Rasul stroked the back of Jacob’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”
Though Jacob’s eyes were wet, he didn’t cry, and his voice was steady. “I never thought they’d leave me so soon, and not together. Not without a real goodbye. I took a leave of absence from my job, then outright quit, but it wasn’t a smart move. I wandered around Copper Point, trying to figure out what I was supposed to do now. But that’s when I started reading your book again.”
He turned to Rasul now, his face twisted up in emotion. “It was like you saw right into me. The fight to find identity, dealing with loss but carrying on—that was what I needed. I read the book over and over, as if only these words could keep me alive. I understood at the time it was maybe a little unhealthy, but I didn’t care. I didn’t have my parents to be my anchor anymore, but I could anchor myself with your story.”
Jacob might not be crying, but Rasul had to stop and wipe his eyes, and his throat was thick. “Jacob.”
“I was living off my savings, and they were nearly depleted, but I had this huge inheritance from my parents. Life insurance, assets. I got tired of reading your book all the time, so I sprinkled others along with it. Fiction, nonfiction, everything. I feel like I devoured half the library, and the UPS driver brought me ten to twenty books at a time. I knew I was still escaping, but reading felt like a way out, so I kept at it, hoping for a lifeline. Then you wrote Carnivale.”
Now a tear did roll down his cheek as he took his hand back and turned to Rasul, tugging at his cardigan. “You called me Mr. Rogers because of what I wear. Do you know why I dress like I do? Because after my parents died, I couldn’t function unless I was wearing one of my father’s old sweaters. Gus and Matt held me the first time I had to wash them because they were too filthy to continue, and I ached because I knew the smell of my parents would go. Also, at that point, several of them were all but ruined. Then the next day Matt came with a new set from his store. He said it was the brand my dad always bought, and he could get as many as I wanted.”
Rasul wiped at his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“No. You see? Because in the middle of Cardigangate, that’s when Carnivale arrived. I had it on preorder. I bought it in hardback, eBook, and audio. Wrapped in one of the manky old cardigans, the one I hid so it didn’t get washed, I stayed up all night and read your second book. And for the first time since my parents died, I felt alive.” He laughed, a soft and bitter sound. “Oh my God, but I fell in love with you so hard. I didn’t even have the strength to mock myself. I simply thought, this is twice now that this man has dragged me out of the abyss. I’ll have to love him forever. So I decided that I’d do just that, and I also started looking into what it would take to buy a bookstore. It was a lot easier than I thought.” He shook a finger at Rasul. “It was supposed to be enough. It would have been enough. And then suddenly there you were. Here you are. Complicated and beautiful and sexy, flawed and messy and exactly what I never knew I needed. But if I let you in, all the way in, what comes next? You’ll leave. I’ll be alone. You won’t be dead, but in a way it’ll be worse. Because I don’t want to leave here, I do love it here, but….” He shut his eyes and gave up.
Rasul drew several deep breaths, trying to gather himself after that emotional barrage. He couldn’t do it. Running a hand through his hair, he glanced around the kitchen. “Do you have any alcohol?”
“If we’re both smashed, this is going to be a disaster.”
“I’m not going to get drunk. I just need to shave off a few edges. You’re not the only one who has stuff to get off his chest tonight.”
Jacob gestured at the far wall of cupboards without looking at them. “Top left, behind the paper cups. Should be some scotch.”
“Excellent.” Rising, he glanced back at Jacob. “Can I get you some water?”
“You can get me some scotch.”
“Scotch and water. For both of us.”
Pouring the drinks gave him something to do with himself, a chance to organize his thoughts. He didn’t say anything until he’d sat down and gotten a heavy slug of the stuff in his system. How did he want to start this? Dive right in?
Might as well.
He drew a breath and let it out.
“I had a lot of abandonment issues as a kid. My parents were in and out, and so were my caregivers. My grandparents raised me officially, but there were nannies too. Essentially nobody hugely stable was in my life except for my grandmother, and she wasn’t always reliable. Intellectually I can look back and see that I was set up, that this sense that people would abandon me no matter what I did wasn’t my fault, but part of me can’t let go of the idea that I might be the problem, that I’m unlovable.” Smiling grimly into his glass, he took another drink. “Don’t think the irony isn’t lost on me that I draw all these people to me and I still feel that way. It doesn’t matter how many ways I acknowledge I have a hole in me nobody can fill, it still eats at me. It drives me into relationships too fast, pushes me to ruin them.” He dragged his thumb along his beard, his gaze unfocused on the table. “I think I sandbagged myself when I decided I’d write my way through the feelings. It worked for the first book and the second book, after all. What was the harm? Well, I think that was because somehow along the way part of me felt like even though the adoration couldn’t completely satisfy me, it was enough. So long as I had that attention, so long as I was surrounded, I might be okay.”
He shifted in his seat. “Of course, that became the trap. Because as soon as I disappointed people, I was lost at sea. I got really annoyed at myself over it. Here I was, thirtysome years old, and I was still trapped by the feelings I had when I was a kid. Worst of all, I’d decided to write about the feelings I had as a kid. About a real boy I had a crush on but couldn’t tell. About how the world seemed to rearrange itself around me in order to keep me isolated. It was too much. I knew as soon as I started it that I shouldn’t write it. And yet I couldn’t write anything else. So slowly, methodically, I put myself in the place I feared more than anything. Cut off. Isolated. Denied all my cheats and hacks to not think about the pain I’d never told anyone about.”
He slid a hand to Jacob’s knee. “Except in that same place, I also found you. Someone I couldn’t charm or win over with a glance, a wink, or a dance. Someone who liked and respected my work but didn’t want a piece of me the way everyone else did. You were just so… different. But you saw me. Not the manic front I put out but the me who flounders sometimes, that still thinks about the time when I was ten and I had a fever but no one was home and I was convinced I would die abandoned. That feeling of wandering through empty spaces, crying out, but no one comes. Except you did.” He ran a hand through his hair and realized he was shaking. “Now you tell me I did that for you. My stories, born out of my own isolation and loneliness, reached you in yours. You’ve let me come into your space and struggle to heal myself. You’ve seen me stripped down, but you want me anyway.” He shook his head. “You think I don’t want you for that?”
“You won’t stay here, and I will.”
“You won’t let me date you, but you want me to marry you?”
Jacob shoved at him, but not very hard. He looked tired. And very sad.
Rasul poured them both more to drink.
Jacob sipped at his, but mostly he rolled the glass against his cheek with one hand, petting Mr. Nancy with the other. Rasul hadn’t even seen the cat come onto the table, but there he was now, fluffy and sweet.
“I hope you understand,” Rasul said at last, “that someone who fears abandonment as much as I do isn’t going to have a relationship with you and then just wave goodbye and disappear when my teaching tenure is up.”
Jacob nodded. “It’s not about that as much as I pretend it is. I’m afraid of change. I wasn’t counting on my dreams becoming reality.”
Rasul stared straight ahead, arrested. “Okay, go ahead and hate me because this is mercenary as hell… but I think you just solved my midpoint plot crisis before I eve
n got there.”
God bless him, but Jacob laughed. Softly, but a laugh was a laugh. “I could never hate you.”
Rasul captured Jacob’s hand, drew it to his lips for a soft kiss. “Don’t you understand? I feel the same way.”
Jacob sagged against him—the distance was a bit of a stretch, and Rasul scooted closer so he could feel Jacob’s head on his shoulder.
“You weren’t supposed to be like this,” Jacob whispered.
Unable to help himself, Rasul kissed the top of Jacob’s head. “How was I supposed to be?”
“Ephemeral. Impossible. A dream I could keep in my heart. A man in the mists I could imagine to be whoever I wanted him to be, whatever I needed. A mystery who spoke to me in riddles every few years. The mist that leads me on, and on.”
Funny, Rasul could relate. In a way he hadn’t realized until now, the longing for Jacob had fueled him through the drafting of this book. The desire to be that man, to forge a maze in those mists, to push past the weights in his heart so he could make Jacob smile.
What if we can both have our dreams of each other?
Shutting his eyes, he drew Jacob closer into his side. I love you, Jacob. I’m going to make this work. I don’t know how yet, but I’m going to find a way for us to get to the happy ever after.
He sat there with the man he loved, stroking him, until Jacob fell asleep. Then, sidestepping curious cats, he tucked Jacob into bed, locked the apartment door, and made himself a bed on the floor beneath the heavily ticking clock. As it lured him into his own sleep, he dreamed of the universes he created, pushing them on and on, determined not to stop until he found the one where the two of them could be together.
JACOB WOKE to the soft sound of rain outside his window and the smell of cool air and worms.
His head weighed a ton and his mouth felt as if the worms had crawled around in there, but the soothing sound of the weather outside was a balm to his queasy stomach. He hadn’t remembered opening a window the night before. Though to be honest, the whole of the previous evening was slightly hazy. He’d gone to meet Gus and Matt, and then….
His eyes flew open as memory settled in, jagged and discordant. Stumbling up his stairs, finding Rasul there. Sitting at the kitchen table, drinking scotch, talking….
“Oh God.” Jacob sat bolt upright, then clutched at his head. “Oh God.”
Stumbling to the bathroom on autopilot, he scrambled to piece the previous evening together in his mind. Jesus, what had he told Rasul? He had this bad, bad feeling he’d confessed everything. He was pretty sure he’d told him about the damn cardigans, for crying out loud.
Whimpering, Jacob rested his forehead against the mirror. Then he washed his face, brushed his teeth, used the toilet, and got ready to face the music.
The tick of the clock drew his attention, and his heart leapt out of his throat as he noted the time. Ten thirty? He was late opening the store! Had he forgotten to set an alarm? He ran a hand through his hair as he tried to decide what to do.
That was when he saw the cat bowls, which were half-full. He frowned at them. They shouldn’t have any food in them if he’d gone this long without feeding the cats. In fact, all three animals should have woken him up in protest. They were his eternal backup alarm.
On the kitchen table was a piece of paper held in place by a small ceramic figurine, the type that looked as if it might decorate the dirt in a potted plant. It was a gray castle turret wrapped with blooming vines.
Holding it in his hand, Jacob read the note.
I let you sleep in. Don’t worry about the store—Gina set me up and I’m running it for you. There’s some oatmeal in the oven, and tea and toast are ready for you to start on the counter. Take your time and enjoy the morning.
I went to the floral shop down the street to leave you a flower with your breakfast, but then I worried what mess the cats would make. I decided to give you a castle instead.
R
A glance at the counter revealed a mug with teabag dangling over the side and, yes, two pieces of bread standing up in the toaster, waiting to be plunged. The electric kettle was filled and ready to go, and steel-cut oatmeal rested in a bowl in the oven, set to warm.
Jacob set the castle back on the table and readied his breakfast. He had his tablet in front of him as he ate, but mostly his gaze was drawn to the turret. He thought about it the entire time he showered as well.
His heart pounded as he made his way down the stairs. By this time it was a quarter past eleven. The shop was quiet, the usual blanket of silence that came at midday. Jacob wove his way through the stacks as silently as he could, stopping when he had a clear view of the front desk.
Rasul was there, sitting on a stool and reading a book.
He had on his glasses again, his chin-length curls drawn into a casual ponytail at the back of his crown. Whatever he was reading had him entirely engrossed.
He was so handsome. So vibrant even in stillness.
He made you breakfast and gave you a castle, then arranged to run your shop so you could sleep in.
How was Jacob supposed to resist that?
Gathering his courage, Jacob stepped forward.
It took Rasul a moment to notice his presence, but when he did he smiled, closing the book and rising. “Hey there, sleepyhead. Feeling okay this morning?”
Why did such an innocuous question make Jacob feel so fluttery? “A bit of a headache, but breakfast helped. Thank you for that.” He felt a blush creep up his neck. “And the castle.”
Rasul’s smile and wink made Jacob’s knees weak. He’d never survive this.
Rasul settled onto the stool again and gazed out across the shop. “It was really busy this morning, but it’s finally quieted down now that book club has gone. There were a few moms and their kids and some grandparents upstairs, but not anymore.”
Jacob leaned against the wall. “It’s usually quiet at this time, but it’ll pick up around lunch and again midafternoon.”
“What do you do when it’s only you here?”
“Sometimes I do financial things or place orders, but often I simply sit. The books are comforting company.”
“Agreed.” Rasul threaded his hands behind his head. “I’m a little jealous. I think every author dreams of running a bookshop someday. I know it’s not all communing with books and chatting with customers, but dang.”
“I’ve worked hard to make it feel like an essential part of the community. Hosting events, helping organizations with their special orders. All the Main Street businesses do that, but some of us are making a concerted effort to connect with the changes of the century. We can’t compete with big corporations or The Online Store That Will Not Be Named when it comes to discounting, but we’ve worked hard to instill in people the idea that you pay for more than just the item. Which admittedly means I have to show up at as many local events as possible and make sure I take out ads in the paper and the high school yearbook, any and everything to keep Moore Books in the public’s consciousness. I keep the exterior in shape and the space clean and attractive too. It helps quite a bit.”
“It’s an amazing space. I put it in the book. The dimension where—” He stopped, then smiled ruefully as he lowered his hands. “Well, I should probably keep that secret so you can enjoy the story. You will beta read it for me, right?”
Jacob had been doing so well, but that question made him shut his eyes and draw a careful breath.
When he opened his eyes, Rasul stood in front of him, vibrant and focused.
“Jacob.” Rasul didn’t touch him, but Jacob felt caressed somehow, as if each word were Rasul divesting him of his armor. “I’m moved by what you said about me, how you put me on a pedestal and used that to get yourself through some tough times. But I’m not a god. I’m a real person who makes a lot of mistakes.”
He leaned in close enough that Jacob could feel his breath.
“I want to share those mistakes with you.”
Forget armor. Rasul was shed
ding his clothes from his body now, leaving him naked. Jacob stared at the bony edges of Rasul’s clavicle.
Thought about licking it.
Helpless, he lifted his gaze to Rasul’s eyes and held his breath. Was it his imagination, or was Rasul moving closer? Oh God, were they going to kiss, right here in his shop?
Please, yes.
Hypnotized, Jacob held still as Rasul leaned in, holding Jacob firmly in place with his gaze.
The chime of the door startled Jacob, but Rasul didn’t move, only put a hand gently to the wall beside Jacob’s head.
“Hellooo,” a cheerful elderly woman’s voice rang out.
Rasul’s hand stroked Jacob’s cheek. Then he pushed away and turned toward the front of the store. “Be right there,” he called to the customer before moving around the counter as, behind him, Jacob slid quietly to the floor.
Something told him Rasul had just shown him what he was like when he flirted in earnest. Jacob knew if this were true, he wouldn’t last more than ten minutes under such an assault.
Chapter Nine
RASUL WAS keenly aware the tables had been turned in his relationship with Jacob, and he couldn’t be happier.
Initially he’d intended to bring up their scotch-fueled table confessions and politely receive permission to proceed, but one glance at his would-be lover made it clear the last thing Jacob was ready to do was talk about his feelings, so Rasul changed his strategy of engagement. Jacob didn’t want to look at the sun directly? Rasul could work with that. It had been a long time since he’d started a relationship with a slow and steady approach, but he still knew the moves.
The Bookseller's Boyfriend (Copper Point: Main Street Book 1) Page 14
