The Bookseller's Boyfriend (Copper Point: Main Street Book 1)

by Heidi Cullinan

  “You’re still working at this hour?”

  “I want to finish. And not only because I want to have a sleepover.” He sighed, and Jacob could imagine him running a hand through his hair. “I went back and added a plot thread. I had a big eureka last night, which is good, but I had to retrofit things. Except I worry I’m breaking it.”

  “Surely you should sleep and start fresh.”

  “Probably? But I get into these grooves, like a trance, and I know if I stop, I’ll lose it. Except there’s always a point where it tips over and I’m practically writing in a made-up language. Creation rides a fine line.”

  “You’re so much happier, though, than when you first came. You almost resented writing, but now you’re doing a lot better, at least it seems like you are.”

  “No, you’re right. A lot of it is because I chucked all my expectations out the window. I don’t care what anybody thinks about this, except that I want to love it.” There was a slight pause, and his voice softened. “And I want you to love it. That’s what I’m the most worried about.”

  For the first time since he’d woken up, Jacob felt warm. His hand moved to his chest of its own accord. “I’m absolutely sure I will.”

  “No.” Rasul was emphatic. “I want you to love it. I want it to burn you inside like it does me. I want you to feel in your bones that this was written precisely for you, because it was. It is.”

  Forget warm, Jacob was steaming. He fanned his face. “Um, wow.”

  “Not a joke, Jacob. There’s so much of me in this book. So much of us. Not just our relationship, but us individually. I can’t wait for you to see it. I want you to read Milo and not only recognize yourself but feel empowered. I want you to see parts of yourself you didn’t know you had. I want you to find the ones you forgot.”

  Jacob couldn’t have been more affected by Rasul’s words even if he’d said them at the nape of his neck. The image made Jacob’s knees wobble, and he went back to the sink, trying again for a glass of water. “Nobody I’ve ever met is as passionate as you. Nobody’s ever been able to make me feel passion the way you do. You undo me in ways I didn’t even know to plan to guard against.”

  There was a pause, and it went on long enough Jacob stopped with the glass of water halfway to his mouth.

  “Rasul?” he said, suddenly worried.

  Now Rasul sounded ragged. “Um, well.” His voice cracked. “So, I was about to walk up your stairs, but now I’m trying to decide if that’s a good idea.”

  The glass clanged in the sink as Jacob rushed across the living room, heart pounding, and unlocked the door.

  At the bottom of the stairs was Rasul, standing in the fresh dusting of snow, wearing his brand-new bobble hat from the bazaar, phone to his ear as he gazed up at Jacob.

  Jacob lowered his own phone, Air Supply blasting in his head.

  “Come up,” he told Rasul. “It’s too cold to stand down there.”

  Rasul didn’t move except to hang up his phone and put it in his pocket. “If I come up there, we both know what’s going to happen.”

  Yes, Jacob absolutely did. “The first time is still inside the veil of stars.”

  God, but he loved the slowly dawning look of mischief on Rasul’s face. “But there’s a whole lot of other stuff we can do inside your apartment?”

  Jacob motioned to him impatiently. “It’s freezing, and I don’t even have socks on.”

  “Then I’d better come warm you up.”

  They started kissing as soon as the door closed, Jacob cradling Rasul’s head and holding his own lower body back while Rasul stepped out of his boots and tossed his coat aside. Then he pulled Jacob against him and went at him with a hunger that spun Jacob’s head into the night sky.

  “I’m so crazy about you.” Rasul kissed his way along Jacob’s jaw, threading his fingers into Jacob’s hair. “You have no idea how much I want you. Let me show you.” He nipped at Jacob’s chin. “In fact, let’s get in your car and go back to my place.”

  Jacob laughed and kissed him back, lingering. “You said it was good for your book to wait.”

  “I’m ridiculous. I don’t know what I’m talking about.” He ground a thick erection against Jacob’s matching one. “I want to make love to you for six days. A month. A year. Ten years.”

  Jacob kissed him, long and slow, cooing into Rasul’s mouth as cold hands slid beneath his waistband and cupped his ass. But when those hands slid to his hips and started to tug his pants down, Jacob pulled away and took Rasul’s face in his hands.

  “Look me in the eye and tell me this isn’t going to break your spell.”

  Rasul did look him in the eye, so intently Jacob would have said yes to doing him on the stage at Founder’s Day. Then Rasul sighed, shut his eyes, and sagged. “I can’t do it. It sounds absolutely ridiculous and I want desperately to say it won’t matter, but….”

  Jacob kissed his hairline. “I can wait.”

  “I’m not sure I can.” But he took a step back, clearly resigning himself. “I want to know if you have any other nightmares. I’ll buzz over and kiss them away.”

  Jacob nodded, heart fluttering happily. “I promise I’ll tell you.”

  “Also, I feel silly for asking so late, and I’m sure you already have plans, but what are you doing for Thanksgiving? Christmas?”

  “If you’re offering to cook for me, I’m coming to your place.”

  “Mmm, no, let’s do it here. You don’t have plans?”

  Jacob made a mental note to call up Gus and Matt to cancel. “No plans.”

  “Christmas either?”

  Gina would understand. “Nope, nothing.”

  Rasul raised his eyebrow, but he grinned. “You’re telling me stories, but I suppose turnabout’s fair play.”

  Jacob tweaked his nose. “Go home and get some sleep.”

  “Screw that, I’m making coffee and starting another chapter.”

  Jacob waved him away, then leaned against the door after he’d locked it, smiling like a giddy schoolboy for several minutes.

  When he went back to sleep, he dreamed again. But this time, when Rasul asked him to dance, Jacob stepped out boldly into his arms.

  Chapter Eleven

  RASUL DID well until Elizabeth told him he had a publication date.

  “You told me we’d set one when I finished,” he protested, fighting a sudden rush of bile in his throat.

  “You said you were practically finished. I’ve stayed in contact with your publisher, and they let me know when there are gaps you could fill and still get decent press. There’s one coming up now. It’ll mean a rush editing job, and they’ll be squeaking and calling in favors to get it to reviewers on time, but they’re counting on the fact that everyone and their pet rock wants to read this. So your turn-in date is January 15. They wanted January 1, but I talked them into midmonth.”

  No question, Rasul was going to throw up after this phone call. “It’s December 10.”

  “So you’ve got a month and five days. You can do it.”

  “You want me to finish drafting, revise, everything in a month?”

  “I do. Don’t let this panic you. You can do this. You’re doing this. Everyone is so impressed, Rasul. In fact, I’m mailing you your phone back.”

  “Don’t.” Rasul shuddered. “Not until I turn the book in. The due date is bad enough. The phone would ruin everything.”

  Elizabeth whistled low. “You’ve really changed. All right, no phone until I get a manuscript.”

  Rasul leaned his forehead against his kitchen wall. “What happens if I miss the deadline?”

  “We’re not going to think about that.”

  He let out a breath. “Anything from Adina?”

  “We’re not discussing that.”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “There’s nothing you need to know. Do not let your head go there. Protect this book at all costs.”

  He did his best. He kept his head down, did his work, taught his class. His st
udents, always in tune with his emotions, picked up on his tension. Meg, as usual, was the first one to speak up. “Professor Youssef? Are you all right? You look upset.”

  Four months ago he’d have lied, smiled, and given a breezy dismissal. He didn’t have it in him today. “Just got some news that shook me a bit, is all.”

  Ron put down his pencil and regarded Rasul with concern. “What happened?”

  Again. He should have dismissed this, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t. “It’s… well, I was going to lie and say it wasn’t a big deal, but it is. My agent got a due date for my novel, and it’s next month. I’m still trying to absorb it.”

  Stacy’s eyes went wide. “So it’ll be out soon?”

  Rasul shook his head. “No, this is the date I need to turn it in by. It’ll be out about a year from now. Slightly less, actually. Which isn’t usual, but they’re rushing it for me.”

  Ron’s jaw fell. “That’s rushing?”

  Meg looked confused. “But I could put something up on Amazon tomorrow.”

  “Can’t you just drop a book like Beyoncé?”

  Rasul realized they’d never talked about publishing timetables before. He settled onto his stool and wiped his beard as he tried to think of where to start. “Well, if this book hadn’t been sold years ago and if I hadn’t been paid everything but the second half of the advance, which I get when I turn it in, yeah, I could drop it like Beyoncé. But I wouldn’t get the advance reviews from big magazines and newspapers, and the marketing and publishing team and my personal publicist couldn’t nurture buzz. If I weren’t established already, this timeline would be too tight. They’re counting on the fact that everyone will want to see what I’ve been doing all this time.”

  Tina looked so confused. “But we’d all read it now if it came out.”

  “You would, yes. But it takes time to get the word out in a big way. Usually with publishing, as an author you’re always working two years ahead. By the time the book comes out, you’re neck deep in the next thing.” He paused as the thought dawned on him. “I think that’s part of where I went astray with this book. Carnivale was so engrossing that I couldn’t get traction on book three. To be honest, I don’t like promoting my work. I get it’s my job, but I’d rather work on the next thing in peace.”

  Stacy, one of the fanfic writers, laughed. “But you’re so good at giving interviews. I’ve watched them all online a thousand times.”

  The others agreed enthusiastically.

  Rasul felt like big pieces of awareness were dropping on him. “I didn’t start writing, though, so I could be famous. I wrote because I had a story I wanted to tell. Because I love the process of creating. But all that attention pulled my focus. I think it messed with my head too. Once I got hooked, I couldn’t stop, even though it wasn’t making me happy.”

  Ron beamed. “The cotton-candy theory of parties. I love that.”

  “Yeah, but it’s really everything. Attention is food for the moment, but once people pull away, you’re left there feeling isolated, and you need another hit. It’s less cotton candy and more heroin.” He had to stop a minute and realize how much the past few months had been a detox.

  Maybe he never wanted his phone back.

  “But don’t you need to keep up a social media presence?” Meg asked. “That’s what everything I’ve read about marketing for authors has said.”

  Rasul thought of his online accounts, dusty and neglected, and how much lighter he felt because of it. “If you feel motivated by them, then go for it. But if they’re a drain on your creativity, what’s the point?”

  Stacy looked thoughtful. “I do have a hard time writing if I leave Twitter open. I always want to check it when I’m stuck.”

  “Instagram is my crack,” someone else said.

  Rasul knew they’d never get to the official lesson today. Maybe this was the lesson they all needed, especially him. “You have to remember why you’re writing. Everyone will have a different answer, but you have to have a lighthouse. Your lighthouse. Don’t look at someone else’s. If you write because it brings you joy, if you don’t care about those big reviewers or those flashy release parties, then don’t worry about it. Do what works for you.”

  “Is that what you do?” Ron asked.

  Rasul drew a long breath, then let it out. “I’m trying.”

  They talked about publishing for the entire two-hour class, and when it was done, he felt good, but raw. Opening his phone, he texted Jacob.

  Rough day. Can I see you?

  The reply came back immediately. Sure. I’m at Café Sól having a Mini Main Street meeting. Want to meet me there, or should I come to you?

  The thought of sitting at Gus’s table with a cup of vacuum coffee and a cluster of empathetic friends eased his whole soul. I’ll be right over.

  WHEN RASUL entered a room, Jacob’s whole universe shifted.

  Gus had been pointing this out even before Rasul texted, and he and Matt had pointed to Jacob’s reaction to the messages as proof of their point. Jacob had to acknowledge they were right. Rasul had affected Jacob since the man had appeared in his store. He’d been in a kind of denial about it ever since that day, pretending if he hung back, he wouldn’t be too involved. But ever since the day at the lighthouse, he’d known the truth. Rasul had been his north star since his parents died, and that wasn’t likely to change. If anything, Rasul being physically in his life made that light shine brighter. He’d kept him at arm’s length thinking that would keep him safe, but in hindsight, he’d been lost at first contact.

  As Rasul entered the back room at Gus’s shop, though, crisp with cold and bright with terror as he explained he’d been given a due date he wasn’t ready for—as Jacob listened and nodded along with Gus and Matt’s encouragement—Jacob acknowledged this was the way things were now. If Rasul left his life, either the books would remain as his light, or he’d have to find a new guidepost. But for the first time, he realized he could handle that. He didn’t want it, but ironically, because of Rasul, he could face that future.

  Rasul tilted his head and waved a hand in front of Jacob’s face. “Hello. Am I boring you?”

  Jacob snapped out of his reverie. “No, sorry. Just thinking.”

  Rasul clasped his hand under the table and faced the others. “Anyway, enough of my whining. What were you guys talking about before I showed up?”

  Before Jacob could panic, Gus put his chin in his hand. “We were debating which Disney hero we most identified with.”

  Rasul leaned back in his chair. “Ah. Well, that’s easy. I’m Aladdin. And that’s not because he’s Arab. He’s a lying sack of crap bullshitting his way through the world, smiling so nobody notices. Who were you guys?”

  Jacob had been indexing the Disney heroes he knew. “Belle, I guess. Because of the bookshop.”

  Rasul snorted. “Please. You’re Moana all the way.”

  Jacob’s eyebrows lifted as he turned to him. “How in the world am I Moana?”

  Rasul ticked the reasons off on his fingers. “You dreamed of leaving your home, you left, you figured out where your heart really was, you came back, and you led your village out of the dark and into the future. Obviously you’re Moana.”

  Matt put his chin in his hand. “I’m jealous. You guys get the good ones. I’m just the mice from Cinderella, sewing clothes.”

  Gus boffed him playfully in his shoulder. “Get off. You’re Shang all the way.”

  Matt straightened, blushing a little. “Really? You think so?”

  Rasul grinned. “I agree completely.”

  Jacob loved this game. “Who are you, Gus?”

  “I’m clearly Meg.” He sipped his coffee with an arch look.

  Matt rubbed his hands together. “Let’s do the rest of the QUAG gang.”

  They all had a good time assigning roles to their friends—Owen was immediately dubbed the Beast, and Erin was Belle. Jared was Anna from Frozen, and Nick was Hercules. Simon was Ariel. They struggled with J
ack until Rasul declared him to be Jim Hawkins. When everyone else didn’t know who that was and said they hadn’t seen Treasure Planet, Rasul threw up his hands and insisted they have a movie night as soon as he turned in his book.

  “Oh, hey, being here with the three of you reminds me.” Rasul turned to Jacob. “How’s your candidacy going? Is that codger still bothering you?”

  Jacob sighed. “Yes, but I’m trying to hold my own. There’s not much to do but keep showing up places, trying not to look bothered.”

  Gus waved a finger at him. “Not true. The chamber ball is coming up. You can make a killer raffle basket for the auction.”

  Rasul shook his head. “You guys are always having parties in this town. Is there dancing at this one too?”

  “Always dancing.” Gus laughed. “Though I doubt anything will ever top your show at the university gala last year.”

  Matt waggled his eyebrows at Gus. “Maybe you’ll take Ben to the ball this year?”

  Gus swatted him on the shoulder. “Don’t even dare give him that idea.”

  Matt turned a twinkling gaze to Jacob. “Any chance you’ll let me start you a custom suit this time?”

  Jacob started to decline, but Rasul elbowed him gently. “You’ve got to let him. Matt’s a genius, and he’ll set you up right.”

  Jacob frowned. “But he wants to make it flashy, I just know it.”

  Instead of ribbing Jacob as expected, Matt frowned back, looking affronted. “Hey. I know who you are, what you like, what you don’t. I wouldn’t put you in something that would make you uncomfortable.”

  Gus nodded. “I agree. Besides, he’ll consult you on the way. Let him do this.”

  Why everyone suddenly wanted Jacob to have a suit, he couldn’t begin to guess. “It’s too expensive a gift, especially for something I’d rarely wear.”

  “Oh, you’ll wear it.” Matt’s eyes sparkled, and Jacob realized there was no escaping now.

  He sighed. “Fine.”

  “And you won’t pay for it either,” Matt added. When Jacob started to sputter, Matt held up his hand. “No arguments. It’ll be your Christmas present.”