first night we all went dancing, and whoever’s on the receiving end will go scampering away.” “I did no such thing.” “You did, too! I’m surprised Gabe didn’t quit on the spot. Although, in hindsight, I think he was just egging you on.” “Oh, he one hundred percent was, that bastard. If he didn’t make the best soufflé, I’d have fired him on the spot. And that was while I was trying to play it cool, and he was seriously blowing my cover.” “Yeah, well, there’s a difference between playing it cool and playing indifferent. I thought you
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“I love you. You know that?” Hearing those three words in relation to the squeezing causes something to click in my brain. “Is that why you always squeeze my hand three times?” He nods and kisses my cheek. “But you’ve been doing that . . . for like . . . ever?” “Well,” he says with a smirk. “I’ve loved you for ‘like, ever.’”
“From what I hear, you don’t know how to keep your dick in your pants.” James speaks so casually while taking a sip of his wine that he might as well have been commenting on the weather. “Seeing you in person, that tracks. I’m glad you didn’t know what you had while you had her.” He adds a wink to his last statement, and I feel a few eyes whip in our direction at the brewing confrontation. “Of all the . . . How dare you . . . How dare—” “I wouldn’t, if I were you.” With just six words, a new James I’ve never seen before emerges.
I’m screamingggg. Couldn’t even get the words to say because everything James said is true.
The look of sheer appreciation on his face almost makes me tear up. Almost. But I hold it in. This aisle is not about me, but with the way James is looking at me, it might as well be.
Who knew throwing well-placed compliments could be more satisfying than slappin’ a hoe? Not me, but damn, it felt good.
Well placed compliments paired with a slap is perfection.
“For what it’s worth, I love you,” he says as if it’s my consolation prize. As if he doesn’t realize it’s winning the whole damn thing. “I love you too, chef.”
"I'll take the credit for that, you like my dance moves. I can tell." A laugh busts through me before I can filter it "You caught me, it was definitely the fishing move, reeled me right in. Literally." "I knew you'd love it,"
I don’t want to draw this out. It seems stupid to me at this point. I want you to be my wife. I want you in every way possible—legally, emotionally, and physically. You’ve had my heart for a while, and I want you to have the rest. Nights like tonight put things in perspective, and when you’ve found the person you’re meant to be with, why waste another second?
"It was the football game. I just kept looking over thinking to myself that I had the cutest girlfriend on the planet, but no one but me knew it yet." "You're a big mush, you know that?" I say while I'm swooning like an idiot internally. "I'm you're mush." "In less than twenty-four hours you won't be able to get rid of me, you ok with that, chef?" "I wouldn't have it any other way."
“You're the best thing to happen to me. Baby, I love you so much, it’s almost painful. I love the way you laugh at something that happens in a book and don’t realize you’re reacting out loud. I love the way you always add an extra spice to a recipe . . . even if the recipe didn’t ask for it. I love the way you treat everyone like they’re important, no matter who they are. I love the way you tease me for being a little over-prepared at times, and you don’t let me get away with being a dictator in the airport. I love the way you dream, that you can look at something and see it for what it could
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