Signed, Sealed, and Smitten (Only Magic in the Building)

by Melanie Jacobson

The fairytale ladder. The rolling ladder. The Professor Henry Higgins in his library ladder. The Belle in the bookseller’s shop, singing about her provincial life ladder.

Show me a girl who loves to read who hasn’t had the same fantasy, and I’ll show you—nothing. That girl doesn’t exist.

That smile, though. That smile, in a silky whisper, spells t-r-o-u-b-l-e.

But what’s even more true is that I need to get out of this room before I start blabbering about how Jay Martin’s eyes are the same rich blue as the cobalt glass in the case beside the amber. Borders.

What I can’t understand is why Grandad never mentioned Phoebe Hopper to me. They’d been having monthly lunches for three years by the time he died. That is two years and eleven months past the time when he should have introduced his Boston-based grandson to this captivating woman. He and I will have words on my next cemetery visit.

Favorite kind of first date, preferred flower, and when do you think you’ll wear cutoffs again? I don’t say any of that, obviously.

“Ooh, finding someone irritatingly attractive is how all my favorite romance novels begin.”

“I don’t have a great poker face, do I?” “Your face comes with subtitles. I like it.”

That is unfortunately sexy. I make sure my expression doesn’t change even as the urge to fan myself strikes like I’m a Colonial woman in forty-seven petticoats and a wool dress and the Sixth Regiment just came to town after getting baths.

“I had to deal with a sudden urge to push you up against a wall and make out with you.”

“I want it to be your business. I’m trying to figure out how I get a fair chance.” “At what?” She sounds genuinely exasperated now. “With you.” It comes out blunt because I don’t know how much I mean it until I say it.

And I can’t figure out why the best things about you are the things you keep trying to suffocate.”