Page 43 of Crushes to WHAT

Emerson startles, then curses, closing the space between us quickly to steady me as I sway on my feet.

Fred adopts a smug, that’s right countenance. “Totally,” he agrees. “And she would definitely want you two to have a signed book. I’ll even give it to you for free—if you promise to come back and tell me how your fake dating goes. She’d kill me if I didn’t get updates for her.”

“Your sister!” I squawk unintelligibly. “Oh my gosh!”

“To-ta-lly,” he concurs. “You guys keep browsing.” He points a stern finger at us. “And only browsing. I’ll grab a book to put behind the counter for you.” Then he turns on his heel and walks away, casually, like some kind of Pearl-Taylor-themed Santa Claus.

“Teenagers are kind of weird these days,” Emerson comments as Fred disappears around a corner. “Do you think his brother-in-law really tortures people in his basement?”

“It’s a CubeCraft thing, His brother-in-law is a famous CubeCrafter who’s known for torturing his fellow CubeCrafters as pranks, and his sister is freaking Pearl Taylor. That kid is more famous by proxy than anyone I’ve ever set real-life eyes on.”

“Huh,” Emerson replies. “You know that doesn’t excuse him from being weird, right?”

“He’s totally weird,” I allow. “And, also, totally cool. I want to be him.”

Emerson chuckles, and it’s dark. “But, baby, if you were him, I wouldn’t be able to do this.” Then he sweeps me into a miraculously semi-secluded corner, tucks us behind a plant, and does his very best to give Fred a horrendous bill.

Chapter Twenty-Two

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Yes, please.

Almond

“Can I ask you a question?”

Emerson flicks his eyes away from the line of various woods before us to give me his full, heart-stopping attention.

I shift on my feet, resist the urge to bolt, and force my question out of my mouth—without any unnecessary blabbing, fortunately. “How come you didn’t ask me to be your girlfriend?”

A strand of soft, dark hair falls over his eye as he tilts his head and furrows his brows. “Why would I go and do a silly thing like that?”

I open my mouth, then close it. Then open it. Close. The process repeats until I can find a decent enough answer. “Because that’s what people do?” I offer.

“Ah.” He tsks. “You’ve already forgotten that I have access to your reading history. That is what people do, generally speaking, but maybe half your Goodreads Read shelf consists of dark romance, and I’d say roughly…” He hums, pretending to ponder his next estimation. “A hundred percent,” he settles. “A hundred percent of your dark romance favorites have male leads who take what they want unapologetically, and when they do, you leave notes expressing exactly how much you approve of that behavior. I’m no fool. That, plus knowing you’d likely run away if I gave you the option, plus Eris being annoying, had me channeling my inner dark romance lead. Poem told me I should be patient with you, but she also told me I should be hot. I think we both know I’ve decided to lean one way more than the other at this point.”

One could say he has absolutely committed to channeling his inner dark romance lead. Quite well, even, considering where we are and what we’re doing. That Poem apparently gave him advice at some point on how to pursue me is just… something. A lot of somethings. I could kill her, or I could name my firstborn child after her, or I could shake the living daylights out of her because that’s so embarrassing, and what was she thinking?

Right now, I won’t lie, I’m kind of leaning toward option number two. A tiny giant with dark hair and deceptively soft brown eyes would be quite the namesake…

To convey my very many thoughts on the subject, I say simply and eloquently, “Oh.”

Emerson’s eyes squish happily as he closes the space between us to lean way down and kiss the tip of my nose. “If you had any objections, I figured you’d voice them.” He smiles affectionately. “Instead, you decided we were doing a trope, and I decided watching your eyes light up at the prospect was too cute to shut down. And now here we are. Doing a trope of the trope, fulfilling both our dreams and having the best kisses of our lives in the process.”

I blush, stammer, and take a big step back. “We can’t make out in the lumber aisle,” I squeak. “There are, like, four thousand workers in this store, and they always pop out of nowhere when you least expect them to, and I don’t think I could handle it if we got reprimanded a third time today. You’re a menace.”

His smile widens into an unrepentant grin. “You do so love a menace.”

Heaven help me, I really do.

Emerson steals a quick, chaste kiss before returning his attention to the task at hand—wood.

“Do you want to pick out a stain while I find some boards?”

I glance at the wood stain, half an aisle away. “Not really,” I answer.

Misinterpreting my reasons, he replies, “I’m not changing my mind if you don’t pick one out. I don’t care about the cost or how unnecessary it is, you’re getting new shelves.”