#and is was totally sold out in physical bookstores

[ratguy-nico]

Gente I couldn help it 😔

[dreaming-medium]

Bad Day - Bang Chan Drabble

Summary: Reader has a terrible day; one of those days where everything goes wrong. Luckily, her boyfriend is there to wipe the stress away with some well deserved hugs.

Word Count: 2.2k

——————————————————

Punch after punch after punch after punch lands on your soul today. Every single time you turned around, another horrible situation would present itself.

You’ve been sick for two and half weeks now. The sore throat would come and go, but you weren’t able to sleep without propping two pillows under your head. This morning when you woke up, your voice was completely gone.

The empty space next to you in bed certainly doesn’t help either. Chan has been gone for a work trip for two weeks now. He wasn’t due home for another two more.

Work has been its own animal to take care of. It was your first job after graduating, so you were at the bottom of the totem pole. Each higher up suddenly felt the need to burden you with any difficult projects they didn’t feel like taking care of themselves.

“I don’t think this is something I was trained on,” you tried to say to one of the more older workers. The huge stack of papers was so heavy in your hands. “These calculations would take me—“

“Just do it, Y/N,” he said before closing the door to the conference room you were standing alone in.

You had just watched that coworker’s boss tell him to do it. But nope, he dumped it on you.

On top of that, you were also tasked with training the new guy even though you’ve only been here for nine months.

And this guy made it his personal mission to make your job even harder. The way he would go from not knowing anything to being a complete know-it-all within two sentences made your blood boil.

But it’s fine. It’s totally fine, you can handle this.

Then, someone ate your lunch out of the fridge even though your name was clearly written on it. Your lunch break was so short that there was no way you could run out to get something else.

It was raining so hard as you jogged to your car through the parking lot. Every spot in the parking garage was taken this morning so you had to use the satellite lot ten minutes away.

Your clothes were drenched by the time you got into your car and slammed the door shut.

Fumbling with the keys, you shoved them into the ignition and started your car. The heat immediately kicked on and you sat there for an extra couple of minutes, warming your frozen fingers in front of the vents.

A book from one of your favorite authors came out today. You were going to pass the store on your way home, why not stop and buy a copy? It certainly would help with the day you were having.

The drive to the store was silent. You didn’t even turn the radio on. If you’re being honest, you didn’t think you could handle sound.

People were everywhere in the bookstore.

You walked in and looked around for the new book. There were signs and posters everywhere that announced the book. Where was it?

“If you’re looking for the new Kingdom book we sold out this morning.” A worker says to you softly.

A small part of you dies.

You politely nod to the worker and leave.

It’s ridiculous how you feel the tears building behind your eyes.

It’s fine. It’s fine. You’re overreacting. It’s totally fine. You’ll just buy a copy on your Kindle. You didn’t even need a physical copy, right?

Your fingers fumble with your keys and you drop onto the ground. They splash right into a puddle.

It’s fine, it’s fine.

Swallowing painfully, you wince at your sore throat and gather your things to get back in the car.

You’ll go home and watch TV.

“It’s Friday,” you whisper to yourself in the car to try and calm down. “It’s treat day, why not stop for a coffee?”

Every Friday you would buy yourself a coffee. ‘Treat Day’ is what you dubbed it as. It slowly became a tradition with you and your friends.

Chan used to always reload your coffee rewards app with his own money without telling you.

A sad smile tugs at your face while you drive to the coffee shop. God, what you wouldn’t give to see him right now.

The tension in your shoulders is so bad you think your shoulders are level with your ears.

After getting your coffee, you drive all the way home to your apartment complex.

Right before you turn into the lot, a car decides to come out of nowhere and cuts you off. You cut the wheel and slam on the brakes to avoid them.

Your coffee launches out of the cup holder and spills all over your lap.

“Fuck!” You curse and try to focus on the road. “Fuck fuck!”

At least it was iced coffee and you’re not burned. Right? Silver lining?

You’re at your limit. Your sanity is teetering.

Parking in your designated spot, you trudge into the large building.

The weight of the day still sits so heavy on your shoulders. Now your lap was soaked with coffee.

A package sits underneath the complex’s mailboxes. It’s ruined and crushed. The ‘FRAGILE’ sticker is gnarled up.

“No,” you sigh and look closer at it.

Yep, it’s yours. The new dishwear set you ordered came in.

When you lift the package you hear all the pieces shift around. It’s just a box of broken ceramic at this point.

Tighter and tighter your throat gets.

Slowly, you trudge up to your floor. Because, of course, the elevator is broken. Of course it is. Why would the elevator work today?

Just as you get your keys out to open your door, your shitty neighbor comes outside.

“Oh god, Y/N, you look horrible.” He says loudly.

You turn and look at him with tears already brimming in your eyes.

No sign of compassion crosses his face, instead, he laughs. He laughs right in your fucking face.

“No wonder I haven’t seen Chan around. He finally came to his senses, eh?”

Your jaw drops open.

“God, pull yourself together.”

Your neighbor picks up his newspaper from the doormat and goes back into his unit without another word.

For a long moment, you just stand there. Your clothes and hair still soaking wet and clinging to your skin, work bag and purse slung over your shoulder, box of broken plates and bowls in your arms.

Inside your body, you felt yourself finally snap. You felt your anger and frustration hit it’s limit.

Your look of surprise quickly morphs into one of seething rage. Lips pulling in a sneer, you rip open your door and stomp inside, slamming it shut behind you.

Dropping everything you own at the door, including the box of glass, you let out a muffled scream.

The box bursts open and glass shards go everywhere. They skitter across the floor and cover the wood in a dangerous mine field.

A moment of silence passes.

You lose it.

You drop to your knees and cradle your face while angry, hot tears stream down your cheeks.

Wails leave your lips as the weight of the day finally takes it’s toll.

On any normal day, you would be able to handle these things individually, but all at once? You just couldn’t deal with it anymore.

“Y/N?!” A voice calls out from the other end of the hallway.

Your head snaps up and you see your boyfriend standing there with a look of horror on his face.

“Chan,” you croak out.

His eyes frantically look around at the scene in front of him. Your disgruntled state surrounded by broken glass.

He’s here? He’s back?

“Y/N, are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt?”

He tries to walk closer but then he realizes he’s also surrounded by broken glass.

“Chan.” Is all your able to say again before the sobs come out even harder. Your entire body wracks with them, chest sputtering as you try to breathe between cries.

His face twists up in anguish.

“S-Stay there! Don’t move, I’m gunna get a dust pan, okay? I’ll be right back, babygirl. Don’t move.”

He continues to say things over and over to you while running to get what he needs.

“I’m here, baby. You’re okay, right? You’re home and safe, Y/N.”

You bury your face in your hands again and continue to cry. His words reach you, but they do nothing to quell the emotions.

Before you could fall further into this headspace, two warm, strong arms wrap around you and pull you into an even warmer body.

“I’m right here, honey, I’m here. You’re okay.” Chan whispers into your hair. He pulls you onto his lap and holds you close.

His comforting scent envelops you everywhere.

Chan rocks back and forth while holding you.

“You’re okay,” he says over and over into your hair. “You’re home now, I’m here, Channie’s here.”

Your face buried into his shoulder, hands gripping his shirt tightly

“What happened, baby?” He asks gently.

You cry harder.

“I’m so sick,” you cry into his shirt. “People keep taking advantage of me at work, I had to park ten minutes away in the rain. Someone ate my lunch. I dropped my keys in a puddle, the new book sold out, I spilled my coffee everywhere. Then fucking 304 across the hall tells me how horrible I look.”

You motion outwards at the glass all over the floor still. “And how do you like our new dishes?”

Even in the middle of a mental breakdown, you still crack a joke.

Saying it all makes you cry even harder. At this point, Chan’s shirt is soaked with your tears.

He continues to hold you as tight as he could. Not once does he tell you to stop crying, instead he carefully scoots and leans against the wall, cradling your body on his lap.

Chan rocks back and forth, pressing kisses into the crown of your hair as you cry your heart out.

His one hand rubs slow circles on your back while the other pets the back of your hair.

Low hums come from his throat. Chan lays his cheek on top of your head and keeps you close to his chest.

“It’s okay, babygirl,” he coos. “You’re home now. You’re with me now.”

“Thank god you’re home,” you hiccup and clutch his shirt closer to you.

“My spidey-senses were tingling,” he jokes in a hushed tone.

You manage to chuckle through your tears.

“My babygirl needed me.”

You’ve always been so happy go lucky, the glass was always half full with you. You always looked on the bright side of everything. If anything bad happened, it always just rolled off your back.

It was one of the main reasons he fell for you.

Chan has never seen you as bad as you were on your knees in the entryway, it shook him to his core.

Another long kiss is pressed to your head.

Slowly, your sobs calm down. Your throat still hoarse and sore from before has only gotten marginally worse.

Sniffling, you sit up away from Chan.

“‘M sorry I got your shirt all gross.”

Chan laughs in spite of everything. Both of his strong hands cup your cheeks for you to look him in the eye.

His chin dips down to your level so he can stare right at you. Those gorgeous brown eyes sparkle at you.

“I’m not upset about my shirt, Y/N,” he says gently. “I’m only worried about my sunshine. It’s not every day you cry, baby.”

“Everything just happened at once.” Chan’s thumbs wipe away the tears on your cheeks. “I tried to keep it together but our neighbor verbally berating me was the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

Chan tuts and brushes your hair behind your ear.

“Let’s throw eggs at his door,” he jokes.

He pulls a laugh from you.

“There’s my favorite smile.” He coos. It makes your smile even brighter. You sniffle again, and look down sheepishly.

Chan lifts your chin up with his thumb and forefinger. “Hey baby,” he grabs your attention. “How about this: you go shower off the day, I’m going to clean all this up and order our favorite takeout for dinner. I even stopped on my way home and got two pints of ice cream before.”

“Mint chocolate chip?” You ask softly.

“Of course I got your nasty toothpaste ice cream.” He pinches your cheek teasingly.

You giggle and lean away from his hand.

“Come on, babygirl.”

Before he does anything else, Chan leans forward and presses a long, warm kiss to your forehead.

Both of your eyes close at the comforting feeling it brings. After he kisses your forehead, Chan leans down and kisses both of your cheeks.

His warm lips then press to your nose and then finally to your lips.

It’s a long, sensual, loving kiss. Both of your mouths slipping over one another in a dance.

You sigh happily into the kiss. Chan’s mouth smiles against your own. It’s contagious, you can’t help but mirror the grin with our own.

In the end, you both look like smiling fools wrapped up in one another’s presence.

Chan scoops you up carefully and stands up from the floor, making sure to avoid any stray shards of glass.

“I’m going to take good care of you, my honey.” He coos and presses another kiss to your forehead. “Your bad day ends here.”

[anoramactir]

book recs! tagged by @rosenfey & @jennystahl. blows kisses to both of you <3 i'll tag @a-treides, @katsigian, @dekarios, @shellibisshe, @devilbrakers, and @frankensteined.

last book you read. the salt grows heavy by cassandra khaw.

horror/fantasy, kind of a little mermaid retelling? i had mixed feelings about it. there was definitely an interesting plot in there, but i thought it was bogged down by purple prose. felt more like a challenge to write the prettiest sentences possible - and there were v lovely lines! - than a story at times.

book you recommend. fight club by chuck palahniuk.

hard q, but i went with this one because i feel like the reputation the movie + it's fans have makes people avoid it. i could repeat all the soundbites about it being a brilliant satire & criticque of toxic masculinity (especially if you read the narrator as closeted) but tbh... i'm reccing it because i think it's fun. that's really it.

book you couldn't put down. bunny by mona awad.

disclaimer: i've seen this one hyped as the weirdest shit you'll ever read in your life but i didn't think it was that weird. lower your expectations. i did like it enough to finish in three days, though. idk what to say about it that won't spoil the plot— kinda heathers meets frankenstein? more eerie than scary.

book you've read twice or more. the queen's thief series by megan whalen turner.

society if this was the old school ya fantasy that blew up on booktok instead of shatter me: ☀️🌊🌳 i read this one back in high school and it rewired my brain permanently. attolia irene is the only girlboss that matters. i come back to it every few years (rereading book 4 now) & i think it still holds up.

book on your tbr. last call at the hotel imperial by deborah cohen.

it's a non-fiction about a group of reporters that covered ww2. i picked it up randomly at a bookstore because the cover was pretty, lol.

book you've put down. the priory of the orange tree by samantha shannon.

i know i'd love it if i finished but it's just so long. 😭 i've tried like three times and i always lose steam about halfway through. at this point i'll finish it by 2050.

book on your wishlist. hollow places by christopher hadley.

ambie actually recced this to me ages ago and i've been dying to read it. it sounds so interesting! but it's not available as an ebook or at my library, and i'm banned from buying physical books until i get through my stupidly tall tbr stack. one day.

favorite book from your childhood. howl's moving castle by diana wynne jones.

nobody is surprised. it's probably my favorite book of all time. a+ vibes, characters, romance, everything. i own three copies and refuse to get rid of any. if i could find an autographed version, i'd own four.

book you would give a friend. interview with the vampire by anne rice.

i need you all to become obsessed with lestat & louis and then watch the amc series so it gets renewed for season 3. please & thank you.

book of poetry or lyrics you own. time is a mother by ocean vuong.

haven't read it yet, but i've heard great things!

nonfiction book you own. girl sleuth: nancy drew and the women who created her by melanie rehak.

goes into the creation of nancy drew & how it evolved through the years, especially how it was shaped by the original ghostwriter and the daughter of the creator, and their decades-long beef with each other. i came out of it with a parasocial grudge against a woman who died in 1982.

what you're currently reading. a conspiracy of kings by megan whalen turner.

book 4 of the queen's thief series. crown prince sophos has been kidnapped and sold into slavery and it's all very dramatic.

what you're planning on reading next. moby dick by herman melville.

i've never gotten around to this one and i feel like i have to eventually. there's a 75% chance i'll get sidetracked and pick up something totally different, though.

[literaticat]

In the world of entertainment I know some companies have pulled projects and use them for a tax write off. one HUGE company recently pulled a low rated sequel off their platform that rhymes with 'Pillow' for a tax write off. Can publishers do the same?

This took me a minute because at first I thought the PLATFORM rhymed with Pillow, and I was baffled at what Zillow had to do with anything! I assume that you mean Disney, removing a bunch of stuff (including Willow) and getting like a billion dollar tax write off for it. (Here's a somewhat more simplified article about the reasoning).

"For companies like Disney, Paramount, and Warner Bros. Discovery, every show on their platform is an asset. If an asset’s value declines more rapidly than anticipated, you can “write down” its value, meaning it’s now worth less; that ultimately creates a loss on your balance sheet, which translates to a tax deduction. If you remove a show from your platform, it’s now “impaired” in terms of earning power, and thus literally worth less. It’s all pretty complicated, but companies seem very eager to incur write-downs... Disney, for instance, announced that it will incur a whopping $1.5-$1.8 billion impairment charge from removing content from its platforms, which translates into a very sizable write-down and a lower tax burden"

I can't pretend to be a tax expert, so I don't get the ins and the outs of this really -- but suffice to say, I have never heard of a publisher doing something like that, and it doesn't really make sense to me as something they'd START doing.

It's just a totally different ballgame. TV shows are worth millions and millions of dollars -- books are, for the most part... uh... very much NOT. TV shows are nebulous beams of light or whatever -- books are physical objects sold in stores. When a TV show airs, they have to pay dozens or hundreds of people residuals -- if they pull the show, they don't have to pay residuals at all, and they get that "impairment charge" that they can write off.

Whereas book publishers don't have "residuals" in the same way. Yes, an author gets a cut of the $$ in the form of royalties, but the publisher is making MORE of the cut. If they stop putting out copies of a successful book, they just stop making money off that book. Why would they WANT to stop making money off a successful book?

If a book is NOT successful (ie, it's costing them more to print / warehouse it than they are earning) -- they can certainly stop publishing it and put it out of print. But unlike a TV show vanishing into the ether and potentially never seen again if it is pulled -- at least you can usually still find an out of print book at a library, or used bookstore, or in your own personal collection -- it's not just GONE, all those copies that were created still exist! And then the rights return to the author, who can find a new home for it, or self-publish it, if they choose to do so.

[joyouslee]

That would be A+ awesome fic set up.

I have a lot of different head canons for DFS, ranging from virgin by choice or circumstance, to mutual comfort/ pleasure with the three kings and/or Wuyan while they were establishing Jinyuan Alliance and fighting off enemies, or trying out dual cultivation -- maybe with one or more of the 12 guardians, which is what really doomed them in JLQ's eyes -- to increase his power, to the Di Fort training women to be assassins by seducing the target, so the men would participate in their training. Lots of variety because he gives off a very physically powerful and dominant aura -- and is very in tune with his body -- in a way that can be read as sexual confidence.

My headcanon for LLH too could be very virginal (the kiss with QWM! XD) but also ranges to LXY being friends with benefits with half the jianghu. LXY the peacock of the jianghu radiates confidence and some of the stuff he's known for is very flirtatious (betting a hair tie??). However, I don't see LLH having dalliances during the 10 years - he seems very much like he's cut off all passions other than the need to find Shan Gudao's corpse, until he meets FDB and DFS.

But in all of my headcanons FDB just radiates that cherry magic energy. His reaction at the women's mansion is just too naive (and hilarious). He was very much raised with respect women sauce and his mother would break his legs if he ever stepped into a brothel or used the servants for sex.

His only opportunity would be while he studied at the Imperial Academy, but I headcanon that he's very much aware of how people use each other in court, and he would've avoided giving anyone blackmail material on him as a hold on his father. Plus I can't imagine he had much free time if he was practicing the sword to that high level while studying for the imperial (and Baichuan Court) exams. Also, while he knows he's attractive (see his sales pitch to LLH), it feels more like he knows he's cute and uses that to his advantage to get out of trouble (like with his parents) or in the way he sold the vegetables he was playing up his cuteness to the ayi and jiejies, not using his attractiveness in a sexually confident way. Like he grew up with his mom and aunt telling him he's 帅 (while pinching his cheek), not that anyone else (that he's attracted to) has.

Anyway, TL;DR, just that I totally agree DFS may have no idea what to do and will have to rely on FDB's research abilities XD

FDB might have some difficulty, though - he can't research this at home, plus unlikely to have books on this topic, and he can't research this at Baichuan Court (first because it's not case related and second because his research skills seems to consist of telling the archivist to pull cases on x topic), so he's going to have to go find a bookstore and hope they don't recognize him. I think his thin skin about sex topics is not going to help him. DFS might have to send his minions to do research instead - he would totally have no problem telling his minions to bring him spring books XD I bet Wuyan is incredibly efficient at research.

I just think it would be funny if Fang Duobing expects Di Feisheng to be knowledgeable and experienced in the bedroom and DFS is just like, shrug, 'I spent ten years in seclusion and before that I spent all my time fighting people to the death, I don't know how to do this stuff any more than you do'

And then maybe Fang Duobing gets indignant and hits the books about it.

[olderthannetfic]

Do you have any thoughts about how monetization of fandom has affected Japan? With the longstanding establishment of doujins and Comiket, but also how authors are more encouraged to do serial-numbers-filed-off web novels. And paradoxically, with Japan having no Fair Use exception.

--

An interesting question. I think the focus on physical products makes for a very different situation. In both Japan and oldschool Media Fandom zine-focused spaces, it's quite obvious why the buyer needs to cover the printer's bill. A few top people are making actual money off of their fanworks, but a lot of the exchange of money is about the thing you're acquiring being a physical item that inherently costs cash to produce. Not the creator's labor: cash.

How much I personally like the space tends to depend on how many lower tiers of talent have a seat at the table. Is it possible to do baby's first doujin/zine? With the doujin printing prices in Japan, I'd argue yes. With people sometimes swapping their products, I'd again argue yes. Same for many parts of oldschool media fandom. Much less true for people drumming up patreon supporters or for recent zines I've seen.

When you look at recent zine efforts by English speakers on tumblr/twitter, they tend to be these ultra glossy affairs with an expectation that everything is pro-level already. Japan is overall much clearer that while some doujin artists are pros, it's also a place new talent develops, and not every single person is A++++ right out of the gate.

--

I'm not as familiar with webnovels in Japan. Honestly, I don't know if that's so terribly different from the West except that the dominant market here is for short novels published in one go rather than for fully serialized stories. (Series-oriented genres like urban fantasy or mystery are, however, are a big seller.)

I am speaking, of course, of the "m/m romance" genre and other indie romance and related fields, especially stuff sold via Kindle Unlimited. The het stuff is fandomy enough, but look at the m/m, and you'll hardly find an author who didn't get their start via fic. They usually don't connect their pseuds to their fandom activities, but I went to the industry conference, GRL, a couple of years ago, and an author there told me she feels like a total outsider for not coming from fandom.

Honestly, I wish the people trying to make rent with their writing would look into this way of monetizing writing. The US has a BL industry. It's just in its infancy. A lot of fandom doesn't seem to have noticed (or less charitably, doesn't think they can compete) and thus "has" to sell fic if they want to monetize writing.

--

I think DIY vibes and people acting like fellow fans and not treating everyone as potential subscribers rather than potential friends can mix with money. It just depends if there's some space for new people starting out and if the money is more tied to things like covering a printer's bill rather than being more like a bookstore or like patreon. A low barrier to entry is very important. This could mean everyone being on the same webnovel site but only the better people making money or it could mean cheap printing options an average person could save up for without preorders.

Anybody have thoughts? I'm reasonably familiar with things in Japan, but I wouldn't say I'm an expert by a long shot.

[kirayaykimura]

more wildly disconnected college au

The elbow in her side distracted Shirayuki from choosing between a stale shortbread cookie and a weirdly soft Hydrox cookie. She was not sad about it. She looked up from the refreshment table to find Yuzuri frantically nodding towards the front of the room, where they’d just spent an hour listening to a man talk about the history of tea. Or, rather, his process for writing a book called The History of Tea, which was sold at the bookstore in the union (only two floors down; he’d be there after the talk to sign copies). Obi had gone for extra credit for some class or another - so I can half-ass a few more assignments, Miss - and she, Yuzuri, and Suzu had tagged along. Partly for the free food, and partly because they were all a little curious about how he was going to fit the whole history of tea into an hour. The fact that he didn’t even try miffed her a little. 

But the speaker wasn’t who Yuzuri was drawing Shirayuki’s attention to. He wasn’t up on the podium anymore. In fact, as she scanned the room, she only saw a few clumps of stragglers standing between rows of chairs and chatting. Nothing stood out to her. She looked back to Yuzuri curiously. 

“Obi,” Yuzuri whispered. She leaned in close and grabbing Shirayuki’s arm, turning her to face where Obi was chatting with a cute brunette who looked impossibly small in front of him. Had he always been that tall? Was that how she looked standing next to him? It looked a little silly, honestly. The girl should just step back a couple inches - feet, really - and then she wouldn’t have to lean her head back so far to look up at him. Oh, but then she wouldn’t be able to rest her hand on his bicep. 

“He is totally getting hit on,” Yuzuri said. 

“What?” Shirayuki shot a startled glance at Yuzuri, then back to Obi. “How can you tell?” 

“Please. No one rests their hand on a man’s arm like that unless they also want to get their hands on his-”

As if he knew they were talking about him, Obi’s eyes cut over to theirs. Where they were shamelessly staring at him. His conversation partner also started to turn their way, but Shirayuki never got the chance to meet her gaze because she immediately spun back to face the refreshment table. Which was no longer nearly enough of a reward for sitting through a sales pitch and gawking at her friend having a polite conversation with a very cute girl who was apparently interested in him. Romantically. Which was good. If anyone deserved to be loved deeply and wholeheartedly, it was Obi. It was surprising was all. She hadn’t heard him talk about other girls. But it was good. 

Yuzuri, apparently not sharing the same compunction as Shirayuki, continued to stare at Obi and his new friend. 

“You’re the worst,” Suzu said, sidling up to Yuzuri’s right. He placed a hand on her head and physically turned her around to join Shirayuki in blankly staring at the table, probably making herself extra conspicuous in her attempt to be inconspicuous.

Suzu turned with her, paused, then said, “This is probably worse.” Then he shrugged and popped a Hydrox cookie into his mouth and immediately frowned like he’d made a mistake. Through a mouthful of cookie, he said, “Excuse me,” and left them alone once more. 

“He’s a disaster,” Yuzuri said, sounding oddly delighted by it, as they watched him locate a giant trash bin near the entrance to the room and spit out the offensive cookie. 

Their line of sight was broken by Obi, who took Suzu’s place by the table and said, “Hello, ladies. Did you need something?” 

“Oh, yes, actually,” Yuzuri said. “I need to know when your date is.” 

Obi sighed, but the playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips undercut any exasperation he was trying to inject into his words. He tapped her forehead and said, “We’ve talked about this. You can’t just make up conversations in your head and expect the rest of us to be able to follow along.” 

“That’s a you problem, buddy. And don’t pretend you have no idea what I’m talking about. That girl was totally hitting on you.” 

Shirayuki was, historically, just okay at understanding people. She’d gotten slightly better over the years with practice and experience, but she would never consider human interaction one of her strong suits. 

Obi was different. 

Somewhere along the way, she’d somehow found herself an expert on Obi. It only made sense with the sheer amount of hours they spent in each other’s company, but it still sometimes caught her off-guard. She hadn’t even been trying. And Obi, who had so many secrets when they’d first met, had stopped hiding things from her so long ago that it was jarring to see him put those old walls up and hide from people the way he used to hide from her. 

It was a subtle change in expression; his smile got slightly more stiff, his eyes narrowed just a tad, like he was trying to hold on to an expression he wanted to drop. Then, in a flash, he was back to normal. He’d always been so accustomed to hiding what he was thinking. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said breezily. 

“You expect me to believe you have no idea what it’s like to get hit on?” Yuzuri gave him a once-over. “You.” 

“Oh,” Obi purred. “Are you going to give me a tutorial, teach?” 

Suzu, who had just returned to their group, had apparently heard the conversation and decided he wanted no part of it. He turned on his heel and left again, and Shirayuki briefly wondered if she should join him. 

“I’m ignoring you because I refuse to be deterred. What did you say? Come on. Give me all the details.” 

“There are no details. Sorry, to burst your bubble, but she didn’t actually ask me out.” 

“But she was all-” Yuzuri awkwardly brushed her hand all over Obi’s arm, much to his amusement. 

“She was just asking if I was going to a party tomorrow night.” 

“With her.” 

“No. Not with her.” Obi gave an awkward laugh and shot a glance over to Shirayuki before focusing back on Yuzuri. “Well, you see, it’s kind of a funny story. Right after she asked, we noticed you staring and she must have assumed we were together because she said my girlfriend was invited too, and then she left.” 

The end of his story was met with silence.

“So, you know,” he said, “no hitting involved.” 

“Hold up,” Yuzuri said. “Are you telling me that girl thinks I’m your girlfriend? And that we’re invited to a party tomorrow night?” 

Shirayuki watched as a grin spread across Yuzrui’s face while Obi grew more and more concerned. 

“Uh, yes? Though obviously that’s not-” 

“Stop right there. No. This is a once-in-a-lifetime, rom-com bullshit situation. You are not allowed to pass this opportunity up.” 

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you,” Obi said on a deep sigh. 

Yuzuri gripped Obi’s shoulders in what looked like a painfully tight grasp and said, “If movies have taught me anything, it’s that you will meet the love of your life doing stupid stuff like this.” 

Again, Obi’s gaze cut over Yuzuri’s shoulder and caught on Shirayuki. She’d been doing so well reading him earlier, but this expression was something she couldn’t parse out. Was he worried she was feeling left out? She hadn’t said anything in a while. She should probably say something. All the words in her brain were just gone, though. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say at the moment. 

“You have to fake date me,” Yuzuri said, drawing his attention back to her. “Let me do it. I’ll be such a good fake girlfriend you won’t even know. I’ll fake love you so hard. Let me do it. Let me do it!” 

“Okay!” 

The word burst out of him, followed by a laugh. Whatever weird atmosphere that had been building earlier cleared almost as suddenly as it had come. He was his normal, playful self again and she was…fine. She wasn’t feeling anything, really, so that was fine, right? 

“Yes!” Yuzuri spun to grin at Shirayuki, then at Obi. “I’m so excited. What’s the theme? Is it a super early Halloween party?” 

It was only the second week of October, but college kids loved any excuse to drink, so Shirayuki wouldn’t put it past someone to claim Early Halloween as an excuse to throw a party. 

“Apparently it’s Valentine’s Day-themed.” 

“What?” 

Obi shrugged. “I’m not throwing it.” 

“Cheesy rom-com bullshit,” Yuzuri said, sounding like she’d never had more fun in her life. 

Obi caught Shirayuki’s gaze once again. This time, instead of looking away, he said, “Okay, what’s going on?” 

Shirayuki blinked. She finally felt an emotion again: panic. Like she’d been called on in class but didn’t know the answer. (Not that that had ever happened, but she’d had dreams that it had.) 

“You don’t look too good,” Obi said. “Are you feeling alright?” 

What? 

“I’m fine,” she said. 

Yuzuri turned, cocked her head, and said, “Oh, you do look a little pale, sweetie.” 

“Let’s go. We’ve been here way too long anyway,” Obi said, gesturing for them to walk ahead of him towards the door. “Do you want to stay in tonight? Watch a movie, order take-out that I will then pick up because we can’t afford the delivery fee?” 

That did sound nice, actually. Normal. Nothing surprising about the plans at all. 

“Okay,” she said, feeling herself smile in response to his grin. 

“We’re doing this at Shirayuki’s right?” Yuzuri asked, fishing her phone out of her purse to, presumably, text Suzu about their plans. “Can I pick the movie?” 

“Absolutely not,” Obi said. 

“Let it go!” 

They’d had the same argument many, many times. At this point, they just jumped back into it without preamble. 

Shirayuki let the friendly snipes wash away the earlier weirdness as they walked out to the nearest bus stop. She’d been surprised, that was all. Now, she was going to hang out with friends on a Friday night. She refused to pay attention to the small part of her that wondered something she’d never thought of before: would Obi rather spend his night with someone else? 

___

Shirayuki was in the middle of a problem set the next night when her phone rang. She normally would have ignored it, but Suzu’s name on her screen had her picking it up immediately. He’d never called her for no reason. Unlike, well, basically everyone else in her life. 

“Yuzuri’s sick,” was how Suzu greeted her. This was followed by Yuzuri in the background proclaiming she was not sick, thank you very much, and then coughing so hard Shirayuki asked if he needed to go help her. 

“She’s fine,” Suzu said, sounding exasperated. “She just can’t make it to that party thing she promised to go to tonight.” 

“Suzu, do not-” 

There was a shuffling, then the sound of a sliding door, followed by silence on Suzu’s end.

“I’m on the porch,” Suzu said. “I don’t have much time. I think the NyQuil is making her freakishly strong.” There was definitely a strain in his voice. “The deal is that she promised to meet Obi at the party. She can’t. He’s not answering his phone. Sorry to put you out, but I have to deal with her. Can you go let Obi know what’s going on?” 

“Of course,” Shirayuki said. Obi was sort of infamous for forgetting his phone at home. Honestly, she wasn’t much better. Suzu was just lucky he’d caught her doing homework at home instead of at the library. 

“Great. Thank you. I- oh perfect. She locked me out. Goddamnit.” Clearly not directed at Shirayuki, he said, “You live on the first floor, babe. I can climb over the rail and come in the front door. Ridiculous.” Back to Shirayuki, he said, “I have to go.” 

“Tell her I hope she feels better.” 

“That will just anger her more since apparently she’s definitely not sick, but I’ll tell her anyway.” 

Suzu texted her the address of the party and twenty minutes later she found herself walking up the driveway of one of the old Victorian-style houses that dotted the edge of campus. Obi had his back to her, pacing almost silently across the worn wood of the porch. The yellow glow of the overhead light threw deep shadows over every bit of him it couldn’t reach. It was cold enough that she could see his breath rise out around him, though he’d only worn a light jacket. He could pretend all he wanted that the cold didn’t bother him, but his shoulders were hunched up close to his ears and his hands were jammed deep in his pockets. She picked up her pace, hoping to get him inside sooner rather than later. She had no idea how long he’d already been waiting out here. 

He turned back to face her just as her foot hit the first step up to the house. 

“Miss,” he said, freezing mid-step. “What are you doing here?” 

She felt oddly unsure of herself in a way she hadn’t since those first few months of knowing each other, when they were still strangers feeling one another out. They hadn’t been strangers for years now, but for a brief moment she looked at him as if they were. When exactly had he filled out and swapped his teenage lankiness for solid muscle? He was still her friend, but now he was broader. Older. More. 

Pushing aside whatever her brain was doing at the moment, she took the last few steps up to join him on the porch and said, “Yuzuri’s sick.”

“Oh.” Too many emotions for her to track crossed his face before he settled on concern and asked, “Is she okay?” 

“I think it’s just a cold. Suzu’s with her.” 

Obi snorted. “Well, it sounds like she got her rom-com bullshit night anyway. Was sending you in person part of her twisted plans?” 

“I don’t know what that means,” she said, “but Suzu couldn’t get ahold of you to tell you she wasn’t coming, so that’s why I’m here.” 

“But I brought my phone.” He frowned as he fished his phone out of his back pocket. “And I left it on silent. I have twelve missed calls.” 

“Sorry to bring you bad news.” 

“Are you joking?” He clapped his hands on her shoulders. “I didn’t want to come tonight anyway? This is the best possible outcome. Come on, let’s hurry out of here before someone-”

“She arrives!”

The nice girl that had invited Obi to the party yesterday came barreling out of the house, arms wide, and enveloped Shirayuki in a hug that jostled her out of Obi’s hands. The girl was very warm and smelled very strongly of whisky. Shirayuki gave her a tentative pat the girl on the back in response.

“Shit,” Obi muttered.  

The girl pulled back and squeezed Shirayuki’s cheeks between her palms. 

“You are so beautiful,” she said with the sincerity of someone who has had about three too many. “But I thought you were blonde.” She looked to Obi for confirmation. “I thought your girlfriend was the spunky blonde one.” 

“This one is plenty spunky, too,” Obi said, gently prying her hands off Shirayuki’s face. “But actually-”

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the girl throwing her arms around his neck like a barnacle moving from one ship to the next. 

“This is Kanna,” he told Shirayuki over Kanna’s shoulder. “She’s friendly.”

Shirayuki watched as he wound his arms around her small waist. He always gave the best hugs. When was the last time he’d hugged her? Probably when she’d found out she’d landed her work study job, but that was almost two years ago. It hadn’t bothered her until this moment, watching as he sank into the hug. He was such a tactile person, but he rarely initiated touch between them and, well, she just never really thought about it. Never really needed it. She made a mental note to put hug Obi on her calendar to remind herself to do it more often. 

“You’re cold,” Kanna said, pulling back. 

The next thing Shirayuki knew, she was inside a stranger’s house with a handful of people milling about under the tackiest pink and red decorations Shirayuki had ever seen. There were red hearts strung around a cheap folding table piled high with alcohol, mixers, and plastic cups. The same pink blanket with red and white hearts was draped over every seat like Kanna had bought them in bulk. A row of pink flamingo lights were hung along the edges of the ceiling. 

Obi gave an exaggerated shiver once the first wave of hot air washed over him. Shirayuki turned a curious gaze towards him instead of cataloging every garish decoration in sight. 

“Where’s your scarf?” she asked. Without thinking, she removed a mitten and slotted her palm against the side of his neck. It was cool to the touch, and the transfer of heat from her hand caused him to shiver. It was a minute tremor, not for show this time. Something she could more feel than see. He turned dark eyes on her and she stood, oddly captivated, wondering if he would shiver again if she placed her other hand on the other side of his neck. 

Kanna’s smirk creeping into her peripheral vision brought her out of her musings and back to the present. 

“Just so you know,” Kanna said, throwing a clumsy arm around her shoulders and Obi’s back, “you’re standing under the mistletoe and smooches are the entry fee for the party okay have fun goodbye!” 

With that, she gave them both a quick peck on the cheek (well, she only reached Obi’s jaw on her tiptoes, but she’d probably been aiming for a cheek kiss) and flitted off to join a group playing what looked to be a weird mix of Uno and poker in the back corner. 

“Mistletoe isn’t Valentine’s Day-themed, though,” Shirayuki said, frowning up at the twig. “Also that’s not mistletoe.” It looked like a random branch Kanna had pulled off a tree outside. 

Obi snorted. “Okay. Yeah, let’s book it. We can get you back in time to finish whatever problem set you were working on before you came to get me.” 

“How did you know what homework I was doing before this?” 

“It’s Saturday. You always do math on Saturdays.” 

There it was again. That weird, unsettled feeling, like she’d been walking on grass only to suddenly find herself walking on sand. Obi wasn’t a stranger. They knew each other better than anyone else. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel like she didn’t know him at all. 

Was it her fault? Was she not trying hard enough as his friend? 

“I want to stay,” she said before she could second-guess the decision. 

“You do?” he asked, clearly surprised. 

“You like parties,” she said. “You wanted to come tonight. Let’s stay.” 

“I did not want to come tonight. Yuzuri strong-armed me into it.” 

“She can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do and we all know it.” 

She stared him down until he broke with a dramatic groan. 

“Fine,” he said. “I thought it might be fun to do something different. Plus, Yuzuri is kind of sloppy when she goes to house parties. It’s pretty entertaining.” 

“I could get sloppy.” 

“Okay, we can stay on the conditions that you do not get sloppy,” he said with barely contained amusement, “and that we don’t pretend to be dating.” 

“Right,” she said. “That would make it easier to meet someone, wouldn’t it?” The love of his life, according to Yuzuri. But someone was shorter. More economical. 

“I’m not here to meet anyone,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“But isn’t that the point of all this?” 

“The point was to have fun with my friend, and it still is.” She supposed she didn’t look entirely convinced because he added, “I promise, you’re not keeping me from anything.” 

It was hard to put into words what she was feeling, mostly because she didn’t quite understand it herself, so she settled on simply saying, “I just want you to be happy.” 

“Oh, Miss.” He reached a hand up like he wanted to tuck her hair behind her ear. She froze, unsure what to make of the move. Unlike others, he’d never paid much attention to her hair, save for the time he’d won her a cheap bauble fixed to a cheaper bobby pin at some kitschy festival a few years ago. She wore it when they went out sometimes, but hadn’t had the time to put it in earlier. Was he disappointed? Before his fingers made contact with her hair, he pulled away and, with a small, genuine smile, said, “I am very happy with just the way things are.” 

“Good. Me too.” Then, inexplicably, she added, “I like having you around.” Because of course she did. He had to know that by now. 

“I also like being around.” He took a deep breath and said, “Okay, enough with the heart to heart. Let’s go get me a drink and you a Shirley Temple.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to get messy tonight? I can pretend to be Yuzuri.” 

Obi’s laughter was not loud enough to drown out Kanna shouting from across the room, “Nope! No smooches, no entry.” 

“But we’re not actually together,” Obi said.

“Sorry, bros,” a boy in a backwards baseball cap said from the Pok-Uno table. “Doesn’t matter.” 

Everyone in the room went back to not paying attention to them, but the directive was clear. Shape up or ship out. 

“Yuzuri is going to lose her mind when she hears about this,” Obi muttered. 

They turned to each other and Shirayuki was ready to follow his lead. Would he kiss her cheek, or bend down to let her at his, or-

He tilted his head and sized her up like he was trying to figure something out. That probably meant he had a plan, which was fine. Obi’s plans were generally fun (if nonsensical). She patiently waited for him to clue her in. 

“Alright, Miss,” he said after a beat. “Do you trust me?” 

“Yes,” she said without hesitation.  

Instead of moving his face anywhere close to hers, the first thing he did with her go-ahead was to take a strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger for a moment before tucking it behind her ear. Why hadn’t he done that earlier if he was still clearly thinking about it? And also she should be studied because she seemed to be the first woman in history to forget how to breathe. 

Once her hair was safely tucked away, he cupped her jaw in his hands, laid his thumbs over her lips, and leaned in. She instinctively closed her eyes, but the kiss she’d been expecting never came. Instead of feeling lips against hers, she only felt the press of his thumbs. Everything else was normal, though. She felt his nose briefly brush the side of hers as he slid in close. Felt the heat of his body seep into hers. Felt like pressing closer because it wasn’t nearly enough. 

No. Wait. That wasn’t normal. Not for her, at least. She’d always patiently waited for kisses to be over (when she wasn’t avoiding them altogether). She’d never, not once, felt sad when a boy pulled away. 

She fluttered her eyes open in confusion. He leaned his forehead against hers not a second later. He caught her gaze and gave her a wink. 

“Theater trick,” he explained softly. “I’ve never gotten to try it out since I, you know, usually just kiss my scene partners, but I’ve always been a little curious. Let’s see if it worked.” 

And then he was stepping out of her space like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. She stumbled numbly after him as his, “Are you not entertained?” was met with a round of half-hearted applause and a very cheerful, “Yay!” from what had to be Kanna. 

The room did, in fact, seem satisfied, but she wasn’t. For the first time in her life, she wanted someone to kiss her. It was unfortunate that the someone in question was her best friend, not her boyfriend. 

[deafwestnewsies]

be my first last kiss

You can plan on a change in the weather or time, but you'd never planned on him changing his mind.

jack kelly x davey jacobs

read it on my ao3!

Earnest to goodness, Jack Kelly was going to murder Racetrack Higgins.

No, Anthony Higgins, this was the sort of thing that makes you pull out the tarnished christian name of a friend (or so you thought) you’ve known since he was toppling over on baby-fattened legs. Anthony Higgins would die by the sword of Jack Kelly.

He just had to get this godforsaken Youtube video filmed first.

You’re doing this for the cash, Jack grumbled to himself as he passed through the metal doors of a nondescript building on the Lower East Side- it was the kind of place being slowly taken over by hip and fun corporations promising Asian-fusion bars and eco-friendly thrift stores while edging out the relic businesses built on the backs of immigrant dreams. Jack couldn’t stand areas like this, the air thick with wasted luxury, so he rarely left the barrio. Why would he? Spot Conlon slept in the bedroom next to his. Katherine Plumber and Sarah Jacobs ran the bookstore that bought his baked goods and sold them for decent money. Medda lived down the street with her plethora of children, and Racetrack still beat the known path, doing tricks on the street corner for spare change and internet views. Davey- David. David Jacobs wasn’t there. It was right where Jack wanted to be.

Much unlike the dim studio where he now shuffled his feet, waiting for the perky young PA with bright red streaks in her hair to come back with further information about the video he would be shooting. Jack wasn’t a stranger to this small production company; He participated in a few Youtube videos back before they had millions of subscribers, he played truth or dare with lots of liquor and a complete stranger, he confessed about the first time he fell in love so it could be put to pathetic music.

Cash where you could get it, right?

“Kelly, right?” Cherry Streaks was back with a vengeance.

“Jack, actually,” he corrected.

“So you’re going to stand over there where the little blue X marks the spot and wait until the producer, Adam, starts asking you a few questions. The first one might be a test for our boom guy. Answer honestly, we can pretty much tell when you’re making up a story by this point. After that, the main part of the video will begin. Got it?” She was pointing wildly with a Number 2 pencil that had previously been stuck through her ponytail, and she smelled faintly of jasmine. Jack felt dizzy.

“Wait, I thought this was one of those ‘Choose who’s the best kisser out of ten strangers’ type of deal?” I mean, that’s what Race told me- oh God. Oh Santa Maria. Oh Saint Francis.

The young woman smiled like she was keeping an excellent secret. “Have fun, Jack Kelly.”

Walking off at her ominous dismissal, Jack stood where he was directed. The fluorescent lighting made him sweat under the knowledge that he had virtually no idea what he was doing there, Race had lied to him so that he would participate in some sort of sick, horrible scheme, and for all he knew, behind door number three could be his third grade teacher with a baseball bat and a basic multiplication grudge.

“Jack! It’s nice to see you again.”

Romeo was walking towards him with that easy gait Jack had memorized so long ago- Romeo had shot the original videos on an Amazon tripod and the unfounded hope of human connection, and now he owned the entire shebang. Jack dropped his tense shoulders to give him a warm smile. “Romeo. Boy, am I glad to see a friendly face.” Jack lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “You’ve got a production assistant who actually does work, so I’m assuming we’ve died and you earned a really nice deal in Heaven?”

Romeo barked out a laugh. “If I’ve died, do not resuscitate. I’ll never be able to look at another bodega meatball sub after cooking food bought in a real grocery store.”

“Rub it in, why don’tcha?” Jack punched the shorter man on the shoulder. “Listen, Romeo, you gotta tell me what I’m in for, a buddy totally sold me out for the cash and I have no clue what this project is gonna be like.”

Before Romeo could respond, a tall, lofty man behind the camera cleared his throat. “Darling? We’re ready to begin when you are.”

“Jack, meet Specs. Or Adam, but we all know how well nicknames stick. Specs, this is the old friend I was telling you about.” Romeo ended right above Specs’ elbow, and it was all Jack could do not to laugh.

The man fixed his thoughtful gaze on him. “It’s nice to meet you, Jack. You’ve got a real presence on the camera. Have you ever considered acting?”

“I’m afraid I’m, uh,” Jack flexed a paint-stained hand. “Strictly canvas, as they say.”

Nodding as if that was a phrase people commonly used and not something Jack invented on the fly, Specs then clapped his hands together. “Folks, let’s film this sonofabitch.”

---

“I’m Jack, and I’m a twenty-four year old artist living in New York City.”

“Have you ever been in a relationship?” Specs questioned from behind the camera.

Jack blinked in surprise. “Sure. One throughout high school, another in college and a little bit beyond. I wouldn’t call myself a heartbreaker or anything.”

“Do you stay friends with your exes?”

“One of ‘em, yea. It was more of an amicable thing, you know. She ended up being a lesbian. And I am… not.” His clumsy fingers tugged at a constricting collar.

“And the other?”

“Just because I’m not a heartbreaker doesn’t mean I can’t be a real asshole sometimes,” Jack nervously chuckled. (Davey had laid out rose petals, for God’s sake. Rose petals.)

“Was this girl the high school girlfriend, or the college one?”

“Boy,” Jack quickly corrected. “Man. I guess. He was in college- four and a half years.” (It took him four days to clear away the rotting flowers, the bleeding color slowly seeping into his carpet. Katherine found him delirious with whiskey on the bathroom floor; Sarah couldn’t bear to walk through his front door.)

“How’d you meet him?”

(He twisted in his high-backed blue chair. “It’s habláis in el presente.”) “Freshman year of high school actually. Spanish class. Funny story, actually, that other girl I dated? His sister. Broke her heart for his. He was so mad at me that we didn’t talk for like, months after.”

“It was six and a half months, actually.”

Of things Jack was expecting to see today, Spiderman was more likely than David. A flash mob singing death metal, maybe. Pigs flying through the polluted air.

“I was told to come in. I now see why.” David’s eyes narrowed behind his thin wire frames, different from the heavy Ray-Bans that he had dedicated himself to sophomore year of high school. Jack hated that he looked older, wiser, and all around… better.

Specs cleared his throat before the bewildered set of men (one more angry than the other, both desperately avoiding eye contact) could demand what sort of sick joke this was. “Can you introduce yourself?”

They broke up on a Tuesday, an insignificant, momentary Tuesday. Fourteen months ago. (Yes, fourteen months, like their terrible split was a baby that Jack was nurturing bit by bit. He refused to round down- fourteen months ago, he left David Jacobs.) So when David ran his thumb across his jawline, a nervous tick older than his younger brother, Jack couldn’t fathom why he felt so relieved. Some things never did change. “David. Jacobs.” David’s jaw flexed as he looked into the camera. “I dated Jack for almost five years.”

“Tell us about your other relationships.”

“Unfortunately, I spent the better part of high school and college pining after a total cocksock. Not a whole lot of time for casual dating in between.”

A deep silence permeated the studio as two boom mic operators swapped awkward glances. Jack didn’t attempt to defend himself- he was sort of a cocksock. David Jacobs had asked him to uproot what little life he had in New York and move to Santa Fe for a prestigious, so-accolated-you-could-cry medical school, and Jack Kelly broke up with him over containers of kung pao chicken and scattered rose petals. He was a cocksock, a dickhead, and complete asshole. An ex-boyfriend of mass proportions.

“Okay, so.” Specs was wiping at his glasses with the tail of his shirt. Jack wanted to snap them in half. “Today’s video is entitled ‘Exes kiss for the first time since their breakup’. If you need more explanation…”

“I think we’ve got it.” David snapped, clenching his fists rapidly.

Jack stepped half an inch closer to David and began murmuring under his breath. “Davey, if you don’t want-”

“Don’t call me Davey.” His eyes were alight with flame- Jack’s chest caught fire.

Of all the things that felt domestic when dating Davey Jacobs, kissing him never managed to become routine. Davey kissed like he earnestly meant it. The gears in his brilliant mind would grind to a halt so he could dedicate himself to the lilting curve of Jack’s mouth, a gentle sweep of warmth when the artist’s mouth was otherwise preoccupied with his needless words, and the world would spin on a delicate axis. (Jack’s shoulders rose to meet Davey, the physical ache of being someone’s other half drawing him forward. Davey had avoided him for so long, Jack living on a diet of lingering stares and a brief touch of the hand, that kissing him felt like a dying man knelt at a replenished well. How did they exist for so long without this innate knowledge of the universe? Could he stand to go on a single second longer without the praise of Davey Jacob’s lips?) Of all the things Jack missed about spending his life with Davey Jacobs, kissing him was certainly one of them.

There was a moment where the pads of Jack’s fingertips brushed the nape of David’s neck, a habit borne from the small noise it would draw from the back of his throat, and the steely corporate floor felt more like the worn carpet in the old thirty-second street apartment. Jack could feel his thready pulse with the gentle press of a thumb.

Davey was a fan of the dramatics- he would pull away from a passionate kiss in the middle of a busy New York street to stare into Jack’s eyes, foreheads gently touching and cheeks furiously blushing. Now, he simply drew back. Took a step away. Swiped at his lips with the back of his hand.

Jack felt like he was falling. (“If you ever break up with me,” Jack began. He laughed at Davey’s unexpected shudder, the honest and visceral kind. “Make it quick.”

“What about when you break up with me?” Davey peered over his glasses.

Crinkling his nose, Jack quickly answered before the other boy could detail any breakup preferences. “I’m not an idiot, Dave. ‘M not going anywhere.”)

---

He stared at the limp fifty dollars in his hand. Romeo had apologized, explaining that the people who had organized this got half the cut, and handed them both an envelope- Jack, one with “Tony Higgins” that he planned to run through his shredder, and David, one with “Sarah Jacobs,” which made Jack gawk in disbelief.

Jack didn’t want to walk away; David’s feet were shuffling against the worn pavement.

“It’s funny,” David started. “I listened to a lot of Taylor Swift to get over you.”

He winced. “Sorry?”

“Please. I know she’s been your top artist since 2013.”

(Katherine walked through a worryingly unlocked apartment door. “Is that... Begin Again? Jack, what the fuck are you doing?” She had seconds to worry about the cluster of wilted flower petals her heel had put a hole through before Sarah pointed at the pair of legs sticking out of the bathroom’s entrance.) “Yeah, okay. Fair. But… funny? Did I miss a joke?”

David closed his eyes to roll them, as he so often did when he was trying to be polite, and it hurt to be on the receiving end. “We just had our last kiss. You know, like-”

“I’m Joe Jonas?” Jack interrupted, bewildered. The semi-glare he received in return was all he needed to know- “Right. Dickhead. Listen, Dave- David, why didn’t you tell me you were back in town?”

There was a brief moment where something unrecognizable flashed over David’s face- pity? Regret? Dejection? It was quickly replaced by a soft smile tugging at the edge of his lips, his eyes glazed over with a practiced professionalism. “I’ll see you around, Jack. Have a good day.”

David turned and walked down the street, and Jack just missed the passing moment he chose to look back.

---

Comment on EXES KISS FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE THEIR BREAKUP by IncredibleKinsey: those two dudes are all mad and then just make out like that????? yeah okay call me when the wedding happens

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

Fun side note, when trying to find this book I found this one:

And read the description:

And thought, hmm. That... doesn't read like someone who speaks English wrote or edited it. It *might* be a non-native speaker, but surely they'd get a native speaker to edit it before publication. In fact, this reads kind of like what something a particularly crappy chatbot would write.

So I had a look at the other publications by the two authors of this pulp science fiction book that's clearly not the first in its series, judging by the description:

These guys write economics textbooks. I had a look at both of their profiles and found no other fiction books, let alone any other books from this series. Googling found me a couple of quotes apparently from this book on Pinterest:

Which totally read like a human wrote them! Yep! I fully believe this book has two human authors and isn't patchwork rubbish written by an AI and sold under two existing authors' names for the cred. Definitely.

But here's the thing.

This book was published in 2019, according to Dymocks. We had chatbots in 2019 of course, but I wasn't aware of anyone churning out fake books with them yet. Also, if you're a lazy scammer trying to make a quick buck off an author's name, it's usually adviseable to stick with the author's genre, since that's the audience who you gain by using their name. It's entirely possible that these statisticians (who, judging by their names, could very well not be native English speakers) decided to write some weird pulp scifi on the side. Of course, the clear existence of a prequel in the book description that does not exist on the website is a pretty clear indication of AI, but one of these quotes gives us the prequel name. So.

It exists! Dymocks just doesn't have it for some reason.

Again, this description is grammatical word salad. But, also, a point in the favour of the 'human authors' position -- its premise is absolutely fucking nonsensical.

Nono, hear me out.

Academics are fucking nuts. They just are. I once had a physics lecturer with like 3 phds who thought he'd invented a mew revolutionary kind of physics and The Government was making all the physics journals reject his publications. He went on and on about how "they persecuted Galileo, you know" and would randomly stop teaching in the middle of class to drop objects and marvel at how gravity worked every single time. He was fantastic.

Two economists and environmentalists deciding to Change The World by writing a highly symbolic science fiction rewrite of Alice In Wonderland to show everyone the secrets of how we can achieve true sustainability is a normal thing for academics to do. This is a much harder sell, but. I even believe. That it is possible.

That they would choose to self-publish those books in English without hiring an editor who speaks fluent English. Maybe. I mean, probably not. But it's a possibility.

Anyway, the third (and possibly final?) book in this series is called Lucy 3 - Lucy and the Rise of the Parabola, where they apparently decided to ditch their previous cover design theme and go with more of a Star Wars feel.

Again, this reads like somebody shoved every pulp scifi blurb in a second hand bookshop into a machine learning algorithm and just published what came out the other end without reading it. But I could also possibly, maybe believe that somebody who speaks very little English but does read a lot of pulp scifi wrote this using translation software. My faith in the Human Author Angle is dropping because this is the most chatbot-feeling description yet, but one thing in the favour of human authorship is the release dates. Lucy and the Train claims to be a paperback released in July 2016. Lucy Meets Artificial Intelligence was apparently published in 2019, and Lucy 3 in 2021. This is a realistic release schedule for human-written books, but bots can write much, much faster.

Furthermore, Lucy and the Train reads the most like a human wrote it, and is also written in a year when chatbots absolutely sucked. This one could go either way -- maybe that means these books were written by humans. Maybe the first one was human-written and the others were AI cash grabs. Maybe the first one, because the chatbot sucked, was bot-written but lightly edited by the author, whereas the ones written by more reliable bots were dumped on the storefront.

What do you guys think?

I'VE BEEN SEARCHING FOR A BOOK I READ AS A KID FOR AGES. WEEKS. IT'S A BOOK ABOUT AI DO YOU KNOW HOW FUCKING HARD IT IS TO FIND A BOOK ABOUT AI THESE DAYS WHEN YOU DON'T KNOW THE AUTHOR'S NAME THERE ARE SO MANY FUCKING BOOKS ABOUT AI THESE DAYS. COULDN'T FIND THE OLD ONE.

BUT I FOUND IT. I'M A GENIUS.

[retvenkos]

Well, I'm thinking about it 😄 I'm not really fond of the first person in fiction, but I decided a while ago that I have to try to learn since there's surely a lot of superb books written in first person and I might be missing out on my next fave book ever by skipping over them all.

(Though I bought three books from a book series written in first person because bookstagram and booktok shoved them onto my lap over and over again and then, when I had just put them onto my shelf, I learned that they are... really spicy... so here's to hoping it won't be too much when I eventually get to them 😅 Apparently I'm supposed to fall in love with the guy who's the protagonist's love interest in that story)

But yeah there's apparently a new Finnish edition for The Secret History coming this year so online book stores don't sell it at the moment. I also have to look for other books in that store so I could buy more at once, at least I've decided to buy SoC and CK next time I order anything from there, even when they aren't translated, because I can't resist anymore. I know that almost every page will have words I don't understand but I guess I'll learn as I read. I also have considered ordering the SaB trilogy, Ruin and Rising in Finnish got published around the time the series came out, or then during the summer? I can't really remember, it's a foggy time. I know the trilogy apparently isn't as good as SoC but I'm quite omnivorous in a lot of stuff when I get used to the genre 🤷🏻‍♀️ (And I've seen people in bookstagram who say they really like them despite their faults)

A new, translated to Finnish edition for a book that isn't crazy popular (like Harry Potters are) is a huge thing since a book store lady told me a few months ago (when she told me that they don't sell Throne of Glass #1 anymore as a physical copy), that it looks like (Finnish) publishing houses are pulling back translated physical books to save money, and just make them all into ebooks only and that all bookstores in will also turn out to be online only 😃😃😃 And they already do that in most cases after the first edition sells out. So gotta catch them all before they get sold out to save my eyes from getting glasses.

i totally get what you mean about first person fiction,,,, it's never been my favorite, but i have soldiered through many a first person story and have come out stronger,,,,,, also, if it helps, there's so much about the prose to adore otherwise that for the most part, it's not even that noticeable. it's so easy to get lost in the beauty of the writing,,,,,, i have faith that you will be able to go through this book without getting too distracted at the style.

and omg,,,, i never trust bookstagram recommendations because they really do pick some of the most Out There novels you will ever consume,,,,,,, i only trust mutuals on tumblr and gut intuition for books, lol.

I hope you're able to read SoC and CK with minimal issue! honestly, i'm surprised it doesn't have a Lot of translations due to its popularity, but i also get that companies cut prices and get rid of translations. it's a real shame. i also hate the fact that ~online~ books are the norm, nowadays, because bro!!!!!!!! literally why??????? i want a physical copy to hold in my hands!!!!!!! i hope you're able to get your hands on some books! i also struggle a lot with finding the right editions because for most books, i like to get large print. my eyesight is terrible, but they just don't make physical copies with large print... or they don't make them affordable.

[soyouareandrewdobson]

Oh not again the Paywall!

… Oh boy. This comic will be deader than expected.

When Dobson announced a few years ago he was working on a new comic involving a mountain cabin and supernatural elements, I was at the very least intrigued enough to see where this was going. I never expected it to be a groundbreaking comic or the worst thing anyone has ever done, but considering his track record so far when it came to creating original, long planned out comics, made me at least curious. Would it be better, worse or more woke than Alex ze Pirate. One thing I did however hope for was that Dobson would be for once smart enough to not hide his stuff behind a paywall, which has so far always killed his comics that are neither Ladybug or SYAC related. But hey, unlike Dobson, I can admit when I am wrong with an assumption.

 To be clear here, I am aware that Dobson “hides” the comic behind a 5000 dollar paywall only so that some person who donates to him the necessary dollar a month to see the panels uploaded by Dobson thrice a week can no longer do so and leak them to kiwifarms.

 However, even the dollar per month thing to me is a very, very dumb idea.

 I get it. People want to make money of something they create. I don’t hold it against webcomic artists to sell merchandise/tradepaperbacks of their stuff or create additional content to their regular updated comic pages, that people can pay for to see. But here is a major difference between Andrew Dobson and almost every other webcomic artist out there and which has been a key factor in why Dobson’s career as a comic creator has never taken off to.

 Webcomic artists stay relevant, by making their major comics public.

 I know Dobson’s work for a couple of years and the overall quality (or rather lack thereof) in his work aside, one thing I was dumbfounded the most off was how he basically sabotaged his own “career” in the medium. I have read a couple of sprite and webcomics over the years and even if the webcomic in question was utter bullshit for some reason cough sinfest cough one thing I saw was that in one way or another the comic and its artist would find an audience, BECAUSE the comic was easily to access on the net. You did not need to pay for the privilege of seeing  something someone created out of a whim. You could see the thing develop and go on because the person creating it became aware of people liking it and in doing so getting an extra boost to continue on.

 And by doing so, as time went on those people would eventually manage to make money of their work and even improve at least some aspect of it, may it be the storywriting or just the artwork.

 But Dobson made sure that when he wanted to start off his career, his stuff would not be seen.

 See, before SYAC became the thing he focuses on the most, there were at least two major comic series Dobson created and wanted to make money off. Percy Phillips, a detective comic about a Holmes knock off and Formera, a story about a boy stuck in a prehistoric fantasy world, no one is really sure about where it was heading for (not even the author).

Dobson made sure there was fanart of his characters and at least reading samples of around 10 pages on average everywhere he went to online the most (deviantart and smackjeevee). But aside of that, he did nothing with his creations online. Some random, unregularly uploaded fanart on aside, he would never upload more pages of Formera e.g. on deviantart, nor information about the comics direction, assuring that average interest of people in his stuff and the story was dimished fast. And when people are not interested in your story, they are not interested in you as an artist much. And when people are not interested in you as an artist (and your behavior online starts to additionally alienate them from you even more) it is no wonder your career never gets off. Now some may wonder, if Dobson drew reading samples, did that mean he wanted to draw more? Yes of course he wanted. And he actually did. But you needed to buy the tradepaperback to see those pages.

Basically what he did back then was, that he falsely approached the “webcomic” audience in a manner more suffice for people who want to buy physical copies of comics in bookstores or comic shops. Release a few reading samples, hope they get people interested in you and then make money by them buying this stuff. However, this entire approach was faulty. First off, the general quality of Dobson’s writing and artwork even back then made it not really look in any way worth to buy the comic, when there were way better products to be found either professionally published or online. To give you an example, these are some of the opening pages of Formera, published around 2005-08.

By comparison, that is a page of infamous internet webartist Bleedmann and his Powerpuff Girl comic , released around 2006.

I am sorry to say that, but why should I pay good money for Formera, something that looks like it was drawn by an average 16 year old anime fangirl at the time, when I could have something “better” drawn and designed by others? Even if those others are freaking lolicons.

I mean sure, the backgrounds look okay here and there, but composition wise the thing looks just not good. And that is from someone who went to art school and had the gaul to talk shit about mangas?

Secondly, the reading samples where just the first pages of his comics in general. Meaning nothing really happened in them and with the lack of information about the comics provided, nothing was really there to get others’ attention. Add to all of that the fact Dobson wanted between 10 and 20 dollar for 170 pages on average or less (Look up Legends, the precursor to Alex ze Pirate. Only 78 pages! Formera at least had around 152 per volume at prices between 9,99 and 15$) when you could buy a manga with more than 250 pages for less at the time…

And people said nope and rather looked up what the heck this Sonichu was people talked about.

As a result, Dobson never really sold stuff as proven with deviantart entries like this…

and he cancelled his comics after 1 or 2 volumes, not even wrapping up his stories he was supposedly so proud of and wanted to tell. All because Dobson essentially cared more about “making quick money” instead of telling a decent story he wanted people to read.

By abandoning these projects (and the characters in it) unceremoniously, Dobson had in my opinion also contributed a lot towards his online infamy. After all, what are you supposed to believe about a creator, who abandons his own creation completely instead of at least trying to salvage it (he could have still made Formera publicly readable by making it a webcomic) and has the audacity to call the overall popularity of others (particularly anime and mangas) the reason for its failing success. Plus it seems that their failure was the main reason why he would rather create 4-panel or one page comics instead of stories with more complexity afterwards, which resulted in the way Alex ze Pirate was presented (and is a topic for a later entry) and eventually SYAC.

 Bottomline, creating a “paywall” for his original work resulted in people on average not becoming aware of Dobson as the creator of some okayish comics, because they never saw them and instead would be exposed to other, “inferior” if not outright meanspirited and toxic artwork and opinions. And creating a paywall for Cabin’s Rest, even if as minimalistic as 1$ will just result in history repeating itself. He can claim that he creates a great comic as much as he wants, if we can’t see it for ourselves and judge, we can only say “what comic”? He won’t gain widespread popularity this way, because so far only 13-16 people (the total amount of Patreons he has to my knowledge) even were able to see the comic.

And now not even they can, because Dobson wants to spite his critics/trolls and take away the chance for them to see it, by making it unwatchable for anyone. I know he claims it is only for as long till he finds a way to get rid of the leaker, but that also begs the question: How do you want to do that? How do you want to assure only those who will not leak it, see this comic? You have already so little traffic on the site, you should actually be happy even for trolls paying you, cause at least it pays for a Happy Meal once a month. Dobson, if you really want Cabin’s Rest aka muslim vampire comic to succeed, you should just make it public. I know doing so will mean you are also exposed to all your critics and yes they will find something to mock and criticize, but at least you are out and have a higher chance to find also people willingly ready to support you, cause they want to see it.

[softboywriting]

Falling Stars | Shawn Mendes AU

Summary: Shawn is the new doctor in your small town. You are the owner of the bookshop across the street from his clinic. The two of you hit it off immediately and thus begins a relationship that is everything you’ve ever dreamed of. [mild nsfw portion] 

Word Count: 26k

| Masterlist in bio |

The lights of Falling Stars second hand book shop flicker to life in the slowest way possible. The single bulb hanging lamps are nearly as old as the building itself so it doesn't surprise you when sometimes they take two minutes or more to come up to full brightness. The early morning sun illuminates the books in a way you will never get used to. There's something so magical about the way the light warms the old wooden shelves, glinting off golden lettered book spines. The smell of cinnamon wafts through the air and you smile at your little table display front and center of the room. It has little pumpkins and fake orange and red leaves surrounding them with cinnamon sticks tucked into decorative vases that you dressed up with ribbon and little pinecones. A few stacks of books with autumnal themed titles sit around the display pieces. It is the epitome of Autumn and you couldn't be happier.

You flip the sign on the door over to OPEN and head to the checkout counter. A large black cat jumps up on the counter and lets out a soft meow, begging for your attention. It's Alice, the shop mascot and your beloved companion. She had wandered in the back door a few years ago and never bothered to leave. You suspect she may have belonged to the old woman who rented the apartment above the hardware store next door before she passed away. She never showed interest in following you up to your apartment above the bookshop, so you left her food and water with a homemade sweater bed near the utility closet.

“Good morning Alice,” you mutter softly as she headbutts your hand. “Are you hungry?”

Alice meows loudly. Of course she was hungry. What a silly question. She'd only been alone all night, stalking mice in the backroom and misplacing her stuffed toys you made her. Alice jumps down with a loud thump and leads you to her food dish. You supply her with a single scoop and she looks up at you in disdain. How foolish of you, thinking she would get full on one measly scoop. You scoop just a tiny bit more, not even enough to cover the bottom of the scoop, and sprinkle it on top. This satisfies her and she dismisses you, sticking her face in the dish and you turn away to go about opening up shop.

A few minutes later and you've got your register set up, money in it from the safe, and a fresh apple scented candle lit beside your computer. It's time to start your day. You pull up your stool and take a seat to check emails and online orders that are ready to ship. Online is most of your business, though you have your regular customers, shoppers who come from the city to find books not available in the major bookstores anymore and of course people who stop by on their way through town.

You see an email from one of your book suppliers, Dakota Press, and it says your book delivery will be arriving late. A delivery van broke down so they're behind schedule. No big deal. You never announce your new books until you had them physically on hand just for that exact reason. You open a few more emails, customers requesting books that were marked out of stock but you can order from Dakota Press. You take note to order them, adding the customers to your special order list and opening emails from customers searching for particular books they haven’t been able to locate online or in stores.

The bell over the shop door jingles and you look up to see a tall man walk in. He's about your age, maybe a year or two older. Definitely not someone you've seen before. Your first thought is tourist, someone just passing through, but he's too well dressed to be an average dad on a road trip and he was definitely not a fisherman from the harbour. His button down shirt is clearly starched and pressed, and those pants are tailored to fit. His shoes look to be out of a high end store, the watch on his wrist is probably worth your bills for three months and his hair is carefully styled and his skin is glowing. He was something else... something else with money.

“Hello, welcome to Falling Stars!” You cheer from behind the counter. You slide off your stool and fix your sweater so it covers the top of your leggings a bit better. You really wish you'd worn a better pair than your old black cable knit ones, but oh well. Hindsight is 20/20 right?

“Hello. This place is really lovely,” the man says with a gentle smile. Heartwarming. Kind. His eyes said it all as you approach him.

“Thank you so much, I try to keep the place nice. It is a very old building though, it has it’s problems.”

“No no, it's beautiful. I love it. It's very homey and warm. It has character,” he says as he browses the romantic fiction shelf near the doors.

Alice appears and winds around his legs, depositing a lovely clump of loose hair on the ankle of his pants. “Oh crap, Alice no,” you mutter, leaning down and grabbing the hair ball. When you stand back up, the man is beaming at you, a playful smile on the edge of a laugh.

“You didn't have to do that, I don't mind a little cat hair. Cute little thing probably thinks I smell weird.”

“Oh no, she knows better than to rub on people. I don't think you smell at all.” You turn scarlet as you realize what you've said. He did smell quite good, like an expensive cologne you smelled once in a department store. Not that you meant it like that. “I-I am so sorry, I mean like you don't smell weird? Like no, you smell good but not that I noticed that you smell like anything. I just-”

The guy bursts out laughing, eyes crinkling and head thrown back. God he's a sight to behold. His whole aura is brighter than the sun streaming in the front windows. “I understand what you mean but thank you, I try not to smell,” he manages through continued spouts of laughter until he's left smiling at your red cheeked face.

“So, um, are you looking for anything in particular?” You ask, trying your best to slip into business mode and out of awkward flirting mode. Things like this was why you are single, and you know it.

“Actually, I'm just looking for something to read between patients. I've just started at the clinic across the street,” he says as he points to the West Finch Clinic sign on the brick building across the road. It was owned by Dr. Finch for ages and he since retired in February and put the practice up for sale.

“Oh! You're the new doctor!” You exclaim excitedly. It explained his appearance, the well kept polished look and high end clothing and accessories.  

“Mhmm. I decided to leave the city, needed a change of pace.” He grabs a book and turns it over in his hands. “I think this one will do.”

“Of course, I'll get you at the counter.”

You hurry around the display table and punch in your lock code on the register. The man strolls up and lays the book down and you punch in the cost you have labeled on the back. He leans against the counter on his forearms and stares at the wall mounted shelf behind you. It's where you keep your homemade lotions and balms and things of that sort along with a few of your favorite stones and crystals.

“Do you make those?” He asks, pointing at the shelves.

You glance back and smile. “Yes, they're really good for all sorts of skin ailments. Though I suppose you might not believe in homeopathic remedies?”

He laughs and nods. “I do actually, medicine is one option but it's not always the right one. Many natural remedies are proven to work just as well if not better than man made ones. Can I see the lemon hand balm?”

“Of course.” You grab a tin off the shelf and place it on the counter. “It's six dollars but since you got a book I'll only charge you five.”

He pops the lid off and smells it, eyes closed as he smiles. “Sold. I need something to keep my hands soft. Washing and sanitizing so much makes them so dry.” He pushes the tin toward you and you place it in the little brown sack you're putting his book in.

“Your total is fourteen fifty three. Cash or card?”

“Card,” he says, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and passing you a black credit card. You glance at the name and then to him with a smile. It wasn't until that moment you realized you hadn't gotten his name yet.

“Thank you, Dr. Mendes,” you grin as you slide his card across the registers reader.

“Just Shawn is fine. Dr. Mendes makes me feel so old,” he chuckles, taking his card back.

You lean on the counter and prop your head up on your hand. “Well, Shaaawwnnn, I put a flyer in your bag with my hours, email address and phone number. I mean, not mine, but the shop’s. I guess that's sort of mine though...” You drop your head and realize you've blabbered again. And why did you draw his name out all weird like that? You really need to get your shit together.

“Thank you,” Shawn smiles softly and grabs his bag. “I'll see you around?”

“Yeah, don't see a stranger. Fuck. Don't be a stranger, see you around.”

Shawn laughs as he waves goodbye. You watch as he jogs across the street to avoid a Mrs. Jensen's red truck as she drives to work, waving at the store on her way. She was a regular customer of yours and a good friend. You sink down onto your stool and drop your head on the counter.

“Alice, why am I so dumb?” you groan and Alice appears from the back room and meows softly. “Yes I am. I am dumb. It's like when I see a guy I'm attracted to, my brain short circuits.”

Alice winds around the stool legs, purring and headbutting your feet. Some days you really think she is listening to you, others you're sure she just doesn't care. Today she seemed to listen, and for that you're thankful.

“I should just be myself right? If guys don't like it then they can lump it. That's what Grandma would say.”

Alice meows and jumps up on the counter to headbutt your head.

“Who needs guys anyway. I got you, and you're way better than any silly doctor with soft eyes and big hands and...” You groan, petting Alice's back and she flops on her side. “I'm totally screwed.”

_____________________

A week later you wake up to the sound of rumbling thunder and your windows rattling and you sit up, disgruntled from being woken out of a deep sleep. Your bedroom is dark save for your alarm clock that's flashing the wrong time. The power must have gone out at some point. You pull your blankets back and get out of bed just as thunder shakes your apartment to its core. Below you, you can hear something crash and you jump. The damn bookcase that leans forward funny must have fallen over.

You grab a jacket and shove your feet into your old bear feet shaped slippers, a gift from your grandma before she passed, and head for the front door to the stairs. As you make your way down the dark staircase to the door that went outside you can see it rattling, the old glass panel at the top holding on for dear life. The floor is wet, rain leaking in under the door.

You forgo the water for now, the old cement foundation will just absorb it over time. The wind nearly knocks you over as you walk the few feet to the shop door. Rain pelts you like icy gravel and you struggle to get the already notoriously sticky lock open. Once inside, you're soaked,  and dripping all over, but you can't bothered. The bookcase has in fact fallen over and it's taken out your table display as well. The shop is a mess and you sigh, knowing this will take all day to clean up.

Alice runs out of the back, slinking low to the ground as she makes her way to you. The bookcase must have scared her pretty badly. You pick her up and rub her ears.

“It's okay Alice. If you would come upstairs with me, you probably wouldn't be so scared,” you sigh, carrying her to her bed in the cramped utility room and setting her down as you sit beside it.

You decide to lay beside her as you pet her back slowly until she rolls on her side and relaxes. The rain makes you sleepy and you find yourself falling asleep spooned against Alice on the floor. It wouldn't be the first time you did this during a storm, but it would be the first time someone found you like that.

“Hello?” A voice calls from the front of the shop. You sit up, looking around and realizing you're in the utility room with Alice. Not your bedroom.

“I'll be right there!” you call out, jumping up and pulling your hair back in a ponytail on your wrist. You step over a fallen broom and look around the shop. No one seems to be there but, oh wait, there they are. Crouched in front of your broken table is Shawn, picking up little broken pieces of the cinnamon sticks from the vases.

“Oh you are here. Are you alright?” Shawn asks, standing and bringing the vase and stick pieces to the counter.

“Yes, I'm okay. The bookshelf just fell and hit the table. It's a mess but it's fine.” You sigh, looking over the mess before you. “I must have left the door unlocked.”

“Were you sleeping?” Shawn chuckles, taking in your rumpled clothes and bear slippers.

“I...I was just just looking for a broom in the back. I came down to check on the shop because I heard the bookcase fall...I didn't think about getting dressed.” You look down at your polka dotted sleep pants and old yellow summer camp tee from when you were a counselor one summer.

Shawn looks over at the mess and raises his eyebrows. “Do you need a hand? I don't open the clinic for another hour or so.”

“No! No I got it! Don't worry about it. It's not the first time that old shelf has fallen. You go get ready for work okay? I'm good. Thank you though.”

“You're sure? I mean I can stay...”

You put your hands up and wave him away. “I'm sure. Please, go do your doctor stuff. I'll clean up.”

Shawn steps over some books as you walk him to the door. He opens his mouth to say something but all he manages to get out is that you should be careful cleaning up the glass. You make a shushing noise and send him out into the rain. There was no way you were letting him stick around and help. It would just give you too much room to say something stupid and make him disappear forever. You weren't taking that chance.

Four hours later and the shop was back in order, save for the broken display table. The bookcase is propped up, books stacked beside it for the time being. You were debating getting a new shelf or finding a way to anchor that one. But for now you've parked yourself at the counter with a bottle of super glue and a pile of broken vases.

It's nearly half past eleven when the door jingles and Frank walks in with an arm full of books. Frank often brought books he found in yard sales and estate sales. He never wanted money for them, just some peppermint lotion for his wife and a tin of wintergreen hand salve for his old hands.

“Afternoon, Frank. What do you have today?” You grin, pushing aside your half built vase. Frank's books were like getting Christmas presents. Some were just the thing you wanted, others were the equivalent of a pair of underwear that you neither wanted or needed.

“I got some goodins!” Frank laughs, setting five books down for you. “I have an old Winnie the Pooh, a copy of a book called Taming Wolves, and a couple of old westerns.”

“Ohh, Taming Wolves eh?” You laugh, flipping the book over. It was a documentary book, a diary of sorts by a researcher in Alaska named Barry Dunes. Interesting.

“It's real good. I read a few pages myself.”

“Looks good, and this Winnie the Pooh is in great condition for its age. You outdid yourself Frank.”

Frank beams.

“I suppose you need some salve? Lemon or wintergreen this time?”

“Lemon please. Say, what happened to your little table out here?” He asks, looking around the very empty front area.

You place the salve in a bag for him with a little bottle of lotion you know his wife will need. “The bookcase fell again. I need to get a new one that isn't so damaged on the bottom.”

“I'll tell you what. I'll make you a new bookcase and a table, if you give me four tins of the mint salve and a large lotion for Annie.”

“Frank, that's hardly enough. I don't want you to go through all the trouble.”

Frank waves you off. “I'm dying to get back in my wood shed. It'll be my treat, might take a few days but I'll make it so sturdy a hurricane couldn't bring it down!”

You smile softly, shaking your head as you hand him his bag. “Alright, but I'll owe you, any time you need something just stop by. You don't even have bring books.”

“I'll still bring books kiddo, you know I love how it makes you smile brighter than the sun when I get something you really like. I'll be by in a few days, keep an eye out for my truck okay?” Frank says as he tucks his bag into his front overall pocket. “Be good now Alice,” he says with a wink at Alice who's laying in the window seat on his way out.

You can't help but smile as Frank walks down the street. It was nice to feel so loved and have friends like Frank. You really don't know what you would have done if he hadn't showed up, the bookcase would probably just have to be removed. It was so battered from the fall, it wasn't stable enough to use anymore. Thank goodness for little miracles.

_____________________

It's early evening a few days later and you're getting ready to close up and go to the store for some groceries. You've shut down the register, locked up the back and put the money in the safe. Everything is golden, things are looking up from the beginning of the week, and you couldn't be more content...until you grab your glued together vase a bit harshly and a piece collapses, poking right into your hand.

The pain is instant and you drop the vase on the counter. A small chunk of red glass is sticking out of your hand, bleeding down your palm. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. In a moment of panic, you freeze, looking around for something to stop the bleeding but finding nothing but tissues. The glass is in pretty deep and at a weird angle so you're scared to pull it out.

Across the street Shawn steps out of the clinic and you see him lock up, waving goodbye to his receptionist as she drives past. Immediately you hurry for the door and open it, eyes wide as you walk briskly across the road, holding your hand out in front of you.

“Shawn! Shawn!” You call out, voice trembling.

Shawn turns around and sees your hand. “Hey, I was just- Oh! Okay, keep it up, let's get inside,” he says calmly as he unlocks the door.

You follow him inside and to a small patient room. He puts on gloves and leads you to the sink, turning the water on and having you keep your hand under it while he inspects the glass.

“This is from one of the vases isn't it?” He asks with a little smile. “Didn't I say be careful?”

“It slipped, or I grabbed it too hard, I don't know what happened. I just grabbed it and suddenly it collapsed and the shard was in my hand.” You look at the chunk sticking out and Shawn grabs a pair of tweezers from a drawer and unwraps them from their sterile baggy before leading you to the exam table where you take a seat while he plops down on his rolling stool. “This is gonna hurt isn't it?”

“A little bit. Don't worry.” Shawn holds your hand palm up in his and pulls the glass out. You wince. It bleeds a bit more and Shawn works quickly to get it cleaned up and bandaged. He so focused as he wipes your hand down with alcohol and puts on a gauze pad that he wraps with tape. A little curl falls on his forehead and you can't help but stare at it. It's so cute and he's so hot the way he works so seriously. Your heart flutters when his face eases into a smile as he finishes taping your hand and looks up at you.

“Thank you. I probably could have taken care of it but I just panicked. I'm sorry I kept you from going home,” you mumble, dropping your hand to the side and sliding off the exam table.

“It's no problem. It's not like I've got much going on at home anyway,” Shawn chuckles. He peels his gloves off and tosses them as he begins cleaning up and sanitizing the counter.

“You're single then? A guy like you? No way,” you tease, leaning against the wall and he looks over with a small smile. “You're not joking?”

“Nope,” he laughs as he scrubs his hands and forearms. “I haven't really tried getting into the dating scene here in town.”

You let out a chuckle and look out the door into the empty lobby. The rain looks like its coming back, the sky looks gray and overcast. “I don't know how much of a dating scene there really is here. I haven't been out in years.”

Shawn dries his hands on some paper towels from the dispenser by your head. “Not big on dating either?”

“No, not really,” you shake your head.

“Well that makes two of us. Come on, let me walk you home.”

“I live just across the street,” you chuckle and he shrugs.

He walks you out of the clinic and across the empty street. A small whirlwind of leaves blows across your path and he catches a big oak leaf that is burnt orange and hands it to you. “For your display, I noticed it was temporarily on the counter yesterday. It was missing some leaves,” he smiles, beaming down at you like the sun and you take it, biting your lip bashfully.

“Thank you, I didn't even realize you had stopped in again,” you mutter, twirling the leaf in your fingers.

“You were busy helping a couple people. I didn't want to bother you.”

“Oh, that's okay, you can always talk to me anytime.” Shawn continues to smile warmly and your cheeks heat up. “Well anyway, I should probably get going. I need to get some groceries still. Alice will think she's dying if I don't have food for her in the morning.”

“Of course,” Shawn says softly, laying his hand on your arm. “Don't use that hand too much alright? It needs to rest so the skin heals. You should pick up some gauze or large bandaids too, you're going to want to replace it in a few hours, okay?”

“Yes doctor,” you laugh and he shakes head. “I promise I'll be careful and get some gauze.” You pull your phone out and add gauze and tape to your grocery list, then turn it around for him to see. “Got it locked in.”

Shawn grabs your phone and types something before giving it back. “That's my cell number. In case you need anything.”

“O-oh.” You glance at your phone and back up at him. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Shawn grins, rubbing his neck nervously. “I'll see you tomorrow then?”

“Mmm, maybe. Do you need a book?”

“I am almost finished with the one I got...maybe I could stop in before I open the clinic.”

You duck your head and giggle. “Tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow,” he says, laying his hand on your elbow and giving your arm a gentle squeeze before he crosses the street and heads to his Jeep that's parked in the alley between the clinic and the bakery.

You dig in your sweater pocket and lock the shop up before going in to your place to get your shopping bags. The moment you close the door to your living room you let out a squeal. You can’t believe you got the cell number of the finest man you have ever seen. God and the way he kept touching your arm...you were a goner.

_____________________

“So you're telling me a sexy young doctor moved into the West Finch Clinic and has the hots for you?” Nani, your best friend, laughs in disbelief.

“Yes! It sounds insane, I know. I mean maybe I'm reading too far into it but the way he smiled at me and touched my arm after bandaging my hand up...ugh, you would be dying.”

Nani adjusts her laptop so she can lay down and still see you in the Skype window. “Have you made a move yet? Did you flirt back?”

“I think so?”

“You think so? Either you did or didn't. Tell me everything! I swear if you mess it up with a hot doctor I'll book a flight out of here just to beat your ass.”

You roll your eyes. “You are not leaving this close to your wedding date. Your mother would skin you alive. Besides isn't a flight from the Philippines like seventeen hours or something?”

Nani groans. “How are you always right? Ugh, I hate it. Why did I have to go home to get married?”

“Because you wanted your family to be there?”

“Ugh. Family. Whatever, enough about me. I need to know more about your plans for Dr. Sexy.”

You laugh and flop over on your bed, grabbing your sequined pillow and curling around it. “His name is Shawn, if you must know. I know he's single, and I think he came from the city. Not sure why though...who wants to move here?”

“You aren't wrong about that. Roselake is pretty boring. I mean, it was nice growing up there part of the years but there isn't much to do.”

“I know. It makes me think he probably didn't know what he was getting into when he bought Finch's practice. He'll probably get so bored he'll go back to the city.”

“Not if he has a cute book nerd to stick around for,” Nani waggles her eyebrows at you.

“Oh shut up! He is probably just so friendly because he hasn't explored the town yet. There are far cuter girls around here. Don't you remember Millie Green? I bet he'd drop dead if he came across her.”

“Millie Green is a snakey little tart. Don't tear yourself down like that, don't compare yourself to the likes of Millie. You're very cute too, now you've grown into your body and lost those doofy glasses.”

“Hey!”

“I'm right and you know it!” Nani looks off screen to someone and back to you. “Erik is ready to go pick out flowers. I gotta go. You better step up your flirting game. At least make casual conversation and see where it goes.”

“Ugh, fine. It's your fault if I make an idiot out of myself.”

“You'll be fine. Pinky swear you will ask him why he moved to Roselake,” Nani says holding her pinky out to the camera. You hold yours up and hook it in the air, promising you'll make an attempt to talk to Shawn. What could casual conversation hurt?

_____________________

You pull your shoes on and a sweater over leggings again, glance in the mirror and decide it's as good as any outfit. Comfort over style your grandma always said. She was always right. You grab a bagel and a little pack of cream cheese. It's one of those mini sample cups that stores have near the bagel case. You like to take as many as you can so you never have to shell out for cream cheese. You head for the front door and as soon as you're out the lower door, you see Shawn milling around outside the shop.

“Morning,” he grins big, giving you a little wave. “I guess I'm early huh?”

“A little bit.” You hand him your cream cheese and bite the bagel to hold it as you unlock the front door to Falling Stars.

Shawn follows you inside and Alice nearly trips him, yowling because she wants breakfast. “Easy,” he laughs, lifting her up on the counter. “You have to talk to your mom about food. Not me.”

Alice meows, staring at him. You go around and place your bagel on the register while you scoop Alice's food. At the sound of kibble tinkling in her bowl, she comes running.

“So, what can I do for you Shawn?” You ask cheerily as you walk up to the counter and start preparing your bagel.

“Well,” he starts, leaning against the counter. He's wearing a dark blue cardigan over a soft grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up and it makes you wanna combust. He looks so good in such a simple but cozy way. “I was thinking about how you said you weren't much into dating and neither am I, and so I was wondering if you'd like to join me in seeing the town?”

“Like a date or...” You trail off, dropping your bagel, cheese first onto the register.

“Just as acquaintances. If that's okay. I haven't really talked to anyone else besides a few patients and they're a little wary of me. I thought maybe you might be able to help introduce me to the town...”

“Sure, of course. Yeah, anytime.”

Shawn looks at your bagel and raises his eyebrows. “Wednesday?”

“I'm totally free Wednesdays. Totally free all the time really but anyway,” you laugh nervously, peeling your breakfast off the register keys.

“Oh man, that is a mess,” Shawn chuckles.

“It's no biggie. I have wet wipes around here somewhere.” You glance around the cubbies under the counter, running a hand over your hair to push back some fly aways. “Anyway, Wednesday is great. I'll show you all the best parts of Roselake.”

“Excellent. See you then,” Shawn says, slapping the counter like a drum before backing away to go to the door. Looks like you're not the only awkward one. “Oh, by the way, your hair looks nice today, but you got some cream cheese in it.”

Your hands fly to your hair and sure enough you smeared some after picking it up off the register. Shawn laughs as he closes the door behind him, flipping the sign to OPEN as he leaves. You stare at your bagel and smile. You landed a date with a doctor. Well, not a real date, but basically a date. Nani was gonna flip out.

_____________________

Wednesday comes before you know it and you're a nervous wreck as you close up the shop and go upstairs to change clothes. You have to keep reminding yourself that it's not a date. It's not. You put on a pair of jeans and a sweater, boots and a slouchy beanie hat. Nothing fancy. Not date clothes.

Shawn is waiting for you outside the shop. He has on the same dark blue cardigan as he did the other day, with black jeans and instead of a button up shirt he has on a soft well worn t-shirt. He looks as good as always, but a little extra today maybe. A little more relaxed, cozy, warm like his eyes. You can't help but smile and he smiles right back.

“You look great, I like your boots,” Shawn says as you get close. You look down at your feet and it's just your regular brown boots with the leg warmers sticking out of the top.

“Thanks, they're my favorite pair,” you giggle and kick your foot out a little. “Oldies but goodies.”

Shawn just beams. It kills you the way he looks at you like that. The way his face says a thousand words but you can't quite make out any of them. He seemed to find you endearing, but maybe you've mistaken that for politeness. You never were great at reading people, too many times you'd been wrong and you weren't about to say something now and ruin whatever you were building here.

“Where to first?” Shawn asks. He opens the passenger side door of his Jeep for you and stands by it, hand out for you. “I'm not sure where anything is around here. I haven’t done a lot of exploring.”

You step down off the curb, taking Shawn's offered hand for balance, though you don't actually need it. “I think we should go to the shore. There is a memorial there about how Roselake was founded.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Twenty minutes later and you're at the shore of the harbour that provided much of Roselake’s economy. Shawn got lost twice, turning left instead of right because he was too focused on the story you were telling him about how you adopted Alice. It's cute, how he gets so lost in your words. You can't remember the last time a guy listened so wholeheartedly.

You step out of the Jeep and Shawn meets you on your side and you lead him to the small historical plaque that contained the story of Roselake. The story goes that the harbour was once a large pocket of ocean water that got called a “lake” and was found by Edward Jenkins Rose nearly a hundred years ago. The town didn't get built until about fifty years later when there was a massive storm and flooding that deteriorated the strip of land between the ocean and the “lake” and opened it up to be a harbour. The area became a quick transfer route for many fishing and cargo companies because they no longer had to dock several miles up the coast and freight their goods out of the way to the plants in the city a few miles away from Roselake.

“So Roselake wasn't even actually a lake?” Shawn laughs and you nod. “I guess they didn't know what else to call it, even though it was clearly salt water?”

“Yep. So Roselake should probably be called Rose Harbour but no one is going to bother changing that after a hundred years.” You lean on the railing of the outlook and sigh softly.

Shawn leans next to you, his arm bumping yours. It makes your heart race. Being so out of touch with another person had taken its toll on you to the point where a simple brush of arms was exciting. Sad. “What's up? Why the heavy sigh? We're supposed to be having fun.”

“It's nothing, I was just thinking.” You look out at a ship that is pulling in to dock. Everyone you knew was from Roselake, no one came to live here. Who came to live in a fishing town? “Why did you come here? Why leave the city?” you find yourself asking, not really meaning to, but it comes out anyway.

“I hated it.” You glance over, surprised at that answer. “I grew up in Davenport, one of the city’s suburbs, and it just...it made me feel trapped. I went to college to become a general practitioner and while doing my residency in a local hospital since they were the only available training outlet, I saw so much violence and trauma, I don't know how I survived.” He chuckles deprecatingly, running a hand through his hair. “I dunno how I became a doctor sometimes.”

“Wow,” you mutter, not having expected such a heavy response.

“I spent almost a year on the staff of the hospital I did residency in before deciding I couldn't take it. For a while I thought I was going to have to throw it all away for nothing. I thought I couldn't handle being a doctor, that I'd have to suck it up or find a new profession.” Shawn lets out a heavy sigh and leans over the railing as he continues. “A friend told me about how his dad used to run a family practice in small town, and how it was so quiet and nice. I thought that would be perfect, that I could still do what I loved with helping people but on a smaller scale like I really wanted. So I looked for practices for sale or ones looking for partners, and that's how I found West Finch.”

“Oh, that’s quite a journey,” you mutter, looking over at him. He smiles, soft and warm. You look away, back to the sun setting on the ships in the harbour.

“I shouldn't have unloaded like that. I'm so sorry. I guess...I guess I just felt comfortable enough to tell you,” Shawn chuckles nervously.

“No, it's okay. I asked. I'm glad you feel comfortable with me, it's nice to feel like you have a friend.”

“Yeah. You're the first person I’ve really talked to. You’re actually the first person I met.”

You push off the railing and cross your arms. “No way. I am not the first person you met. The town may be small but it’s not that small.”

Shawn laughs, turning around and hopping up to sit on the railing. “You were. I mean, I met the realtor that showed me my apartment and the clinic, but she doesn't count.”

“Oh come on. You didn't run into someone in your apartment building or like at the grocery store?”

“Nope, not a single person talked to me more than doing their jobs. It's like they knew I was some weird outsider,” he chuckles with a soft sigh. “I'm not weird am I?”

“Maybe a little bit,” you tease with a smile, walking down the path, running your hand along the railing. “But I guess maybe I’m kind of weird too, so it's relative.”

Shawn hops down and walks over to you, smiling as he shakes his head. “Oh come on, you're not weird at all. In fact, you're the most normal person I've met here so far.”

You roll your eyes. “Says the guy who hasn’t met very many people here yet. Anyway, let's get going. Are you hungry? There's a place not far from here that has the best shrimp alfredo, it’s kind of a local hang out.”

“Are you trying to steal my heart?” Shawn laughs as you get into the Jeep. “Shrimp is my ultimate weakness.”

“What, no way, me too! I could eat shrimp all day long!”

Shawn starts the Jeep and backs out of the parking area. “Lead the way, and it's my treat. We'll eat shrimp until we explode.”

“Deal, but I might eat so much that you’re broke.”

“I hardly doubt that, but if I eat more than you, you have to tell me your story of Roselake.”

You look over and he's grinning. You agree to his challenge, knowing he would probably win anyways. You didn't mind though, it wasn't as if you had that crazy of a life story or anything. You just want to play along, to see this fun side of Shawn, to see who he is beneath his cool doctor exterior.

_____________________

Somehow you find yourself sitting in the back of Cap’n Clark's Bar and Grill with six jumbo shrimp sticking out or your mouth like some kind of sea monster while Shawn turns purple laughing. He's holding onto the table for dear life, leaned over on his arms just crying every time he glances at you.  His laughter gets the best of you and you have to remove the shrimp because you are laughing too hard, turning a similar shade of purple.

Shawn ended up eating more than you, like you figured, and so as the evening winds down he holds you to the deal. You don't know why, but suddenly you're nervous. There wasn't even that much to tell...well...not much to you anyway. It just seemed so intimate.

“So, did you grow up here?” Shawn asks, stirring his drink with his straw.

“Yeah. My parents worked in the harbour and got married pretty quick. I wasn't really planned or anything, my dad always said they didn't want kids because they were both away on fishing boats a lot. Life isn't perfect though,” you chuckle, staring at Shawn's hand as he swivels the straw around in his drink with his index finger.

“So...your parents didn't want a kid?”

You shake your head. “That's shitty right? I mean babies are not an accidental thing, if you don't want kids, be more cautious. Anyway, I was raised by my Grandma. My mom's mother. My parents just wouldn't give up their lives for a baby.”

Shawn leans back in his side of the booth and folds his arms as he listens. You glance up at his face and he looks kind of pissed off.  He was angry at your parents on your behalf, yet he hardly knew you. What a soft hearted person.

“So anyway, Falling Stars was my grandma's bookstore. When I got a little older I helped introduce her into the online marketplaces. She always let me run that part of the business because computers were just not her forte.” You chuckle to yourself. “She passed away when I was twenty, she was nearly eighty seven. Pneumonia. She left me everything.”

“I'm so sorry,” Shawn murmurs. “What about your parents? Are you in contact with them?”

You let out a dry laugh. “My parents are either dead or sitting on a beach somewhere with all their fishing boat money. I really don't know or care. They stopped sending Grandma money when I turned eighteen, stopped visiting when I was about thirteen.”

“Wow.”

“It's no big deal. I know it sounds sad and tragic but it's not. It's just my life. I grew up happy with just Grandma. I never knew any different.” You smile softly and Shawn smiles back. “Now it's just me and Alice carving our little place in the world one book at a time.”

“Yeah,” Shawn chuckles. “I'm sorry, by the way. I didn’t realize I'd open a can of worms like this. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, we made a deal. You ate more, I spilled my guts. You already spilled yours earlier. I didn't even have to eat an ungodly amount of shrimp for it,” you smirk.

“Oh so I'm an open book eh?”

You bite your lip, looking away because it's just too easy to tease him. He felt so natural, easy to talk to. If this was flirting, you think you might be nailing it. “Just a little bit. I like it though, I like feeling comfortable with someone. It's been a while.”

“I can understand that, I feel the same way.”

You hum in agreement as you finish off your strawberry daiquiri. Shawn insisted you get anything you want off the menu and you hadn't had a strawberry daiquiri since your twenty first birthday...and it was definitely going to help you loosen up on this “not date”. So you went for it, and now it's gone and you're feeling giggly, and giggly meant you would probably be talking too much and Shawn should really take you home.

“Where to next?” Shawn asks as he hands the server his card and the bill he definitely wasn't letting you see.

“Home?”

“Already? Is Roselake just the harbour and Cap'n Clark's?”

“Well, no...but most of the shops are closed by now...I don't know if you’d really want to go to any bars. They're just full of old drunk fisherman anyway.”

Shawn grins and lets out a chuckle. “I don't seem the type to hang out with fisherman?”

You shake your head, leaning you chin on your hand. “Nope, but maybe Sunday we can go to the farmers market on the edge of town. Loads of people come and set up there. It's like a whole mini town.”

“Hmm, are you asking me on a date?” Shawn smirks. Ugh. You could grab his face and kiss him right there with everyone to see. How dare he be so handsome and tease you like it was nothing.

“I'll be showing you the town, it's not a date. Is this a date?”

“Well, I did spill my guts to you and take you to a restaurant where I paid, when we were supposed to be exploring Roselake. Is it a date? Ehh...maybe?”

“If it's a date, I get your sweater at the end of the night.”

Shawn raises his eyebrows at you, signing the credit card receipt that the server leaves. “Is that so? I've never heard of that rule.”

You sit back and cross your arms. You can feel your cheeks flushing from the drink. Either it had been pretty strong or your tolerance was in the hole, because you were feeling it. “It's a Roselake tradition.”

“Uh huh,” he smiles slowly, playing along with your nonsense. “I don't suppose I'd want to dishonor a town tradition then.”

“Nope, but if it's not a date, then you don't have to worry.”

“Right. Let's go, I'm sure Alice needs her dinner by now,” Shawn says as he stands and offers his hand. You take it and he keeps one hand on your back as you leave the restaurant.

The drive home is quick since Shawn isn't getting lost this time. He parks the Jeep outside the shop and comes around to help you out. An actual gentleman. Wow.

“Thanks for showing me around town,” Shawn says as he walks with you to your door. “Even if we did only go a few places.”

“It was fun.”

“It was. So um, good night I guess. You okay getting up the stairs?”

You nod, opening the stairwell door and stepping inside. “Mmmhmm. Goodnight.”

“Wait,” Shawn says, hand on the door frame. “I think this belongs to you now.” He shrugs out of his cardigan and hands it to you.

“Are you...”

“This was the best night I've had in a long time. I'd like to think it was a date if you would. Do you accept?”

He holds the sweater up and you grab it. It's warm and very soft, just like you thought it would be. “I accept. Do you accept my date this Sunday?”

He chuckles. “I do, but you're not getting my sweater after that date. I'll run out of clothes that way.”

“Alright, but this one is mine,” you say as you wrap yourself up in his sweater.

“Okay, okay, goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early.”

Shawn moves his hand from the door frame and you close it. You stand on your tiptoes, looking out the window to see him as he gets in his Jeep. He sits there for a moment and pulls out his phone. He's smiling, laughing at something and he relaxes back into his seat, looking over at the shop with a smile as he talks. It make your heart swell, and you can't help but run up the stairs and jump on your bed. Shawn made you feel like you were sixteen again, and it was the best thing ever.

_____________________

“Welcome to Falling Stars,” you cheer from the counter, sat at your computer as usual. You look up and see it's Frank and his daughter Sylvia carrying in the bookcase he promised to make you. “Oh my God!” You jump up and run over to help them get it in.

It's made of dark wood that nearly matched the pre-existing shelves. On the top there is a mantle that has moons carved into it on either side. It's beautiful, far more than you ever expected. The table Sylvia brings in after the bookcase is set down is just a beautiful and has carved crescent moons around the top outside edges of it. It matches the shelf perfectly.

“What do you think kid? Not too bad for an old man!” Frank laughs, dusting his hands off on his overalls. He looks proud, smug even, and rightfully so. His work was stunning.

“They're amazing. I can't even begin to thank you, wow, I just...I'm at a loss for words. I can never repay you enough.” You walk over and put your arms around the little old man. He hugs you back, patting your shoulder and beaming at you when he pulls away. “Thank you.”

“You deserve it. You make Roselake brighter every day just by being here, it's about time someone gave back.” Sylvia clears her throat a little and Frank looks back at her. “I best be going, my wife has an appointment at the dentist. Seventy seven years old and I still have to hold her hand when we go there. Love her to pieces though,” Frank chuckles, shuffling out the door and to his truck.

You wave goodbye, standing beside Sylvia in the doorway as Frank pulls away from the street. “So, you know the new doctor?” Sylvia asks, nodding toward the clinic.

“We've met. He's really nice.” You hold your hand up where you've got a band aid covering the little bit of scab from the glass wound. “He patched me up the other week, excellent bedside manner.”

“I wouldn't mind a piece of that.”

“Sylvia! He's my age, come on.”

Sylvia shrugs and chuckles. “Call me a cougar then. Hey, I'm single and ready to mingle again.”

“Ah yeah, I heard about Ted. What a dick.”

“I'm past it. He can go fuck whatever city girls he wants, I got all his damn money and the house. I think I came out on top.”

You shake your head. “I still can't fathom why someone would cheat. I don't understand it.”

“Me neither kid. Anyway, you like the doctor? You said he's your age right?”

Shawn steps out of the front doors of the clinic and leans against the wall, head tilted back. “Yeah...I do. Would you mind?” You ask, looking into the empty shop and back at Shawn. Sylvia nods and makes a shooing motion with her hands.

You cross the street and walk up to Shawn, laying your hand on his arm gently. “Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, I'm great,” he smiles weakly, looking down at you. He's lying and he's horrible at it. “I just needed air, gets stuffy.”

“Mmm, everything all good today?” You press, hoping he'll just slip up and lower the obvious guard he holding up. “Anything interesting? I heard Mrs. Jenkins has a rash on her back the size of Texas.”

Shawn chuckles, covering your hand with his. “I'm not at liberty to discuss any of my patients, y'know, legal patient privacy rules and all.”

“Oh! Right, yeah, totally. I got ya. Well, if you need anything...I'm next door.”

“I know. Thank you,” he smiles, still weak as he grabs your hand and squeezes gently as he removes it from his arm and goes back inside. Something was wrong, properly stressing him out. You wished you could help.

You walk back over to the shop and Sylvia raises her eyebrows but says nothing. “Thanks for bringing the table and bookcase. Let your dad know that anything he needs, it's his.”

“Will do. See you around,” Sylvia waves and you close the door with a soft click behind her.

You get to work filling the new bookcase with the books that fell over a week ago. Every now and then you glance over at the clinic when you see movement but it's always a passerby or someone going to see Shawn. You can't help but wonder what stressed Shawn out, why he had to go outside and take a breather. Maybe something happened that reminded him of the city.

You turn a book over in your hands and smile. It was a favorite of yours, a romantic thriller called Run Among Thorns. You set it aside and finish up stocking the books. You go about setting up your autumn display with what you salvaged from the broken table. It's not much, but you still have a few mini pumpkins, the fake leaves, one glued together vase and a handful of pinecones. It was just as pretty if not smaller.

Ten minutes to six and you dust your hands off, looking around the shop with a satisfactory smile. Everything was back in order finally. Before you lock up you wrap the book you picked out earlier and feed Alice. You jog across the street and slide the book into the little mailbox next to the clinic door and put the flag up. It wasn't much, but you know receiving a gift on a bad day could change everything. It was something you learned from your grandma, something you hoped to pass on as much as you could.

_____________________

Sun shines in the window and you sit up, stretching and yawning big. It was Friday, only two days until your second date with Shawn. You can't wait, just the thought of being able to see him laugh again like he did at Cap'n Clark's makes your heart race. You're so distracted by thoughts of the weekend that you don't look at the clock and notice you've overslept until you're making breakfast and see the digital clock on the stove.

“Oh shit, shit,” you mutter, flipping the stove off and putting the eggs back in the fridge. It's after nine and you're supposed to be downstairs at eight. Alice would not be happy.

You don't bother to change out of your shirt and sweater, Shawn's sweater, that you slept in. You just pull on a pair of jeans off the floor and shove your feet into your fuzzy lined clogs and run downstairs.

Sure enough Alice is in the window, yowling like she's been abandoned for a week. Overdramatic cry baby. The mail flag is up on the post box and you peek in while unlocking the door. There's a few letter envelopes and a little box. You weren't expecting any returns or deliveries. You gather them up and head inside to feed your screaming furry baby.

With Alice satiated, you take a seat and tug open the brown paper wrapped box. It looks like an old disposable glove box and sure enough the top is taped closed so you have to open the end. Out of it falls a bunch of ribbon and miniature decorations of pumpkins, cats, skeletons and witch hats. A whole assortment of Autumn and Halloween-y things. A note falls out as well.

“A gift for a gift. Thought your table might need some friends. Thank you for the book, I can't wait to talk with you about it. -Shawn”

You look up through the windows and Shawn is standing there, holding up two coffee cups. He pulls the door open and walks in with a smile. “Good morning, did you oversleep?”

“Yeah, I guess I kept hitting the alarm,” you giggle sheepishly. Shawn sets a coffee down for you. “Thanks for the gifts.”

“It's no problem. You gave me a book, I had to return the favor.”

You pick up one of the skeletons and place him atop the register. “The craft store is in the city...”

“I know it is,” Shawn smirks around his coffee cup.

“Where did you get these?”

“I got them from the craft store, duh.”

“Oh.”

Shawn shakes his head. “They'll look great on that new table, or maybe,” he trails off, grabbing a little black cat and leaning over the counter. He tucks it into the side pocket of your sweater. “ it'll look cute like that.”

“You're a dork,” you laugh and he smiles big. “Don't you have patients to see or something?”

Shawn glances over at the clinic. “Yeah, y'know...a few but I had to see if you liked your gift.”

“I do, thank you again. Now go, don't keep people waiting!”

“I'm going,” he chuckles on his way to the door. Before he goes out he turns and looks back and says, “Oh and I like your sweater. It's very nice, definitely my favorite,” and winks. He dead ass winks at you and leaves.

You can't help the embarrassing giggle that bubbles out of you and you're glad that only Alice is around to hear it. You wrap his sweater around you and sigh softly, he was going to be the death of you and that would be just fine.

_____________________

“You what?!” Nani yells through the webcam. Her hair dresser jumps in the background and laughs. “You got his sweater?!”

“Yeah, I can't believe he actually gave it to me. I think he really likes me. Oh God I don't know how to deal with this.”

“Girl you just do you. He likes you for you. Do what feels natural, go with the flow. Remember when I met Erik?”

You pick your laptop up and carry it into the kitchen with you. “How could I forget? You sent me a text every ten minutes about his eyes or how he was sitting or when he almost touched your hand. God you were so infatuated.”

“Fair enough, but Erik liked me too. He gave all the signals and I was pressing go. What I'm saying is, listen to your gut and read Shawn's signals. You can't go wrong.”

“I mean I could but...”

Nani sets her phone on the counter of her hairdresser's booth. “He gave you his sweater, probably expensive by the looks of it, trust me. You can't read him wrong at this point.”

“I guess...”

“No guessing, he likes you. He brought you stuff for your display. Guys don't just do thoughtful stuff like that if they don't seriously like you.”

“You're right. I gotta stop over thinking it.”

“Yes you do. Let it happen.”

You nod, sighing softly as you say goodbye and let Nani get her hair cut. Nerves were getting the best of you and you knew it was only a matter of time. It had been three years since you let anyone in. After your ex, if you could call him that, you weren’t too keen on dating. Besides, everyone knew everyone in town and everyone had pretty much dated someone you knew, so it was weird. Seriously. If Nani hadn't gotten out of Roselake and went to college in the city she probably would have settled for and married Jackson Walters, her boyfriend before college. The thought of that makes your skin crawl. Not that he was a bad guy, but like, there was better in this world. You promised yourself that you'd never settle, even if that meant being alone with Alice until you were forty.

_____________________

Sunday morning you wake up and you're miserable. You knew you had a cold coming on while you grocery shopped on Saturday. Your nose was running, face swollen, ears a bit achy. You ignored it. Telling yourself it was just allergies even though it was autumn and everything was pretty much dying off in the cool air. You couldn't be sick, no, you had your date with Shawn at the farmers market today.

You force yourself out of bed and into the shower. A hot shower would clear this right up. You grab one of the little shower bombs that you made a few weeks ago, it's a chamomile mint one and if it didn't do the trick you were screwed.

Twenty minutes later and you step out of the shower feeling no better. Super. Awesome. You get dressed, the usual slightly too Iarge sweater, leggings, and boots combo. You add a scarf and knit fingerless gloves because it's a little chilly and they're cute. The clock reads five minutes until ten in the morning and the market opened in half an hour. You grab your keys and your bag and head down to the shop to feed Alice in case you got back late for dinner.

The sky is a little overcast but not bad, you had a few hours before it would rain. Plenty of time to browse the market. Once inside the shop you feed Alice and clean up a few books you left out the night before. Shawn's Jeep pulls up and you take a deep breath and head out to meet him.

As you expected, Shawn gets out and comes around to see you before you get in. The moment he lays eyes on you he knows. He can tell you're sick. It must be the way your face looked so pale, or maybe it was your red nose from wiping at it. Either way, there was no hiding it.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks, raising his hand up to touch your forehead. “You're kinda warm”

“I'm fine. Probably just hot from the shower,” you smile, trying your best not to sound nasally and stuffed up.

Shawn slides his hand down to your cheek and cups it, his whole palm covering the side of your face. A blush creeps up on your cheeks and you feel that familiar rush of cool adrenaline in your veins that happened when Shawn got a little affectionate with you. “I don't know if you should be walking around outside like this.”

“I'm fine. If I feel terrible I'll just call a doctor...oh wait,” you chuckle and he gives you a look. “I promise I just look sick. I feel great.” Ugh who were you trying to convince. Probably yourself to be honest.

Shawn looks skeptical but he helps you into the Jeep anyways. A short drive later and you're parking in a gravel covered lot across from the field where the market is set up. Despite the overcast skies, it's a pretty big turn out. There is at least twenty tents set up in the front area and more in the back.

“So, is this here every weekend?” Shawn asks as you trek towards the tents.

“Every Sunday, May until the end of September. I used to come here with Grandma every weekend. We would get vegetables and stuff for the week. She liked things as fresh as possible.”

“Was she fun? You seem fond of her.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, wandering toward a booth that has stone bracelets for sale. “She was my best friend and my parent. She had her quirks, we all do, but she was great. I miss her.”

Shawn hums. He's watching you touch the bracelets, not saying anything as you browse the selection. As you move on to the necklaces he lifts the pendant of one with his fingers. A chunk of quartz wrapped with gold wire on a leather cord.

“This one is pretty,” he says softly, bumping your hand with his to get your attention.

You look over and he lifts it off it's display. He puts it over your head and lays it over your bulky scarf. You touch it carefully, looking up at him as you do. “It's gorgeous.”

“How much?” Shawn asks the seller, an old man sitting in a chair behind the tables.

“Twenty five dollars.”

Your eyes widen and you lift it over your head. “It's beautiful, but I don't need it.”

“It's my treat,” Shawn says pulling out his wallet. You push his hands down and shake your head. “Seriously if you want-”

“We'll come back. There's a lot more to see. What if I like something better?”

Shawn pockets his wallet and nods. He knows you're right. This was only the first tent you'd stopped at. There were many more to see. Shawn thanks the seller and he waves you off politely.

The two of you wander from tent to tent checking out everything from vegetables, baked goods and local honey to jewelry and yard art. You refuse to let Shawn buy you anything because you don't want to decide until you've seen everything. It's almost an hour into your date and you're talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Shawn is easy to talk to and even easier to trust. He tells you about how he grew up in the city in a small suburb. He doesn’t say a lot about his parents but talks about how he played hockey and baseball growing up. You tell him about how your grandma would insist that she walk you to the bus stop every day until you were sixteen and you tell him how you won a few awards for art class projects in high school. He tells you he went to a private high school with around six hundred kids. You went to a public school a town over that had maybe six hundred kids from surrounding communities but the whole school was kindergarten through twelfth grade. The two of you grew up very differently but that didn't change who you ended up becoming.

It's almost noon when you feel yourself get dizzy, exhaustion setting in. Your body is reaching its limit. Your head hurts and you feel stuffed up and out of it all of a sudden. Shawn notices right away that you're not doing so well. He holds your arm, steadying you as you start to sway.

“Whoa whoa whoa, what's wrong?” Shawn asks worriedly. He holds your arms and looks down at you.

You look up, eyes heavy and face aching like your sinuses are full. “I don't feel good. My head hurts,” you mumble through a stuffy nose.

Shawn puts his hand on your head. “You're burning up. We need to go home.”

“No, I don't want to ruin our date. We haven't even seen everything yet.”

“I don't care about that. We can come back on another date.”

You shake your head and rub at your nose with your gloved hand. “It's the last weekend.”

Shawn sighs. “We'll come next year. I'm taking you home.”

You lean into him and sigh. Next year. As if you would be together then. As if he would still be in town. Fat chance. His hand comes up to your hair and you wrap your arms around his chest. He's warm, soft, and smells like really good cologne and fresh laundry. You hold on to him, to this moment, never wanting it to end, wishing you weren't sick.

“Can I take you home?” Shawn asks softly and you nod into his chest, wanting nothing more than to be in bed.

_____________________

It's a while later and you wake up, not remembering much of the drive home or falling asleep. You find yourself tucked into your bed with Shawn sitting up next to you on top of the blankets, the TV playing some Hallmark movie on mute. You sit up and cough, your chest feeling full and tight with congestion. You're miserable.

“You're awake,” Shawn mumbles, sitting up right with you. “Let me feel your head.” He reaches over and presses his palm to your head and cheek. “Still hot, do you have a thermometer?”

“I don't think so?”

“Alright, I'll be back,” Shawn says, getting up and heading for the door. “I'm going to get some stuff from the clinic.”

“I'm fine, it's okay. I'll be alright you don't need to stay.”

Shawn walks over to you and cups your cheek, looking down at you fondly. “I'm not going to leave you alone while you're running a fever. It's not in my blood to do that, and I think you know it. I'll check you over fully when I get back.”

“But we've only known each other for two weeks. Why would you want to stay and help me?”

“Because I care about you, and also I'm a doctor y'know. It's in my nature to heal the sick.”

A flush rises on your cheeks and it has nothing to do with the fever. The way he is looking at you, golden brown eyes catching the light of your lamp beside the bed, staring at you softly but determined. His hand is warm, soft, big...you never want him to stop touching you. You never want this moment to end.

“You look so sleepy and kissable right now,” Shawn murmurs, thumb stroking your cheek. You close your eyes and he steps closer to you, legs against yours over the edge of the bed. “I guess I'll have to take a raincheck huh?”

“Mhmm,” you hum and his hand slips away from your face. You lean forward, chasing the touch, but he's gone. You open your eyes to see him closing the front door quietly.

Shawn returns quickly, a little bag of supplies from the clinic in tow. You sit up as he walks into your bedroom and sets the bag on the bed. His sweater is soaked and it's then you notice the faint sound of rain on the roof. He grabs the bottom of his sweater and tugs it up over his head, revealing a grey tee shirt beneath. His tee slips up a little and you get a peek at the trained chest hiding under there. You feel like passing out and again it has nothing to do with the fever.

“C’mere,” he mutters, pulling a digital thermometer out of the bag. It's one of the kind that you swipe across the forehead. He presses it to your skin and slides across. It beeps. “A hundred and one. I knew you had a fever.”

“I just need to sleep.”

“Well yes but you also need some Tylenol to bring the fever down. I brought some from my desk at the office.” Shawn digs through the bag and pulls out a bottle of Tylenol. He gets up and goes to the kitchen to get some water for you. “Take two for now,” he says and waits for you to swallow the pills with the water. He pulls your desk chair over and sits before he takes your face in one hand, turning your jaw to look at him. He gently pulls your cheek down on each side with his thumb so he can see your lower eyelids. “Looks good, how's your throat?” He puts his hand along the sides of your throat and massages upward gently.

“Sore,” you mumble and he nods. You try to look anywhere but at him because your heart is racing. This is very close and intimate.

“You're swollen. Probably from irritation from the drainage.” He grabs something from his bag and you see it's one of the ear scope things with a light on it. He turns your head and peeks in each ear. “Say ahh,” he says, grabbing a tongue depressor from the bag. You open your mouth and he takes a look at your throat. “You need some antibiotics. I think you've got an upper respiratory infection starting. I'll write up a prescription.”

“I'm that sick? Can't I just take some cold medicine?”

Shawn looks at you seriously. “Cold medicine isn't going to take care of an infection, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” you flush, looking away.

“I'll get the prescription called in to pick up in a while. Are you hungry yet?”

You shake your head. “I just want to sleep.”

“Alright. I'm going to call in the antibiotic and pick it up now then. When I get back I'll stay until the fever comes down,” he says, packing his stuff into his bag and pulling up the number for the local pharmacy on his phone.

You settle down into the blankets and roll on to your side, facing Shawn as he walks along the side of the bed, pacing, waiting for the pharmacy to answer. His hand comes down and pets your hair back softly when he pauses for a moment. You glance up and he starts speaking to someone on the other line. He keeps his hand in your hair, fingers flexing gently against your scalp. His petting relaxes you and you find yourself falling asleep easily as he talks low and soft to the people on the other end of the phone about the prescription.  

_____________________

Shawn leaves at some point because you hear the front door close but you don't wake up enough to register what time it is or how long you've been asleep. The door opens again and you stir, rubbing your eyes and watching as Shawn comes into view.

“Sit up sweetheart,” he says softly as he brings your chair over to sit beside you again. You do as he says and sit up, head pounding in your skull and nose clogged up. “I have your medicine.”

He rifles through the plastic bag on his lap and pulls out a little bubble pack of pills.

“I don't want to take anything else,” you whimper. The thought of swallowing anything was daunting. Your throat felt like you swallowed a bunch of cacti already. “Can't I just sleep.”

Shawn places his fingers against your lips with the pill and you open up for him. He sets it on your tongue and hands you your water bottle. “The sooner you get this in your system the better.”

You swallow with much effort and lay back. Shawn grabs his thermometer and presses it to your forehead, reading the digital screen and shaking his head. He doesn't say anything but you know you still have a fever.  

“Thank you,” you mumble, curling into your pillows.

Shawn leans down and kisses your temple. “It's what I do. I'll be in the living room if you need me, you can rest now.”

_____________________

It's dark when you wake up again. Your first thought is Alice. She had been alone all day and now it's past dinner time, she must be wondering where you are. You push the blankets away and shuffle out of the bedroom, grabbing your keys from your purse as you go.

You manage to get to the bottom of the stairs and open the door before you realize that you don't have anything to protect you from the rain. It's pouring outside and it's freezing cold. Oh well. It's just a few feet to the shop door.

You step out into the rain and immediately regret it. It's icy cold and the wind is blowing so it's literally pelting you with what feels like actual ice chips. Your sweater is soaked, leggings soaked, slippers barely keeping the rain rushing down the sidewalk off of your feet. Your hands are shaking, rattling the keys as you try to open the door. It's too much. You're freezing. It has to be around forty degrees and the wind is making it colder.

Frustrated tears run down your face and you let out a chest aching cough. Your hands are too cold and wet to get the key in the lock and you can see Alice at the window meowing.

“Hey!”

You turn and Shawn is standing in the doorway to the stairs. He sees you in the little alcove where the shop door is and makes a bee line for you. You slump against the door and he wraps his arms around you, his chest warm against your back. “What are you doing out here? It's sleeting and you're sick. Are you trying to develop pneumonia?”

“Alice,” you cough, pointing at the window. “She needs to have dinner.”

Shawn looks at Alice in the window of the darkened shop. He takes the keys from you and pockets them. “I'll feed Alice in a minute, you need to get warm now. Your skin is freezing cold and you're going to get worse.”

“But I can't-”

“Trust me, I can feed Alice. Please, come back inside with me.”

You decide to trust him. You know he will feed her and pet her but she wasn't the one sick and freezing to death right now. She wasn't going to starve. You realize that and let Shawn walk you back up to your apartment. You undress, his back to you and you put on some sweatpants and a hoodie. As soon as you're dressed he heads down to the shop, promising he will be back soon. He says he's going to feed Alice and get a change of clothes from his apartment.

A few minutes after Shawn leaves you're almost asleep and your phone rings. It's Nani. It's morning for her on the other side of world and after a few more rings you pick up. “Hey, what's up? How was your day?”

“Well for starters, Shawn is at my place, I'm freaking out.”

“What?! Whoa hold on. Is he there now? You sound like shit, are you okay? Are you hallucinating?”

You chuckle and end up coughing. “I'm sick, an upper respiratory infection Shawn says. We were at the market and I was feeling horrible so he brought me home. Anyway he won't leave until my fever is down, but he's gone home for some clothes and he's feeding Alice.”

“Bless him.”

“This isn't exactly how I pictured him staying over y'know?”

Nani laughs. “Of course not, but I'm glad he's there with you. What if he wasn't around? You'd be miserable.”

“I'm still miserable even with him around. I don't want the guy I have a thing for to be taking care of me like a sick kid.”

“He cares about you, obviously. It sucks that you're sick because otherwise I'd tell you to make a move. The guy must be seriously into you.”

“I think he is and I'm definitely into him too. But being sick and having him dote on me is not how I pictured starting a relation...ship...” You trail off as Shawn walks into the bedroom with a smirk on his face. You'd never even heard the front door open. You could die of embarrassment. In fact you wish someone would just off you right then and there.

“Aren't you supposed to be resting?” Shawn says cooly, walking over and holding his hand out for the phone. “Doctor’s orders.”

Nani yells and you hang up on her, passing the phone to Shawn. He sets it aside and slings his bag over his shoulder. “I'm going to go change in the bathroom. When I'm done would you like some tea? Soup? Anything?”

“Some soup would be good. I have a can of beef vegetable in the cupboard next to the fridge.”

“Okay. Rest while I make it. I'll get a few more Tylenol and check your fever again too.”

“Thank you,” you mutter and he stops in the doorway, looking over at you. “You don't have to do this.”

“I know, but I want to,” he smiles and pushes off the doorframe, heading to the bathroom to change.

_____________________

Shawn spends the night with you, sleeping on the couch so he wouldn't risk getting sick. Your fever ends up breaking around midnight and the antibiotic and some over the counter decongestant samples that Shawn brought from the clinic finally seem to relieve some of your congestion and over all sludge feeling.

You wake up late the next morning, your phone having died some time in the night since you hadn't put it on the charger. There's a sticky note on your bedside table along with a few more cold medicine, your antibiotic and a new bottle of water. You sit up, rubbing your eyes and you let out a nasty cough. You still felt like garbage but at least it wasn't total shit now.

You grab the note and it's from Shawn of course. He says he fed Alice at seven this morning and locked up. The keys are on the hook by the door and he will stop by at lunch to check on you. You set the note down and take the medicine. You find your way to the kitchen and there is a note on the microwave. It says that there is a bowl of soup in the fridge if you're hungry. A soft smile spreads across your face. Shawn was such a sweetheart.

A bowl of soup, a hot shower and a dryer warmed sweatshirt later and you're ready to go down to the shop, though you really want to go back to bed. You put your boots on and grab a blanket off the couch in case you get a chill and make for the shop. Once you're outside you see Frank standing outside of the shop with a bag, peeking in the windows.

“Morning Frank,” you say and hardly recognize your own voice.

“Oh! There you are. I was starting to wonder if something happened.”

“Just a little late. I'm a little sick, and I overslept,” you chuckle as you open the shop door. Frank follows you in and waits for you to greet Alice and get set up behind the counter.

“I got a few books!” Frank cheers, eyes crinkling happily as he places three titles on the counter. “I know you said I don't have to, but I like bringing you books.”

“Thank you Frank. What can I get you?” You go to your lotion shelf and Frank waves his hand at you.

“Nothing today. We're still good to go at home. I did want to ask you something though.”

“Of course.”

Frank leans over the counter and drops his voice as if someone was around that could hear him. “When was the last time you talked to your parents?”

His question stuns you. It was the last thing you ever expected to hear, and somehow it made your stomach sink. “Um, I'm not sure. Maybe when I was thirteen, so, about nine or ten years ago?”

“Rumor has it down at the Bay Bar that they're back in town. I thought I should let you know, in case you wanted to dodge them. I know you aren't close and all and they kinda left you with Grace.”

“Thank you Frank. I'm glad you warned me, though I'm not sure what they could possibly want. I'm sure they're just docked here with the rest of their ship's crew.”

Frank shrugs. “Maybe you're right, we got some fishing boats in a few days ago that are docked while storms die down on the ocean.”

You nod. “Thanks for the books by the way,” you smile, looking at the novels. “I'm sure they're just what someone is looking for.”

“Oh you betcha!” Frank smiles, giving a thumbs up and heading for the door. “See ya next time kiddo!”

You wave Frank off and collect the books from the counter to put by your computer. You would look into them a bit later after you finished filling some online orders from the weekend.

Noon comes quickly and you're just wrapping up your last shipment to take to the post office when Shawn walks in the door. A gust of cold air washes across your face and you look up from the back counter. Shawn has a bag in his hand that looks like take out from Dixie's Diner down the street.

“What a gentleman, you've brought me lunch huh?” You smile softly as you turn around.

Shawn chuckles and sets the bag on the counter. “I didn't have enough time to make homemade chicken soup this morning, so Dixie's will have to do.”

You walk around the counter and lean on it beside him. “A man who can cook and heal the sick? You must be an angel.”

“And you're supposed to be resting. How are you feeling?” he hums, tucking some hair behind your ear. His touch sends fire through your veins. “You're very chatty.”

“I am?”

“Yes, and I like it. I like hearing what's going on in that head of yours,” he grins, and you roll your eyes and blush, dropping your head and tucking your face into your arm resting on the counter. “You're so cute.”

“Stoppppp.”

“Alright, alright I'm done teasing.” He lays his hand on your shoulder and rubs lightly. “How's your head and your chest?”

You straighten up and his hand falls away. “They're doing alright. I took the medicine you left and I've been drinking hot tea when I can, but I've been busy. I've been trying to take it easy though.”

“Well at least you're taking it easy, seeing as you aren't resting. You should listen to your doctor y'know.” You flush and turn away from him. He chuckles. “I saw you had a little rush earlier. A travel bus?”

“Yeah, they come through sometimes on the way up the coast. It wasn't too bad. Mostly older people looking for gifts or something to pass the time,” you say, returning your attention to him and glad for the subject change.

Shawn hums. He opens the lunch bag and takes out a styrofoam bowl and a little bottle of orange juice. “I hope you like mixed fruit because it's the only side they had today,” he laughs pulling out a second foam bowl.

“Of course I like it,” you chuckle. You pop open the lids and despite your stuffy nose, you can almost smell the warm chicken soup. “Thank you so much.”

“Anytime.”

“You didn't get yourself something?”

Shawn shakes his head and rubs his neck. “I actually have appointments all afternoon. I only have another minute or two before I gotta get back.”

“Oh, okay. No problem. I'll see you after work?”

“Yes,” he smiles and leans in. Your heart races and you can't even breathe as he gets closer. He kisses your forehead and pulls back beaming like the sun itself. “I'll stop by before you leave.”

“O-okay. Bye?”

“Bye,” he says smoothly as he makes for the exit, leaving you dumbfounded with your soup and a curious Alice who has jumped up on the counter.

_____________________

Shawn is waiting for you when you walk out of the shop and lock up. He's leaning against the door to your stairway and he looks exhausted. His eyes are closed, arms folded across his large chest, the setting sun warming his skin and making him practically glow. He's a sight to be seen.

“Hey,” you murmur and he opens his eyes, sun catching them too. So beautiful. You never want this moment to end. “Don't move.”

“Mmkay?” He smiles, remaining still at your request. He watches you as you pull your phone out and hold it up to take his picture. “What are you doing?”

“Capturing a moment.”

“A moment?”

You lower your phone and walk up to him. “You look amazing in this light. I wanted to remember it.”

Shawn drops his arms and reaches for your hand, fingers just barely catching yours. “You look amazing too.”

“Shawn stop, I'm sick, you know I look like death warmed over.”

“You don't really,” he steps closer, hands coming up and he twirls his fingers around some stray hairs by your ears, looking down at you with his eyes so soft and full of adoration. “Believe me, I've seen death warmed over.”

“Yeah yeah.”

“Enough with the flirting, I wanted to make sure you're doing alright.” He lays his palm on your face and his big hand covers your cheek and jaw. “You don't feel too warm. You took your medicine?”

“Yes, with lunch.”

“Good girl,” Shawn grins and you swallow thickly. “Take your third dose tonight before bed and please just rest.”

“I promise I will.”

Shawn leans down and kisses your forehead, cradling your cheeks in each hand. “I know you will. I'll see you tomorrow?” You nod and he steps back. “Good night sweetheart.”

“Good night.”

_____________________

A few days pass with Shawn checking up on you before and after work. It's nice and you love seeing him every day, even if it is just for a few minutes. It's Friday again and you've closed up early to mail some packages and head to the store to pick up your groceries for the week when you run into your friend Katie. She is visiting her parents for a week and she happens to have been filled in on the local rumor mill. She knows that you and Shawn have been seen together and she's infinitely curious.

“Sooo, what's he like? Is he very serious and professional all the time?” Katie asks as you round the corner of the small over the counter medicine isle.

“He's nice, really sweet and thoughtful,” you trail off as you browse the selection for the medicine Shawn had given you for congestion last week. You figure it'll be good to have on hand if you do get sick again if you don't use it all. You're feeling much better, still a little congested in your head, but it not too bad. A few more doses of the medicine and you'd be good to go.

“You've got it bad for him.” Katie says as she grabs a box of bandaids and holds it up as you raise your eyebrows at her. “Mika gets hurt every time he turns around. Toddlers, y'know.”

You nod. “Anyway, I do not have it bad for Shawn. We're just getting to know each other. It's only been a few weeks, a month now maybe.” It felt like it had been so much longer.

“Uh huh. Any dates planned for this weekend?”

“No, he's going into the city I think.”

Katie grins and leans against the cart. “We should go into the city too. I'll get my mom to watch Mika and we'll have a girls night.”

“Really? I haven't been out since Nani moved to the Philippines with Erik until the wedding.”

“Yeah, you need this, we're having a girls night. This weekend. Pack a bag girlie, because we're gonna get wasted and paint the town red!”

You let out a laugh. You missed Katie, she was always the wild friend. Having a baby and being a full-time chemical engineer didn't slow her down at all it seemed. She was amazing, someone you aspired to be one day. She was so lucky.

_____________________

You're at the post office standing in line to send out some books that you had been putting off when you feel someone standing a little too close behind you. You shuffle forward and they move with you. It's annoying. You shuffle again and turn to look this time and see it's Shawn.

“Hey,” he chuckles and you roll your eyes.

“I thought you were some creep.”

“Nope just Shawn.” He folds his arms and leans against the packing counter to your right. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine. I got more of the medicine you suggested for me. The one for my stuffy head.”

Shawn nods and hums. “Any plans this weekend?”

“Yeah, actually my friend is in town and we're going to have a girls night in the city. Why?”

“Oh, well my plans fell through so I was going to ask you out since the farmers market got cut short y'know? That's okay though, no problem. I'll give my friend Thomas a call.”

You move forward with the line and look back at him. “You sure? You sound kind of disappointed.”

“No, no of course not. Well, a little, but not because you have plans. I was really looking forward to seeing some friends this weekend. It's no big deal.”

“Next weekend?”

“Yeah,” Shawn smiles. “I have an idea of something we can do. If you're up for a bit of a drive.”

“No problem. I like driving with you, you're good company.”

Shawn chuckles. “It's a date then?”

“It's a date.”

_____________________

The weekend comes and it's Saturday night and you find yourself at the end of the night in a bowling alley in the city with Katie and a table full of shots behind you. The two or you had been shopping all day and trying different food places around the city. Because the day out wasn't enough, Katie suggested bowling and drinks, a favorite girls night out activity. It's almost midnight and cosmic bowling has just started. You're three shots down, plus a daiquiri you had at dinner, and it's getting hard to throw the ball anywhere but directly in the gutter.

Some guys from a nearby lane wander over and start chatting you and Katie up. Katie's all about flirting, she's single after all. Mika's dad walked out when he was born three years ago. You however are not about that flirting life. In fact one could say you have no game and your life time scores are basically in the negatives.

“I like your dress,” a guy named Dave says and smiles at you as you take a seat. “It's very flattering.” His eyes were clearly on your ass moments ago.

“Thank you,” you mumble uncomfortably.

“So...are you from the city?” You shake your head. “Cool cool...um, so are you single?”

You roll your eyes. What a pick up line. “No I'm not.” It's not technically a lie. You were seeing Shawn though neither if you had discussed it being an actual thing. It's was still early in your relationship.

“Oh...well I mean I don't see him here.”

Katie walks over and leans on the table. “Yeah, she's dating some hot shot doctor.” She rolls her eyes. “You're way too broke for her Dave.”

“Katie!”

“Well okay then,” Dave says angrily and gets up to go join his friends.

“What? You didn't want to talk to him anyway. I could practically see the soul leaving your body as he spoke. You're welcome.”

“You didn't have to be so rude, jeez.”

Katie glances over to a few of his friends who are eyeing her long legs in her short skirt. She gives a cute wave. “Guys like Dave over there don't know how to quit. I saved you from an evening of a nagging man baby’s company.”

“Can we go soon?”

“Why? We just got started.”

You sigh and put your head in your arms. The alcohol is making you dizzy, and combined with the black lights and the neon colors, you feel sick. “I don't know how much more I can do. I feel like I'm going to puke. It's been a long day.”

“Alright,” Katie calls the guys over and offers them the remaining shots on the table. The two of you leave with a few more frames left on the lane but neither of you care. You call for an Uber and wait outside the bowling alley.

Ten minutes turn into twenty and before you know it you've been waiting nearly an hour. Katie called for an Uber too but no one showed up for her either. You can't walk and Uber is the only service in the city who will drive after midnight that isn't a sketchy cab service. There are some guys close by who look like they've just come out of a nearby bar and they're chatting, glancing your way. It makes you uncomfortable.

“Can you call anyone?” Katie asks, rubbing her ankle where her heel strap rubbed it raw. She's too concerned with her foot to notice the guys. “Just call the Uber again.”

You stare at your phone and flip through your contacts. No one was going to be awake and everyone you know is in Roselake. Well, everyone but one person. Shawn. He was in the city this weekend, but you didn't want to bother him at almost one in the morning. You glance at the guys across the street. One is gone but the other two are still leering.

“What is it? You're making a face,” Katie slurs, more than half drunk and partially asleep.

“I could call Shawn but...I'd probably make him mad.”

“Well do you think he'd want you to walk to your hotel?”

You sigh and press the call button. Katie is right. Shawn picks up after two rings and you're surprised. “Yeah, hey Shawn. It's me.”

“What's wrong?” he asks sleepily. Maybe you had woken him up, but he'd answered so fast it seemed more likely he was awake.

You look over at Katie and she looks passed out against the railing of the steps. Extremely unhelpful. “I'm in the city at the Big Tex bowling alley. Our ubers haven't showed up and we can't walk to the hotel. I'm so sorry for this, is there any way you can get us?”

“Fucking Christ...of all places. Yeah. I'll be a couple minutes, I'm at home.”

“But I thought you were in the city? Wait...damnit. You did say you cancelled your plans.”

“It's fine. I'll be there.”

“I'm so sorry,” you mutter, voice breaking as you are overcome with guilt. He sounded angry with you and you know you shouldn't have called.

“No it's fine, I'd rather get you home safe. I'll be there in a few, just hold on.”

Shawn arrives fifteen minutes later, though the drive from Roselake should be a twenty five minute drive at the legal speed limit. He pulls up in his Jeep and Katie wakes up. She's pretty out of it as you and Shawn load her into the back seat with a little effort. Shawn closes the door and leans against it to stare at you. It's not until then that you realize he's wearing a pair of rectangular wire frame glasses. Something you didn't know about him yet. His gaze is indiscernible. Disappointed? Curious? Perhaps both.

“Please don't be angry at me.”

“I'm not,” he says softly. He steps forward and lays his hand on your cheek. “I'm glad you called me.”

“I thought you were going to chastise me. You sounded angry when I asked you to get us.”

Shawn smiles, chuckling a little. “You and your friend picked the worst part of town to get drunk in. The Uber won’t pick people up over here after ten at night because it's gotten so bad. I was just so worried that something bad had happened when you called me and said where you were. I'm sorry I came off harsh. I really am relieved you're alright and not hurt.”

You wrap your arms around him and he holds your head against his chest. “I was scared something would happen to us. There were guys who looked sketchy over there and then Katie passed out...God if I couldn't have called you who knows what would have happened.”

“Don't worry about that. Let me take you home.”

“We booked a hotel room for the night. At the Estates.” Shawn hums and says he'll take you there then.

A short drive and Shawn helps you out of the Jeep and Katie is out as well and leaning on you for support. You and Shawn help her walk into the building. On the way she trips and ends up almost falling, resulting in your balance going off and you falling on one knee on the way into the hotel room. Your knee is skinned, rug burned and jarred real good.

You head to the bathroom and Shawn gets Katie to her bed as she says something about him being such a hero. Mostly her words are nothing but slurred babbles. She's out cold before Shawn can help her get her shoes off.

You look up from your seat on the toilet in the bathroom to see Shawn leaning against the doorway. You have a cold rag over your knee and you're afraid to look at it again. It was pretty scraped when you put the rag on.

“You look too good right now,” you mumble, looking down at the rag. “Go away. I'm a mess.”

“Hey,” he starts softly, stepping in and kneeling before you. “You're not a mess. You're tired and a little drunk and your knee is scraped up.” He tries to lift the rag off but you hold it tighter. “Let me please.”

You release it at the soft pleading look he sends up at you. It's kinda gross. There's like little rolls of skin where it skidded on the carpet and it's all red and bleeding in a few spots. “I didn't know you wore glasses,” you say, changing the subject as he dabs at the bloody spots.

“I don't like to wear them. They make me look dorky.”

“No they don't,” you say with a hiss as he touches a particularly tender spot. “I like them.” Shawn hums and squeezes some water over the scrape. You let out a yelp and he presses the rag to it again. “I can take care of it. It's no big deal. You can go back to your place.”

Shawn gives you a look that says you know damn well he won't leave. You knew he wouldn't. “I'll go see if the desk has any first aid supplies.” He stands and kisses your head before disappearing.

You're left sitting there listening to Katie's soft snores and thinking about how good Shawn was. He was comfortable, caring and over all an amazing man. You feel lucky to know him, to have a relationship begin with him. Never had you felt a connection the way you did with him so quickly and it scares you, but also makes you feel relieved. It was like now was your time to find someone, and your grandma was right all along. Good things come to those who wait, and you sure did wait.

A few minutes later, the door to the room opens and it's Shawn who is returning with some gauze and tape for you. He bandages you up and helps you to bed. Katie is snoring loudly now, sprawled out sideways on her bed in her dress, one heel on still. You manage to change into your night shirt but skip your pants. The thought of wrestling your bandaged leg into a pair of flannel bottoms seemed too daunting.

Shawn gets you settled and when you think he's about to leave he doesn't. He turns off the bathroom light and heads for the door but instead of going out, he locks the deadbolt and turns around, joining you on the bed. It shocks you a bit. It seemed so forward of him.

“You're not staying with us.”

“You're in no shape to be left alone. Katie might need help if she wakes up and gets sick. You can barely put pressure on your leg. How am I supposed to just leave you here?”

“It's not that bad. It's just scraped up. I'm fine. I can handle Katie too.”

Shawn sighs. “Please let me stay?”

What would it hurt? “Fine. You're such a mother hen, yknow that?”

Shawn settles down into the blankets and faces you. “It's part of being a doctor I guess.” He takes his glasses off and sets them behind him on the nightstand. “Now go to sleep.”

“Easier said than done.”

Shawn reaches over and lays his hand on your side, thumb rubbing comfortingly along your ribs. “Is your knee bothering you that bad?”

“My head is pounding too.”

“Ahh. Come here.” He sits up and pats his lap. You move over and lay your head on his folded legs, looking up at him. He brushes your hair back when you get settled and you can't help but wonder how he looks good from this angle. “Can I try something?” You nod and he holds your head, thumbs rubbing into your temples.

Immediately the pounding lessens and you close your eyes and let his hands work magic on your head. You find yourself drifting off quickly, the throbbing in your leg easing up too, but probably from the pain reliever you took. The last thing you see as you try to open your eyes before the sleep takes you, is Shawn smiling down at you softly, knowing he's done his job and that your comfortable.

_____________________

The sun pours in through the thin curtains and casts streams of light across Shawn's sleeping form. He looks soft, vulnerable and relaxed. His one arm is over his head, the other across his chest. His mouth is hung open, soft lips parted ever so slightly and you can hear his slowed breathing in the silent room. This moment would be perfect to capture and you reach for your phone on your nightstand to do just that.

Shawn stirs, shifting his legs and scratching his chest as you move. You grab the phone quickly and turn back to get the photo. You're too busy trying to get the camera open and a low light setting on to notice that Shawn is awake and watching you, that is until you hold the phone up and he looks smug that he's caught you.

“What are you doing?” He asks with a sleepy grin.

“I was...just...”

“Capturing the moment? You seem to do that a lot with me.”

A blush spreads across your cheeks and down your neck. “Sometimes I'm not sure you're real, so I want to have proof.”

“Mmmhmm.” He sits up and takes your phone. “Just how often do you do this? Should I take a look, hmm?”

“No. Shawn give it back. It's mine.”

Shawn looks down at the phone in his hand and raises his eyebrows. The photo on your lock screen is the one of him outside the shop the other day. He smiles, the balls of his cheeks going pink as he hands the phone back to you. “If you want to take pictures with me, you just have to ask.”

You shake your head. “I don't like pictures of myself. I'd rather just see you.”

Shawn grabs his phone and his glasses off the nightstand. He opens up his phone and turns it to show you a picture on his lock screen. It's you. You're talking to someone out of photo and you're laughing. You're wearing his sweater and your hair is a little messy, but it's actually cute.

“When did you take that?”

“Last week. I stopped in to check on you but you were busy with a lady and her kids. I heard you laughing and I knew I had to get a photo. It's probably creepy. I'm sorry.”

“No, it's not. I mean we're kind of together, it's not like you're a stranger or something.”

“Kind of together?”

“Yeah? We haven't discussed anything?”

Shawn puts his phone down and smiles softly. “Can we discuss it now or-”

“Holy shit I'm going to throw up,” Katie says loudly as she rolls off her bed and runs to the bathroom. The sound of her puking ruins the moment entirely. How long had she been awake? Katie was one to snoop and be a fly on the wall of the rumor mill but you really hope she was asleep while you had been talking to Shawn.

“I'll check on her,” Shawn says softly, getting up and disappearing into the bathroom.

It's not long before you pack up your bag and get Katie's squared away while she sips on some soda from a vending machine in the lobby. She was so hungover she wasn't even giving you shit about Shawn staying the night. She looked miserable.

“Should I drive you home Katie?” You ask as you approach her car in the lot outside. Shawn has his arm around you for support since your knee is still hurting pretty bad.

“No, no I'm fine. I'm doing much better now. Go home with Shawn. Your knee is more important than my headache.” Katie unlocks her car and tosses her bag in the back. “Go on, we had our fun. You need to get your leg up.”

Shawn grips your side and you look up at him. “She's right, you do need to get your knee up. I'd like to look at it and make sure nothing is wrong.”

Katie waggles her eyebrows at you. “Let Dr. Shawn take care of you.” She leans in and wraps her arm around you in a hug. “Don't let him go, he's a good one,” she whispers in your ear and and you nod.

“I'll call you?”

“Anytime.” Katie gets in her car and pulls out, waving as she left you and Shawn together.

Shawn holds you tighter and you lean your head on his chest. “Now, how about that conversation we were having earlier?”

“Let's get to the car first big guy,” you say softly and he lets out a laugh. You knew last night changed a lot of things. Especially how you felt about each other.

_____________________

“So, would you like to be my girlfriend?” Shawn asks a few minutes from home. It's out of nowhere and you're taken aback by it. The two of you had been quiet for the majority of the drive until now.

“Really? I mean we've only been out twice. It's not a little fast?”

Shawn glances over and puts his hand out for you to take and you do. “I don't know? But I do know I care about you alot and I really feel something when we're together.” He brings your hand up and kisses your knuckles. The gesture makes you flush and you can't help but wonder what those soft lips would feel like on yours.

“Let's see how our next date goes. I definitely feel something for you too and it's unlike any other guys I've been with. You're different, special.”

“I can wait,” he looks over at you with a cheeky grin. “But I'm not going to tell you what the date I have planned is, if you thought bringing it up would make me spill the beans.”

“What? No! I was not...okay I was thinking it just a little. Come on, what is it?”

Shawn laughs and turns down the street toward your place. “Nope, it's a surprise. Now, let's get you inside because I need to check that knee.”

Shawn assesses your knee once you're inside and says it's just bruised and you should ice it and stay off of it as much as possible. He helps you get set up in your bed, leg up on a stack of pillows and a gel ice pack tied onto it. He stays for a little while, laying with you until his phone rings. He goes into the other room to answer and when he returns he says he needs to go, that the call is important. You don't push for more information, knowing it was probably something work related.

“I'll bring breakfast for us tomorrow,” Shawn says softly, leaning down and placing a kiss on your forehead.

You reach up and lay your hand on his cheek. “You promise?”

“I promise. I just have to take care of something. I want to stay, I do.”

“I know. Go on.”

Shawn kisses your head once more, lingering just a moment. He hums, runs his hand over your leg before pulling away and leaving you to rest. He exudes so much love that it makes your heart swell. Katie's words run around in your head, don't let him go, he's a good one. That he was. That. He was.

_____________________

It's a few days later and you're feeling much better, your knee hardly aches and the scrapes have scabbed over nicely. Shawn stops by both mornings and evenings after work to check on you. He never stays long and you're not sure why that is. He seems a little out of it on the second day, like he was distracted, maybe even nervous. You don't ask about it, not wanting to push him. If he was still weird after work today then you would ask, though you can't help but suspect it had something to do with the phone call he took the other day.

It's five minutes to closing time and you're straightening up the shop when the bell dings. You turn around fully expecting Shawn but instead you find your mother standing there. It had been nearly ten years since you last saw or spoke to either of your parents. They may as well be strangers. You wouldn't call them your parents at all really.

“H-hey,” you say quietly.

“This place looks just like it did when Grace was alive.” Your mother, no, Sherry says as she steps closer.

“What do you want?” You ask a little bit harsher than you mean to. Sherry raises her eyebrows and you hold your ground, refusing to repeat or soften your words.

“That's really no way to talk to your-”

“Mother? Hardly.”

“I sent you money for everything, I sent gifts on your birthdays. I'm sorry I couldn't be here all the time. I had a job, a career on a fishing boat. I couldn't exactly bring a child along.”

You pull your sweater of Shawn's tightly around yourself. “No. You couldn't bring a child along. Maybe you should have thought about that before getting pregnant. Or at least made plans to find new employment after you had a child.”

“It was an accident.”

The bell dings and you look past Sherry to see Shawn walking in. Now was not the time. You didn't want to do this with him around. You never wanted him to meet Sherry. “I'm sorry we're closed,” you say, voice breaking a bit as your emotions get the best of you.

Shawn ignores your words and walks up to you, blocking your view of Sherry. “Is everything okay?” He asks in a low whisper, holding your shoulders and rubbing his thumbs back and forth softly over your collar bones. “You're clearly upset.”

You shake your head, face twisting up as you fight back tears. “She's my mom,” you explain hopelessly in an attempt to make him understand that he should go and let you deal with this. He doesn't get the memo though.

“Excuse me, we are having a conversation,” Sherry quips and Shawn turns to face her.

Shawn puts his arm around you and keeps you tucked close to his side. He's a pillar of comfort and you press yourself closer. “I would beg to differ. She's clearly uncomfortable, you should probably go.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me just fine.”

“Young man I am speaking with my daughter and I don't know who you are so-”

“I'm her...” he looks down at you, unsure of what to call you. “I'm a good friend.”

“Please leave Sherry,” you mumble, and Shawn curls his fingers into your side comfortingly.

“I'm not leaving until you fork over Tom and I's share of Grace's will.”

“Of course you want money,” you huff disgustedly. “You didn't want to come see your child you barely recognize, you just want money. What happened to all those fishing boat riches? Huh?”

Sherry picks up one of your display decorations and sneers at it. “That doesn't matter. I want my money.”

“There is no money for you. Grace left everything to me, because I'm the one who was there for her. I held her hand on her deathbed while you and Tom fucked off on some boat in the Atlantic! I watched her die and I mourned her! I mourned her and you couldn't even so much as pick up the fucking phone!”

Shawn holds on to your shaking form. His hand comes up to your hair and he turns your face into his chest as you start to cry. “Ma'am you should leave.”

“I'm not leaving until I get my inheritance money from my mother.”

“Get out or I'm calling the police,” you tremble, hand on your phone in your pocket. “I'm serious.”

“You are a greedy child, I'll be back with a lawyer. We'll see if there's no money then,” Sherry spits, turning and leaving the shop, slamming the door on the way out.

Tears spill over your cheeks, a sob wracking your body as silence fills the shop. All these years and your mother only wants money from you. Shawn gathers you in his arms and rubs your back, shushing you softly. You don't know how long he holds you but it feels like a long time as you let loose the pent up emotional turmoil from the last twenty three years of your life.

_____________________

The two of you end up in your apartment curled up on the couch watching a movie after the confrontation in the shop. You're sharing a blanket, curled into his side with his hand in your hair. It's comfortable and feels completely natural.

“Do you think she'll really get a lawyer?” You ask suddenly over the movie.

“She might, but it'll be a waste of her money if she can even afford it. The will was really all left to you right?”

“Yeah. Grandma didn't leave her anything at all. She isn't even mentioned. After they stopped trying to be some semblance of parents, Grandma was done with them. There wasn't much money anyways, just a bit of savings and the shop was all I received.”

Shawn hums. “Let her waste her money then, and don't speak to her directly again if you can. Let her lawyer speak to the curator of your grandma's will. They'll sort her out.”

You snuggle down into his side until you're laying your head on his lap, staring up at him. His lap is warm and you press your cheek against his stomach. “I'm sorry you had to deal with that, with her.”

“It's fine, drama happens. Believe me, my parents aren't perfect either.”

“Yeah?”

Shawn chuckles sadly. “Divorced when I was twelve. They lived in the same neighborhood for a while though, but god they couldn't have been more different. Dad was a hardass, always on me about grades and shit, always wanted me to be a doctor like him and here I am I guess. Mom was very much a free spirit and she remarried when I was sixteen and moved to Spain.”

“Did she come back and visit, or did you go see her?”

“Ha, right. My dad wasn't about to fund me a trip to Spain. The way he saw it she was gone for good and for the better. She called a lot, and we emailed each other frequently.” He scowls, sighing frustratedly. “I will never understand how you can hate someone you once loved and had a child with. It perplexes me the way he acted like she was the devil. I just don't know when it all changed.”

You take his hand that he's rested on your stomach. It's soft, the lemon balm you sold him seems to have worked wonders. “I guess we both have fucked up families.”

“Yeah, yeah we do. But we aren't our parents, that's what's important.”

“You're right.”

You both go quiet and watch the rest of the movie. Shawn is asleep by the end of it, head leant back on the cushions, mouth hanging open. You decide not to move, instead you use his leg as a pillow and fall asleep right there as well.

_____________________

A few days pass and you don't hear from Sherry at all. You almost wonder if she's just left town again. It's Saturday morning and it's chilly, a sweater and long sleeve shirt kind of day. Tonight is date night tonight and Shawn still hasn't told you where you're going or what you're doing. It's half past nine in the morning when you hear knocking on the door to the stairwell and you aren't expecting anyone so you jog down the steps and peek out the small window to see Shawn standing there.

“Hey you,” you smile and Shawn returns the smile warmly.

“Hey. I was wondering if you were ready?”

“Oh?” You told your head curiously. “Is this part of the secret date?”

Shawn chuckles, stuffing his hands into his pockets and kicking at something on the ground. “Ah, this is the date? Didn't you get my texts?”

You raise your eyebrows. “No?”

“Oh. Well, can you be ready to go now?” He grins sheepishly.

“Yeah, it's fine. Come inside. I'll get some better clothes on real quick.”

Shawn steps inside and follows you up the stairs, mentioning that you should dress warm and giving you a heads up that you will be outside. Since it's chilly you opt for a few layers and your hiking boots. You dig out of a pair of gloves and a scarf with a matching hat from your winter clothes tote in the storage closet and you're ready to go.

“You look very cute,” Shawn says as he takes your gloved hands and swings them. “Good thing, because I'll want some pictures.”

“What are we doing?” You laugh and he shakes his head with a playful grin.

A short car ride later and you're not too far outside of Roselake in a small town called Tarrytown. Shawn pulls into a big dirt parking lot and you see a huge sign that says Pumpkin Patch. You haven't been to a pumpkin patch since you were very young and you went on a school field trip.

“It's been so long since I've been to one of these. Oh my God. Is that a hayrack ride?” You squeal pointing to a tractor pulling a wagon with some people in it nearby.

“Yes it is, and they have fresh caramel apples I hear.”

“What are we waiting for?” You clamber out of the Jeep and Shawn is close behind.

A short wait for admission later and you're off, running with Shawn to get caramel apples and cider. The corn maze is next and Shawn can see over most of it because it's dried up so much but he won't tell you which way to go and laughs when you go to a dead end. You end up cutting through the corn walls in the end while Shawn chases you. He catches up at the exit and picks you up, spinning you around before he tosses you in a haystack.

The two of you go to a horseshoe pit near the line for the hayrack ride and play until the line goes down. Shawn insisted he wanted a more private ride but you didn't care. When you do finally board the ride, after beating him in two rounds of horseshoes, he shrugs his jacket off and puts it around you. You sit together nearest to the back of the tractor and you're the only ones on it since it's the smaller wagon that was rotating with the larger one.

Shawn puts his arm around you and you lean your head against him. The soft bumps and rattling of the wagon make you feel so happy and content with the moment. “Are you having fun?”

You glance up at his soft face as he smiles down at you. “Yeah, of course. This is amazing. I love this place.”

“Me too. I hope I can bring my kids here one day.”

“You want kids?”

Shawn shifts closer to hold you as the wagon goes over some big bumps. “Someday I do. I love kids, they're so interesting and full of excitement. I think I'd be a good dad.”

“Wow. Pretty deep conversation,” you smile and he clears his throat as if he is embarrassed. “I want kids too. I wanna give them an amazing life with two parents that love them very much and I want to give them everything I didn't or couldn't have.”

“You'd be a great mom. I bet you'd read to them every night.”

“Of course. What about you?”

“I'd read along with you, maybe act out some parts.”

You sit back and look at him with a smile so big it hurts your face. “With me, huh?”

“I mean hypothetically, like y'know...”

“Just admit it, you have thought about having a kid with me.”

Shawn turns bright pink all the way to his ears. “Oh come on do you have to tease me like that? We haven't even kissed. Why would I-”

You lean in quick and a bump presses your lips together a little harsher than you mean it to but it's sweet nonetheless. Shawn chases your lips as you start to pull away, his hand coming up to cup your jaw. He kisses you two more times, slow presses against your soft lips. “I've wanted to do that for so long,” you mumble, cheeks flushed.

“Me too.”

The driver announces that the ride is stopping and you pull away from Shawn to let him put his jacket back on. He helps you off the wagon and takes your hand in his, warm fingers slotted between your cold ones. Your last stop is the barn where there are pumpkins to be picked out and taken home. You and Shawn end up with one large pumpkin each and a bag full of little gourds and baby pumpkins because he couldn't decide on any to put back.

A long car ride later and you're sleepy and it's only a little after noon time. Shawn pulls up at the bookshop and you stir from your cat nap against the window. Everything feels sluggish and weird.

“Hey, we're home. I was going to ask if you wanted to carve out pumpkins but you seem really tired.” Shawn reaches across and puts his hand to your forehead. “Do you feel okay?”

“Yes, just got sleepy. Thank you for an amazing date. It was very fun,” you smile, head turned toward him.

Shawn leans over and kisses you softly, hand on your cheek as you smile sleepily and happily at him. “It was very fun. Now come on, let's get these pumpkins inside. We can carve them in a few days.”

_____________________

A full week passes before you hear anything more from Sherry. In fact you completely forget about her because you're spending all your free time with Shawn. He cooks you dinner at his place on Monday. You go to a movie on Tuesday. Wednesday and Thursday are nights in at your place. Friday he takes you down to the harbour and you walk on the beach. Saturday you go to a fair over in the next town and he tries to kiss you on the ferris wheel, but a gust of wind blows your hat off and smacks him in the face. Sunday is dinner at his place again, this time candle lit and extremely romantic.

You're on your way home from Shawn's place on Monday morning when you round the corner of your street and see the front door of the shop is standing open. Shawn stops the Jeep and puts his arm over your chest to keep you from trying to leave. “Don't get out. You don't know who could be in there.”

“But Alice, if she's hurt...” You take a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions. “Why would someone do this?”

“I don't know. Do you think Sherry would do something like this? I know she was upset but...”

“Oh my God,” you laugh in disbelief, “you're absolutely right. She probably broke in to see if she could find the money that doesn't exist.”

“We need to call the police.”

You reach for your phone in your bag and as soon as you get it out, Sherry walks out of the shop. She has a purse with her and you can only assume the contents of your safe. What an absolute scum of a human being. You dial the police and make a report right there in the car while Shawn gets out and goes in to find Alice for you.

A few minutes later and Officer Jones arrives to asses the damage and theft. He takes pictures and statements from you and Shawn. Alice is fine, hiding in the supply closet until Officer Jones leaves. The whole situation is surreal. You knew Sherry was a piece of work, but good Lord you didn't peg her as a thief.

“I can't believe she took everything. Every last penny in the safe,” you groan, leaning forward with your head in your hands. “She took my savings for Nani's wedding that I hadn't deposited yet.”

“Babe, you're going to get it back,” Shawn says softly, rubbing your back. “They will catch her, it's a small town.”

“But what if she spends it? I'm fucked then.” You start to cry. “I won't be able to go to Nani's wedding. It's this next weekend too, I'm never gonna make it.”

“I'll get you a ticket.”

“What?” You wipe your eyes and stare at Shawn. “I couldn't ask that of you.”

“You're not asking, I'm offering,” he says, cupping your cheeks. “I want you to be with your best friend on her wedding day. You deserve it. You deserve a vacation, you work too hard.”

“It's so expensive.”

“I'm a doctor. I think I can afford to send you to the Philippines.”

You reach out and hug him close and he tucks your face into his shoulder. “Thank you, I promise I’ll pay you back.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I don’t want you to be fretting over paying me back the whole time. Consider it an early Christmas gift.”

_____________________

“He's paying for your ticket and your mother robbed you? Holy shit what kind of wild place has Roselake become since I left?” Nani laughs in disbelief.

“I know, it's absolutely insane. I can't believe it myself. My sleepy little life has become pretty crazy since Shawn showed up.”

“Speaking of which, how has things been with Dr. Dreamy?”

You flop back on the bed and sigh heavily. “Amazing. We've been seeing each other every night for the past two weeks. Can you believe he hasn't made a move on me yet?”

“What? How? Why? Is he one of those guys who save themselves for marriage or like does he have herpes or something?”

“Nani! God! No he's perfectly fine. I think he just doesn't want to rush things. We've kissed and made out a lot and got close a few times to something more.”

“Ohmygod. You better sleep with him before you come to the wedding. Lock that man down before you're gone for a week.”

“Yeah yeah, I'll see about that.  I gotta go, it's time for dinner and he's taking me out. See you soon Nani, love you.”

“Love you!” Nani says with a kissy noise into the phone.

You hang up and get up to get dressed. Shawn said he was taking you somewhere nice for dinner since it would be the last night before you left for the Philippines. You're excited, assuming he's probably going to take you into the city. You can't wait.

_____________________

You were absolutely right. He picked you up and when you asked where you were going he said that it was a surprise but it was in the city. It takes a while, nearly twenty five minutes to get into the city from Roselake and then a little longer to get to your destination. Shawn rests his hand on your thigh for most of the drive and it gives you butterflies like crazy.

When you finally arrive at the restaurant Shawn chose, it's dark out, the street lights have come on and there are white Christmas lights strung around every tree along the street Shawn parks on. There are people everywhere, the place is crawling with excitement. The city was so different than Roselake, you would probably never get used to it.  

“Come on,” Shawn says softly, taking your hand and leading you to the front doors of a very fancy looking old brick building. He pulls the door open and ushers you inside. “Mendes, party of two,” he says to the host at the podium nearby.

“Right this way,” the host says, leading the two of you past full tables and into a little alcove that had a window that looked out on the busy street.

“This place is really nice,” you laugh, glancing around at the decor. It's all very high end and posh looking. The waiter stops by and takes your drink order and leaves a few menus.  

“It is really nice. I wanted to take you somewhere special,” Shawn smiles, looking down at the menu.

You eye him suspiciously. He was up to something. “Why's that?” you ask, leaning forward to get him to look at you.

“Well because you're going to be gone for a week and I wanted to make our last evening together nice.”

The waiter returns and takes your orders but you send him away for another minute. “Shawn, we could have just stayed home and had a good time with a movie and popcorn. Why does it feel like this is the last time we're going to see each other like in a bad way?”

Shawn raises his eyebrows. “What? No of course not. I'm just going to miss you.”

“Oh. Right.” You chuckle nervously. You can't help but feel like something was wrong, like there was something he wasn't telling you.

Dinner goes great, the food is amazing and Shawn keeps the conversation light. It feels strange, even though he was acting much the same as he always did. You couldn't shake the feeling. After dinner Shawn takes you out and around the downtown area. He shows you the hospital he worked at and you go to a park and look at the festive holiday lights display that's set up. The evening is a dream and if you didn't obviously know better, you'd say he would propose to you. It would actually be a perfect setting for it, but the two of you weren't at the point in your relationship. Hell. He hadn't even slept with you yet. Suddenly, on the drive home you realize how strange that is. You had been going out and seeing each other for nearly three months and he had only let you go as far as kissing and exploring with your hands. That bad feeling was coming back, twisting your stomach into a knot. You knew this was too good to be true.

Shawn pulls up and helps you out of the Jeep at your place. You can't help but think that he's going to still tell you something that was going to bring everything crumbling down around you.

“Thanks for dinner, and a great night,” you smile half heartedly, inching toward your door.

“You're welcome, I had a great time too,” he chuckles, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Do you still need me to pick you up tomorrow?”

Shit. That's right. He was taking you to the airport in the morning. “Yeah, yeah, thank you again.”

“Yeah,” he steps forward and lays his hand on your upper arm. He leans in and kisses you gently.  “Goodnight darling.”

“Goodnight Shawn.” You turn and push open the door and head up the stairs slowly. You were disappointed to say in the least. You reach the top step and there's knocking at the door. Maybe you forgot something in the Jeep. You jog down the stairs and pull the door open. “What's the ma-”

Shawn leans in, hands coming up to hold your cheeks as he kisses you. Your body goes slack, hardly managing to keep you on your feet as he works his soft lips against yours hungrily. You grab for his jacket and pull him in, the door falling closed behind him. He walks you against the wall and only then does he pull away just enough to talk.

“I can explain,” he chuckles breathily. “I've wanted to do more for a very long time but I've been afraid to.”

“What? Why?” You lean up, kissing him softly, lips warm against yours. “You're pretty good at kissing and you're definitely good with your hands.”

“I was scared of moving too fast. I fell too hard too fast for a girl in college and it fucked me up when she left after we hooked up. I didn't want that again, not with you.”

“Shawn,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to cup his cheeks. “I'm way too into you to leave at this point.”

“I was really hoping you'd say that,” he grins, reaching around and hauling you up. You wrap your legs around his waist as he walks you up the stairs.

Shawn ends up staying the night, not that either of you get much sleep. He undresses you in the bedroom, slow and gentle, kissing along your shoulders and back the whole time. His mouth works wonders on your whole body, kissing, sucking, teasing places you didn't even know we're sensitive until he showed you. He's careful, checking with you every so often as he brings you to orgasm after orgasm. He fucks you nice and slow, rolling his hips into you and holding you close as he tells you how beautiful you are and how lucky he is to have you.

Post sex you're on the bed, cuddling, exploring each other lazily. His skin is soft and warm and you love the way he jerks when you ghost your fingertips up his stomach. Lazy kissing and touching leads to another round of slow loving sex, this time with you on top, him hugging you tight as he rolls his hips up into you. You're sure you've never had sex with anyone before Shawn, at least it didn't seem that way. Shawn made it seem like it was more than just getting off, more than just a game. He made you forget your very few exes, forget everything you'd experienced before and replaced it with the best feeling in the world. You know now you'd never had sex with someone who loved you, because this was loving sex. This was what it was supposed to be like.

_____________________

It's fifteen minutes until your flight and you and Shawn are literally running through the terminal to get to your gate. You’re on the phone with Officer Jones about Sherry and the break in the other day. They’ve recovered the money and she will be charged for breaking in entry. You let the officer know you’re on your way out of country for a wedding, and that you’ll pick up the money when you get back. You pocket your phone and Shawn raises his eyebrows as you tell him hurriedly that you will be getting your money back. Both of you had overslept, hitting the alarm at least twice before getting up and dressed. Shawn had thrown on his wrinkled clothes from date night, and you dressed in what might qualify as pajamas but who cared. You're sure you look like quite a pair running through the airport.

“Gate 2C is now boarding.”

Shawn grabs your suitcase, lifting it off it's rattling wheels and tucking it under his arm. The two of you make it to the security gate and you have just a second or two before last call for boarding.

“Last call for Gate 2C,” a security officer yells from a few feet away. You know she's yelling at you. Shawn passes you your suitcase and you hurry for the security turnstile.

“I'll see you in a week!” You yell back as you squeeze through the gate where the security officer takes your bag for screening.

“Be safe! I love you!” Shawn yells and you pause. Did he really just say I love you?

You can't go back, the officer is ushering you forward around the corner to the body scan area. You want to turn around and run back so badly, you had to know if what you heard was right. You can't even text him because you're phone is in a bin for scanning. Your heart is racing, hands sweaty. He didn't say that. He wouldn't say that. He probably said “I'll see you”. Yeah. That's what he said.

_____________________

Two connecting flights and fourteen hours later and you arrive at the resort where the wedding is being held. Nani is elated to see you but you're exhausted. She helps you settle into your room, even makes you some tea before leaving you to sleep. You finally get to text Shawn only to find out that your pay as you go plan has expired. You curse yourself for being so cheap and not signing up for a contract plan.

The next morning Nani wakes you up with last minute wedding plans. She says she has the perfect groomsmen for you to walk with. Frankly you don't care who you walk with as long as it's not Erik's friend Mike. He was a dick and you'd only met him once, but once was more than enough. She promises it's not Mike but she wants to surprise you so she won't tell you.

Dress shopping and fitting with Nani and three other girls is a nightmare. It's Erik's sister Maggie, Nani's sister Hana, and Nani's other best friend from college, Maija. No one can settle on one style but the color is not debatable. Nani wants light pink and that's that. By the end of the day you have a dress, shoes and an appointment made to get your hair done tomorrow before the wedding. You still don't know who you're walking in the wedding with but you can't care. You're exhausted. The second your head hits the pillow of your hotel bed you're out cold.

Post hair and makeup and you're at the chapel in the resort, waiting in a room for Nani's wedding planner, Tara, to usher you out to meet your groomsman. You're last in line but you don't mind. Tara comes in and says she's ready, your groomsman is waiting at the doors.

You follow Tara out and walk up to the guy standing with his back to you. His suit is black with a pale pink button down peeking out around the sleeves. He's tall, like a lot taller than you and he has soft dark curls. From behind he was cute, hopefully his face wasn't too bad either. Tara steps away and goes to get the ring bearer ready.

“Hi, I'm...” You trail off as you approach the guy and he turns to look at you. Your heart stops. Standing before you is Shawn. Here. In the Philippines at Nani's wedding. You have so many questions you don't know where to start. “What are you doing here?!” you manage to blurt out, still transfixed on the man before you.

Shawn laughs, his eyes crinkling and mouth open wide as he throws his head back. “I have my ways. I'll tell you later, we have a wedding to attend right now.” He put his arm out for you and you loop yours with it.

“You look good in a suit,” you whisper as you walk beside him to the altar. “I like the pink shirt.”

“You look stunning,” he grins, kissing your cheek before pulling away as he goes to join the other groomsmen. You can't help but stare at him in awe as the music begins to play and Nani walks in with her father. How did he get here? Who did he plan this with? So many questions and you would have to wait forever until you got any answers.

The ceremony is nearly over and Nani and Erik are exchanging the last of the vows. You glance away from them to see Shawn mouthing the words Erik is repeating and you raise your eyebrows. He hasn't seen you yet, and you're glad because you find yourself mouthing along to Nani's repetition as well. Erik's brother Jason elbows Shawn and he looks at you. You flush and he grins nervously.

Pictures follow the ceremony and you're sick of sucking your stomach in and posing after the first few minutes. You don't want to pose for a billion photos, you just want to talk to Shawn. Not only was he here and you don't know how, you need to know if he said I love you in the airport.

Another hour passes and you go from the chapel to the lawn of the resort that was set up for the reception. It's not until several toasts are made and food is served that you get to talk to Shawn.

You're on the patio turned dance floor when Shawn wraps his arms around you and lifts you up from behind, spinning you around. “You look so pretty I can't deal with it,” he mutters, pressing his face into your hair.

“Stopp,” you giggle and he sets you down, hands going to your pinned up hair. “Don't you undo this bun. Nani will kill you.”

“But...please? Your hair is so beautiful when it's down.” Shawn twirls his finger around a stray piece along your cheek. “I'm so glad I got to see you like this.”

“You still need to explain to me how and why you’re here.”

“Well,” he grins, looking over at Nani and Erik. “Erik and I actually went to school together. You were talking about Nani the other day and the name seemed so familiar but I couldn't figure out why, but then you mentioned the wedding and her fiance's name was Erik. And I knew the Erik I know was getting married soon too. I texted him and found out that it was the same person all along.”

“Wow, that's crazy. Of all the people you went to college with... ohmygod. Had Nani met you already?”

Shawn nods. “I've met her a few times in the past few years. Mostly at parties and stuff. Small world huh?”

You lay your hands on his chest and smile up at him. “Do you love me?”

“Wh-what?”

“At the airport, I swear I heard you yell that you love me when you told me to be safe. Am I wrong?”

Shawn flushes and clears his throat. You know you've caught him and he can't lie his way out of this. Not that he seemed like he was going to. “I uh...I said that. It was a slip of the tongue. Instinct y'know.”

“Mhmm, I hope so. It's a little early for I love you's.”

“It is, but I do care for you deeply and I'm very into you.”

“I'm very into you too,” you giggle. Shawn goes to say something but the high-pitched feedback of the microphone grabs your attention. It's Nani, she has grabbed the DJs microphone and is announcing she is going to throw the bouquet now. You roll your eyes as she points at you and urges you to join the crowd of single and unwed ladies around the front table.

Shawn kisses your cheek and pushes you forward. “Go get the bouquet, you know you want it.”

You laugh, yelling back, “You do know what it means when someone catches it right?”

“Of course I do! Go get it!”

You hurry to the front and Nani turns around, counting down from five before tossing it back. Pink petals fall across the table as the flowers soar through the air towards the group. An eruption of giggles and squeals break out around you. It's headed for you but you're pretty sure it's going to go over your head.

You reach for the bouquet as it sails past your fingertips. You turn to look back and see who has it and you're met with a solid chest to the face. It's Shawn. You look up and he's beaming. He lowers his arm and in in his hand is the bouquet.

“I think these are yours,” he whispers, handing you the flowers. “Good thing I could reach them for you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur as you take them and smell the roses.  “I dunno if the superstition of the bouquet applies to groomsmen.”

“We'll have to find out.” Shawn grins and leans down, pressing his lips to yours and pulling you closer against him. There's an eruption of applause and whistles followed by someone shouting to look at the sky.

You pull back from Shawn and look up just as a falling star soars overhead, streaking across the darkened sky. “You should make a wish.”

Shawn hums, catching your gaze as you look to see if he is wishing. “I don't want to be too greedy. I made a wish on a falling star a long time ago. I think it already came true.” He leans down and kisses you softly, smiling as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Mine did too.”

_____________________

Ten Months Later

A small two story brick house sits across from the newly opened Roselake West Clinic on Main Street. It's old, an original Roselake residence that has been remodeled recently. In the driveway are two cars, a Jeep and a small hybrid car that's bright blue. Sitting in the window is a large black cat, staring at the birds landing in the trees in the front yard.

Inside there is a half put together home. Boxes labeled laundry, living room, bedroom and kitchen. Furniture sits where it was left by movers, an air conditioner hums throughout the house, cooling it on this warm summer day and in the bedroom is you, four months pregnant and frustrated.

“Shawn, do you know where my yellow sundress is?” You yell across the house as you dig through  yet to be unpacked boxes littering the bedroom of your new house. “I can't wear jeans again, I'll suffocate!”

Shawn walks into the room and goes to the closet. He pulls out the exact yellow sundress in question and holds it up. “You hung it up with your other dresses last night.”

“Oh,” you walk over and grab it, flush with embarrassment. “Thank you.”

“You're starting to get baby brain.” Shawn steps close, hands on your belly that's starting to show. “Don't go totally crazy on me now.”

“Oh shut up,” you giggle. He rubs up and down your sides and pulls you into a hug. “I'm not going crazy.”

“I'd love you even if you were.”

You wrap your arms around him and he kisses your head. “I sure hope so. You signed up for this.”

“And I'd never back out,” he smiles, kissing your nose. He looks down at your belly and rubs gently. “Even if you make your mom crazy.”

“Shawn,” you groan and he chuckles.

“Alright I'm done teasing you. We need to get to the appointment with the wedding planner.”

“We need to get our house together too.”

You pull your sundress over your head and fluff your hair out behind you. Shawn gathers and braids it down the back for you before pulling you into a hug.

“Planner first, then lunch, then house? I know it's stressing you out and you need to nest. I promise we'll get it all sorted out today.”

“Pinky promise?”

Shawn hooks his pinky with yours and kisses your cheek. “I always keep my promises.”

“I know,” you rest your head back against his chest.

“Love you the most,” he murmurs, kissing your temple.

“Love you more.”

The End.

______________________________________

Please reblog if you enjoyed it. Please send me feedback via ask, reblog, reply or message. Thank you so much for everyone who supported me while writing this, I never could have done it with out you all. - A.

[tiniernbcat]

I agree and I also want to clarify some stuff for people who may not know the whole situation. I'm not an expert in finance but I will try to explain this as well as I can. Basically, Visa and Mastercard separated the accounts opened in Russia from their worldwide systems. This means that most international and foreign websites don't accept Russian credit or debit cards. Amazon, Twitch, Google, Apple, Paypal - none of those companies are accepting Russian cards as a payment option. What this means, is that Russians are not able to pay digitally for anything outside of Russia. Some people were able to leave the country, but even then, opening a bank account in the country you fled to can also be met with difficulty. I've been out of Russia since July and I still wasn't able to open my own bank account that is not tied to Russian banks.

In addition to that, our government outright banned all mentions of LGBTQ+ in media, the only exception is if you are berating LGBTQ+, then it's allowed to be mentioned. This led to bookstores, fanfic websites, news sites, libraries, movie theaters, all types of media stores shutting down all sales and publications of any type of media that mention LGBTQ+ people in a positive or even neutral way. That's not the only consequense btw, but that's what happened in relation to the topic I'm exploring here.

So combining the two things that happened, Russian queer people and their allies now physically cannot acquire any queer media without pirating it. It's not legally sold in Russia, so we can't buy it there, and our cards don't work online so we can't buy it internationally. So, if you're a queer person in Russia, there are just a couple of things you can do:

1) You can try to buy queer stuff illegally, but you're risking breaking the law and all the consequences therein. Good luck being a queer person in Russia and facing a huge fine or jail time.

2) You can pirate books, films, etc.

3) You can leave Russia. But good luck doing that if you're poor and with a lot of countries outright banning Russians from crossing their borders.

4) Yeah I guess you can overthrow the government because that's entirely possible and easy to do especially since Putin is crushing down on all opposition and weeding out any person who can lead even like 10 other people in a protest. That's fine, possible and doesn't put you and your family in extreme danger at all /s

And that's basically it. You can think whatever you want about Russians and Russia, you can think we deserve everything that's happening to us or whatever. You can think that if you were in this situation you would totally be a badass and just overthrow the government, whatever. But if you pretend to care about queer issues and you don't have any sympathy for Russian queer people right now, I would personally spit in your face. Feel free to be mad about it.

War on piracy is good and all, but either I get pirated queer book or I don't get a book at all. Because I live in Russia. And Russia is banning shit. More and more people do not translate queer lit at all. Because evil.

So yeah

[jaimistoryteller]

2019 Wishlist

Greetings All & Blessed Be I hope this finds you having a wonderful season thus far. My name is Jaimi, I am an indie author, who is fighting for disability due to a combination of physical and mental health complication, working on trying to figure out how to get a bookstore, farm market & artisan craft store up and running at the same time. It's a bit of a balancing act since my health means I can only work rarely, and I planned for others to actually do the majority of the work. It's also a balancing act as it can be used against me. While there are amazon lists, do not feel like you have to get the stuff from amazon. Instead, if you have some of it floating around, know where you can get it for cheaper, or simply don't like amazon, I have no issues providing an address to send it to! I can be contacted on here or by email at cosmosbusinessventures@gmail.com. Since this list will cover several different people, I am not going to post the addresses here for safety reasons. I've had a stalker in the past, so now I like knowing when I give it out. That said, here are my requests for myself, friends and family. 1. Amazon Wishlist house supplies for Shelk & boys. She's a single mom, with two sons. While she got a job a little earlier this year, and it was supposed to become permanent in November, it's rather up in the air due to the business recently being sold, and the new owners are considering changing out staff. That means every penny she makes goes towards food, lot rent (which she is paying catch up on from when she was unemployed) and the utilities. If you'd be able to save money by buying the stuff you want to send or have some of it from stocking up and want to share, message me for her address! 2. Amazon Wishlist gift ideas for Shelk & the boys. Shelk loves to read - fantasy, romance, and stuff with happy endings mostly, but since she doesn't have a device that can do ebooks, she does paperbacks. N (elder nephew - 10 years old) is getting into science, enjoys reading mysteries and spy stuff, likes the Marvel heroes, and has recently started journaling & keeping a planner that he likes to decorate with stickers! J (younger nephew - 5, years old & turns 6 the day before Christmas) adores mindcraft, building blocks, play money, food, stickers, or house stuff (all of it from the cooking to the mechanics stuff), and cars! There is a combination of toys they have requested, plus things they have not but have shown interest in the past on the list. 3. Amazon Wishlist Food or Full Cart for Rachel & family . Rachel takes care of her mom and helps her aunt, while dealing with her own health issues. She's been told she's not qualified for disability because she didn't work enough and is not old enough, even though she has had progressive issues that are following along the same route as her mom's. There are three people in the family. All food from the Omaha Steaks company done on one order gets a single shipping cost from my experimentation, making it cheaper to do multiples rather than singles. 4. Amazon Wishlist gift ideas for Rachel & family. All three members of the family are into crafts. When living with disabilities, it's best to find what brings you joy. For them, it's creating things. They love all sorts of crafts, everything from planners and scrap books, to knitting and sewing, to coloring. It is not uncommon for them to save up their change to get craft bags from ReStores. Craft bags are pieces of fabric, random things of thread, and other odds & ins to make stuff. Sometimes they find larger things of cloth to work with, and other times not. no matter what the craft material, one of the three will come up with something for it. The only thing is it has to be perfume free as all three are allergic to perfumes. There is also a collection of gift cards, to allow them a chance to spoil themselves, some are food related, some are store related. 5. Amazon Wishlist hobby and gift ideas for my ma. She had a stroke in 2008, since then she has been struggling to discover who she is with the disabilities it left her. At this time she's working on escaping an abusive relationship, where her partner has a bad habit of treating her like a burden and useless. It's broken her self esteem the rest of the way, along with worsening her depression. I am trying to help her find things that she will enjoy, that she can do rather than simply sit and think of that which is lost. 6. Home Depot or Lowe's Gift Cards! All four houses have various projects that need to be worked on. Shelk - trying to finish replacing the bad plumbing and molded insulation to keep her home warm for the boys and herself, there's a few other things that need dealt with too. Jaimi - trying to replace old and raggedy carpet with floor tiles, also has plumbing that needs fixed, two base board heaters that are glitching, and a window in need of replacing. Pattie (my ma) - needs a new dishwasher so on bad days she can put the dishes in there and use it, needs to fix the sink, and do something with the carpet. Rachel - kitchen sink and counter totally needs replaced, bathroom sink needs fixed, a few other random things. 7. Amazon Wishlist for me, cause yes besides the necessities of repairing the house, there is some fun stuff I'd love to get but can't bring myself to use my bill money for. Any and all art supplies, whether they are on there, from a thrift store, extras just laying around, or from a dollar store are welcome! I have yet to come across an art supply I cannot use in some way. 8. Cards and letters - any of us, plus I know that myself, Rachel, Paula, Dawn, and Pattie will send thank you cards for them. Addresses will be provided on request! they don't have to be fancy, expensive, or long. It's nice to get little cards from people. A little sign that we're not alone over the season, when sometimes hard times and health problems strike the worst. 9. I have a service dog named Winston who I am making payments on, there is still $1,300 left on him. The sooner I get him paid off, the sooner that money goes back towards the bills. Any help towards that would be appreciated. I can provide the loan company and information who would like go that route, there is also my Ko-Fi, PayPal email (cosmosbusinessventures@gmail.com) or GoFundMe for those who prefer that method.

[ID: Winston the Rottweiler service pup at the vet]

10. Say something kind to a stranger when in public. A simple "you look nice" or "lovely smile" or "I hope you have a good day". It can make a huge difference and only takes a few seconds to do. There is too much cruelty in the world, so it spreads a bit of cheer. Thank you all for taking the time to read this long list! I will be going through and trying to do what I can with my limited income. May your season and year to follow be wonderful! Jaimi

PS - this is copied over from the Dreamwidth Holiday Wishlist exchange, I figure it doesn’t hurt for me to post it in both spots. 

[richardlawson]

Night Moves

My parents sold their house. The house they bought before my sister and I were born, in that weird slip of time I’m told was the late 1970s. They’re moving to Providence, city of my father’s birth, and a place where a modest condo can be bought, for two people facing next and (yes, we all must admit) maybe final chapters. Over the 4th of July holiday, I spent a teary two nights in the house, going wandering in Boston with a friend and then, just as it was time to leave for the train, taking last passes through the small expanse of the place. I cried. I made myself cry? I don’t know if the tears were real or forced or if forced tears aren’t actually real. But I did. Almost wept. My mom pulled the car out of the driveway and there was my dad, good old Dad, walking the dog up the hill, the last time I’d ever see that. I blubbed, discretely, until my mom asked me a question and then it was hard to hide. “It’s just a building,” she said, which is what I’d told myself, what my therapist had told me. It’s just a building. Just a thing that teemed with all the stuff of our lives for 40 years. And now it’s not.

The day before this goodbye, my family and I went to a wedding. My cousin’s kid got married, an assemblage of people I’d not seen in at least 20 years. It was held at a country club south of the city, and was full of that kind of straight wedding swagger I hate so much—is there no worse sight in the world than groomsmen in suits clutching bottles of beer? That effortful commitment to male casualness amidst the formalness? It speaks to such an ease, the way these men move through the world, that my sister and I were repulsed by it. During the wedding, a long and violent thunderstorm rolled in. But just before that, my family and I wandered the grounds of the country club, walked along the ridge of a hill that offered a view of the city, the whole of Boston laid out there in the hazy, humid distance. The four of us there, lined up and regarding it. It felt like a maudlin farewell. To this city we’ve all been so tethered to, just then rendered so small, so faraway. 

I traveled a lot this summer, more than I had planned. I went to Provincetown for a few nights, my new favorite place, and felt the mid-June thrill of all that. I went to Los Angeles, mostly for work—a grinding reporting assignment that has yet to bear fruit but still could be something good, I hope—but also to see my sister. She’s so good at day trips, feeling so blessed with a car, and we drove up to Ojai, spent a late morning and early afternoon in its clenching, clean heat. We hiked a short distance to a waterfall, where barefoot kids were laughing and dogs were shuffling around. We went into town, roaming an outdoor used bookstore where I searched for my own book and, as ever, came up short. I’d heard so much about Ojai and, while finding it beautiful, was surprised by how little it offered. “You have to be rich to enjoy it,” I said to my sister as we got back in her car and, sealed up in the air conditioning, drove back to the city. 

In Los Angeles, I spent a lot of time holed up in my hotel, a once-trendy place on the Sunset Strip that has a thumping pool club and is just the right amount of uncomfortable to feel cool. It’s a full-service place, so I could take my meals there, do drinks on the patio, barely leave the confines of it. I went a little crazy, swaddled up in the gray blanket of that place—its easy, healthy-ish, sour food, its lukewarm sauvignon blanc mood. I felt like I was there for a whole long Shining winter, growing a beard and going insane and locating some truer kernel of myself than I’d ever known existed. I let myself skitter out into the night on occasion, to see friends and revel, just a bit, in the riot of a city I hate. (I’m sorry, L.A. friends. I have tried so hard to like Los Angeles, but it makes me so stressed and unhappy and full of constant Sunday Scaries that I have to hate it. That said, I can’t wait to visit again.) But mostly I was alone, conducting halting interviews on the phone, pacing around in my cold room while tall trees fluttered in the balcony window. One uneasy afternoon, I watched a bug crawl around the enormous beanbag chair the hotel provided and figured it knew what to do with this lump of furniture more than I did. 

I just got back from Fire Island, another place I have tried to love and—unlike L.A.—might finally be done with. What a dream of an idea that place is, and yet in execution, or at least in my admittedly narrow experience of it, what a drab and horny and exhausting thing it actually is. I don’t fit in there at all, which is a strange sensation for someone who has prided himself on being able to adapt, to quickly recover, to renegotiate physical and social spaces as needed. Fire Island, the Pines in particular, is a bridge past a bridge too far, I’m afraid. Not because I don’t admire its moxie, its Speedo tan-ness, its louche, buggy reverie. I love that people love it. I just feel sad that Fire Island is something like Paris—a beautiful dream I’ll never be able to actually step into, that I’ll never feel filling me like air, like smoke. (I Juul now—another life update.) But it’s good to have that conclusion—to know, because of increasing adulthood and experience, that it, hey, just isn’t for me. I wish it the best. I wanted to blow a kiss to the island as the ferry puttered away back toward Sayville. Goodbye, place! Goodbye, dream! Goodbye all you wonderful people who partied and yearned and grieved and fucked and fell in love there. See you in Ptown, maybe. All you lively ghosts, living and dead.

Fall trips loom. Film festivals, which are so much fun. I’m going to Venice for the first time, next week, and I am so stressed and excited and curious. I booked an Airbnb that’s not near the movies, that’s on the main island with all the canals and handsome gondoliers and luring, leering pasta. (My Fire Island diet nearly killed me, readers.) I chose holistic life experience over festival ease in booking that place and I hope I don’t regret it. And then it’s straight on to Toronto, a festival I love, a town I am growing to like, with people I know and with whom I’m so ready to pretend it’s summer camp again. Fall camp. Autumn camp. What a good time that will be.

But it will keep me away. I’ve been away so much this year, which has been exhilarating—I gave an award out on stage at a loud gay discotheque in Guadalajara, Mexico!—but also lonely, and denying. The thing I’ve sort of stylistically held for the end here is that I fell in love this year, and while it’s a new-ish, only nine-month relationship (“We have a baby,” I said to Andrew tonight), it’s still a totalizing thing. It’s impossible to look at all of this—parents moving, cities roiling, islands churning—not through the lens of that. How terrifically grounded I have felt this year, to something good and happy and intimate and huge in its smallness. This is the first time I’ve really written about him—a scientist, a smiler, a kind and gentle person who calms me and encourages me—and it feels a little scary to type it out. But there he is, suddenly a center. 

When I was home over the 4th, my mom told my sister and me a story about our cousin, the one whose kid got married at the country club. I guess when this cousin was little, a toddler maybe, she would often say, “I need something.” Just that. That quiet little unspecific thing. “I need something,” she’d say in a small voice, tugging at pant legs and looking up at the adults hoping they’d understand and satisfy whatever it was she was asking for. I’ve thought about that a lot since my mom told us about it, there in the backyard I’ll never see again. I need something. I need something! I NEED SOMETHING! 

Of course we all do. Need something. Need so many things. I get corny, thinking about it. I want to say what a mad and blissful and terrible adventure it is, to go chasing after that need. It is. But, again, that’s hokey. So I guess I’ll just end this ramble with a little moment, from Fire Island. I went to bed early one night, and was half asleep when some of the boys of tea came home. I heard them rumbling around upstairs in the living room, muffled laughter and bottles opening. It reminded me of being a kid in the house I grew up in, that will now be lived in by a nice family from Framingham who wrote a heartening letter to my parents about how much they loved the house. That feeling of life happening just beyond the light under the door. And maybe it is. But in that room on Fire Island that night, there was also the beautiful dark, also the hum of the air conditioner, the whine of the mosquito, and there was me, breathing and blinking and alive. That was so much, too. 

[xhxhxhx]

I removed some books today.

I think of myself as a minimalist, but that doesn’t happen to be true. I have acquired more books than I will ever read. They still sit, stacked and unreachable, in piles by the walls, two dozen books tall and sometimes two books deep.

I don’t think I know where they all came from. I think more came from online than from any physical store. I bought them from Abebooks, the sales search platform that Amazon owns now. Abebooks tell you the names of the sellers, but they seem unconnected to any real place.

From Better World Books. From Thrift Books and Bookbarn. From Silver Arch Books, Motor City Books, Free State Books, Sierra Nevada Books, Yankee Clipper Books, and the Atlanta Book Company. From Green Earth Books and Housing Works Books. From Goldstone Books and Powell’s Books and Kennys Bookshop and Art Galleries. From Satellite Books and the Orchard Bookshop. From Blue Cloud Books and Hippo Books and Wonder Book.

They’re from all over, from places you’ve never been, places you’ll never be. They’re names on a box. But then there are the books from more intimate places, intimately connected

From library’s old bookstore, which sold paperbacks for fifty cents, hardcovers for a dollar. From the basement of the old independent bookstore down on Front Street, where they sold remaindered and overstocked books marked down with red-orange tape. From the thrift store across the street, which charged too much.

From the Chapters at the mall in your hometown, or the Chapters and Indigo in the places you’ve been to, from the shelves of marked-down items where you looked for bargains, for the books you knew you should read, and all the books you never would. Places where you could drink sweet cream and coffee and pretend to read.

From the Borders in Syracuse, where you idled while the family went to the fair, where they always said they were going to build the largest mall in America, but never did. There was another Borders in South Florida, where they were stripping fixtures from the walls because the books had not sold, and so the Borders had to be. They still have bookstores. I’m not sure what they sell now. Postcards, I think.

The books still in my room had postcards from people I will never know, dedications to people I will never see, business cards from people who have moved on to other work. But their spines are unbroken, their pages unmarked. I guess I wanted them that way. I bought them like that.

I sometimes worried they would break through the floor. I would wake up to the collapse of everything I have ever owned as I plummeted a few short feet to my death. I guess it would probably take longer than that. I would have to wait for them to crush me. That mass of books would fall on me, blotting out the light. Crushed beneath nearly everything I have ever owned.

That’s what happened to the clerk Toshiko Sasaki in John Hershey’s Hiroshima, who was seated at her desk on August 6, 1945, in front of a couple of bookcases from the factor library:

Everything fell, and Miss Sasaki lost consciousness. The ceiling dropped suddenly and the wooden floor above collapsed in splinters and the people up there came down and the roof above them gave way; but principally and first of all, the bookcases right behind her swooped forward and the contents threw her down, with her left leg horribly twisted and breaking underneath her. There, in the tin factory, in the first moment of the atomic age, a human being was crushed by books.

Miss Sasaki made out alright, although not so well as to not ask the question “If your God is so good and kind, how can he let people suffer like this?” But then, I have more books than she did.

I removed some books today. I still have more I want to remove. I just don’t have the boxes for them. I took the boxes I did have in the back of my car to a mass-market thrift store, where they will end up on the shelves by the leather jackets. 

Perhaps they will end on some other shelf, like a postcard from somewhere unknown, in someone else’s memory. But I don’t think they will. I don’t think they’ll sell. There aren’t enough people here who spend money pretending to read.

I don’t know what will happen to them. I suppose they will pulp them. Or perhaps they will end in a landfill, crushed beneath their own weight, suffocating beneath the earth we have made for them until life reclaims them.

I wrote out a partial list of the books I threw out. I don’t know what it says about me. There’s a double significance here: These are books I bought, for some amount of money, but these are also books I am throwing away, because I asked the question the woman told me to ask, which was whether they sparked joy, and I answered no.

Those books in the photo are the books that have not yet been thrown away. Here, below the fold, are the books that have:

Judith Fitzgerald’s Sarah McLachlan: Building a Mystery

Mordecai Richler’s Oh Canada! Oh Quebec!

Jonathan Coe’s The Rotter’s Club

Misha Glenny’s McMafia

Joinville and Villehardouin’s Chronicles of the Crusades

Michael Ignatieff’s The Lesser Evil

Russell Dalton’s Citizen Politics in Western Democracies: Public Opinion and Political Parties in the United States, Great Britain, West Germany, and France

Richard Finn’s Winners in Peace: MacArthur, Yoshida, and Postwar Japan

Ramachandra Guha’s India After Gandhi

Fox Butterfield’s China: Alive in the Bitter Sea

Anthony Sampson’s The Changing Anatomy of Britain

Masanori Hashimoto’s The Japanese Labor Market in a Comparative Perspective with the United States

Donald Keene’s Dawn to the West: Japanese Literature of the Modern Era: Poetry, Drama, Criticism

Andrei Shleifer’s Without a Map: Political Tactics and Economic Reform in Russia

Peter Newman’s The Secret Mulroney Tapes

Nicholas Negroponte’s Being Digital

Lesley Downer’s The Brothers: The Hidden World of Japan’s Richest Family

Harold Vogel’s Entertainment Industry Economics

Stephen Goldsmith and William D. Eggers’s Governing by Network: The New Shape of the Public Sector

Donald Harman Akenson, Saint Saul: A Skeleton Key to the Historical Jesus

Philip Ziegler’s King Edward VIII

David Wessel’s In FED We Trust

Robert Dallek’s Flawed Giant: Lyndon Johnson and His Times, 1961--1973

David Halberstam’s The Reckoning

David Bell’s The First Total War: Napoleon’s Europe and the Birth of Warfare as We Know It

Kevin Phillips’s The Cousins’ Wars

Yirmiyahu Yovel, Spinoza and Other Heretics: The Adventures of Immanence

Michael Oren’s Six Days of War: June 1967 and the Making of the Modern Middle East

Lawrence McDonald’s A Colossal Failure of Common Sense: The Inside Story of the Collapse of Lehman Brothers

Richard Posner’s The Crisis of Capitalist Democracy

William Chester Jordan’s Europe in the High Middle Ages

William Cohan’s House of Cards: A Tale of Hubris and Wretched Excess on Wall Street

Bryan Burrough and John Helyar’s Barbarians at the Gate: The Fall of RJR Nabisco

Linda Lear’s Beatrix Potter: A Life in Nature

Jane Mayer’s The Dark Side: The Inside Story of How the War on Terror Turned into a War on American Ideals

Allan Brandt’s The Cigarette Century: The Rise, Fall, and Deadly Persistence of the Product That Defined America

Garry Wills’s Head and Heart: American Christianities

Sarah Bradford’s Elizabeth: A Biography of Britain’s Queen

Andrew Gordon’s The Evolution of Labor Relations in Japan: Heavy Industry, 1853--1955

John Ardagh’s France in the New Century: Portrait of a Changing Society

Bob Woodward’s The Agenda: Inside the Clinton White House

John Julius Norwich’s Byzantium: The Early Centuries

Taylor Branch’s Pillar of Fire: America in the King Years, 1963--65

Michael Lewis’s Liar’s Poker

Tim Blanning’s The Pursuit of Glory: Europe, 1648--1815

Robert Fagles’s translation of Virgil’s The Aeneid

Karl Popper’s The Poverty of Historicism

P. D. Smith’s Doomsday Men: The Real Dr. Strangelove and the Dream of the Superweapon

Richard Rhodes’s Arsenals of Folly: The Making of the Nuclear Arms Race

Margaret Thatcher’s Downing Street Years

Alistair Horne’s Harold Macmillan, 1957--1986

Taylor Branch’s The Clinton Tapes: Wrestling History with the President

Ian Kershaw’s Hitler, 1936--1945: Nemesis

David Grossman’s To the End of the Land

Sean Wilentz’s The Rise of American Democracy: Jefferson to Lincoln

Philipp Blom’s The Vertigo Years: Europe, 1900--1914

Jacob M. Schlesinger’s Shadow Shoguns: The Rise and Fall of Japan’s Postwar Political Machine

Peter Jenkins’s Mrs. Thatcher’s Revolution: The Ending of the Socialist Era

Martin Lawrence’s Iron Man: The Defiant Reign of Jean Chrétien

Marin Lawrence’s Chrétien: The Will to Win

Alastair Campbell’s The Blair Years

Tony Blair’s A Journey

David Kennedy’s Don’t Shoot: One Man, a Street Fellowship, and the End of Violence in Inner-City America

Joshua Ferris’s Then We Came to the End

Kate McCafferty’s Testimony of an Irish Slave Girl

Martin Wolf’s Why Globalization Works

Charles Fishman’s The Wal-Mart Effect: How the World’s Most Powerful Company Really Works -- and How It’s Transforming the American Economy

William Easterly’s The White Man's Burden: Why the West's Efforts to Aid the Rest Have Done So Much Ill and So Little Good

Karel van Wolferen’s The Enigma of Japanese Power: People and Politics in a Stateless Nation

Jeffrey Sachs’s The End of Poverty: How We Can Make It Happen in Our Lifetime