Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“What a perfectly named store,” he whispered to me.
“Huh?”
He leaned over and whispered, “The shelves have written stories, and the people have living ones.”
“Are you here for the poetry reading?” asked an elderly woman with pink-dyed hair and a wrinkled rose tattoo—at least what I thought was a rose—on her wrist as she approached with the help of a walking stick.
“Yes, we are,” Gale answered proudly, causing the woman to smile widely.
“Oh, good. We don’t get many young’uns in here anymore,” she said and pointed to the book at the desk. “Pick a poem and join us by the window.”
“Pick a poem?” I repeated.
“Yes, dear. We pick them from the stacks and then take turns reading. Anything you want is fine.”
“Thank you,” Gale stated, taking my hand, and I tried not to make a big deal out of it in my head again, but that didn’t work. I couldn’t help but think about how causally we just held hands now.
“Are you sure you are okay with this?” I whispered as we reached the first stack of books.
“Why would I not be,” he whispered back. “I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s very interesting. Are you not okay?”
I shook my head quickly. “I’m fine, it’s not what I was thinking, but it’s fine. But if you’re happy, I’m okay.”
“Is that so?” His eyebrow rose. “Careful, Ms. Wyntor, one might think you are trying to sweep me off my feet and not the other way around.”
I rolled my eyes and let go of his hand. “Go pick a poem.”
He chuckled, saying nothing as he turned back to glance through the shelves. And because I was...bubbly, I found myself watching him as he picked up a book and flipped through a few pages, every once in a while finding a verse or passage that caught his eye, and he stood still completely engrossed, the corner of his lips upturned happily.
“You’re staring, Odette.”
I nearly dropped the book I was reaching for. He hadn’t glanced up at me until that moment, looking through the shelves to see me.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” I lied, looking away from him as I reached for a book in another row.
Of course, he followed me, leaning up beside me, a grin on his face as he spoke.
“Oh, whose starry eyes peer down upon me,
Black swan,
Young fawn,
Aborning, forewarning the morning dawn.”
I glanced over his arm to see if that was on the page or from his mind, but the book was in another language, so I couldn’t tell.
“Is that what it says?”
Instead of answering, he kissed my cheek and moved on to another bookshelf—and there went a can of bubbles. I took a breath and tried to ignore him.
But the harder I tried, the more...the more I wanted not to.
How had everything changed so quickly?
And how long could it stay like this?
The thing about stories that started with once upon a time was that they were never very simple or easy.
And that is what it felt like being with Gale right now. Simple and easy, and I wanted it to last for as long as possible. But how was that possible? It could be long.
He felt like a normal guy—most of the time.
But he was a prince.
A real-life prince.
“Have you two found one?” the elderly one asked, appearing almost out of thin air.
“I have, but my girlfriend has not, yet.”
My head whipped back to him, but he kept a straight face as he looked to her. “She is too busy admiring my handsome face.”
I gasped.
I shook my head. “I have one. Please ignore him.”
The woman laughed at us, and when she turned to tell the others that we were ready, I shoved my elbow into Gale’s arm.
“Girlfriend?”
“Would you prefer fiancée?”
“Gale.”
“Odette.”
I glared, and he winked, taking my hand into his again, leading me forward. And I followed...happily, bubbly.
Oh God, was this how it was to fall for so someone?
Chapter 22
“Is that your boyfriend?” a young boy, no more than eight or nine, asked her as she gave him the food basket. He pointed straight at me with his eyes narrowed as if I’d stolen from his Thanksgiving Day plate.
Odette glanced over her shoulder at me, looked me up and down once before shaking her head.
“No, I can do much better than him, don’t you think?” she asked him.
I scuffed as the boy nodded happily.
“Edgar. You forgot the cranberries. Edgar?”
“Huh?” I looked at the elderly woman beside me as she held the grocery bag open.
“The cranberries.” She pointed to the array of food in front of me, utterly annoyed at my presence—or lack of presence.
“Right,” I said, putting the can into the bag for her.
She shook her head before taking the bag to the donation table. There was no Thanksgiving in Ersovia, but I’d seen the holiday in movies. So, when Odette had invited me to her family’s place to spend Thanksgiving with her, I thought I knew what to expect. But then she gave me a hairnet, gloves, a face mask, and to add to my disguise, Iskandar once again brought out fake glasses for me.