“First of all,” I say. My voice comes out a high-pitched squeak. I clear my throat and try again. “I wouldneverread a pirated e-book. I would read an e-galley provided by the publisher, or a legally borrowed library copy. Second of all, I no longer drive Old Reliable to go shopping because I learned the hard way that when I know I have four passenger seats’ and a trunk’s worth of space, I walk in for bodywash, seltzer, and a new pair of sunglasses, and walk out having bought half the store.”
He tips his head. “What do youbuy?”
“Yummy-smelling candles. More pajamas that Idon’tneed. Cute-but-overpriced sweatshirts. And sweatpants. And slippers. Nail polish that’s the slightest shade different from a color I already have but somehow cannot leave behind. Sour Patch. More Sour Patch. Seasonally scented hand soaps. Too many boxes of fruit tea. More toys that Argos will immediately destroy… Don’t make me keep going.”
Alex’s mouth tips into a grin. “Sounds fun.”
“It is not,” I tell him. “It’s chaos. And it’s terrifying to lose all grip on my self-control. Because after the thrill of impulse shopping, regret hits me like a receipt longer than my inseam. And I havelonglegs.”
His grin deepens. “I’m aware.” He wraps his finger around the handlebars and leans in, holding my eyes. “I still think, deep down, when you’ve let loose, you didn’t actually regret it, Ted. I think you justtoldyourself that you should.”
My heart thuds in my chest. I don’t know what we’re talking about anymore—the dicey times in our friendship I’ve gone Full Wild Thea, or my two hundred dollar impulse shopping sprees.
“Well.” I straighten my shoulders. “Regret it, I did!”
Why I said it like Yoda is beyond me. Alex bites his cheek, fighting a smile. He looks like he’s wondering the same thing.
Thankfully, the light turns green, giving me a swift exit from that land mine of a conversation.
“A shit liar, you are!” Alex calls.
“A flat tire?” I yell back. “Not me!”
Alex grabs a few groceries at the market in town to give our fib some backing, and then I drag him to where I really want to go—the local indie bookstore.
As the door falls shut behind us, Alex says, “Any word from Fern?”
I peer over at him. “She said we’d talk after I was back.”
He’s quiet for a moment as we wander around the table display of new releases. “You could follow up before that,” he says.
I straighten a crooked book on its stack. “That would be pushy.”
He shrugs. “Maybe she wants you to push.”
“Why would she want that when she told me we’d talk when I came back?” I hear the defensiveness creeping into my voice, but I can’t help it. Just giving her the proposal in the first place, I’ve already stepped so far out of my comfort zone. Now Alex wants me to go even further?
“Because maybe she’s testing you.” Alex picks up a book,skimming the back. “That’s what I would do when someone told me they wanted to buy into my business—I’d want to know that they were really invested, that they were hungry for it.”
I frown. “You would?”
Alex sets the book down and meets my eyes. “When it comes to relationships, passionate people want to see passion in others.”
I blink, my heart starting to beat double time. “Professionally?”
“Of course. And personally,” he adds, drifting toward the kids’ section. “Before you ask, I’mnotgoing down the cookbook aisle.”
I catch up to him, spin around, and give him sad-puppy eyes. “But I’mpassionateabout my best friend seeing his cookbooks in person.”
He comes to a stop, eyebrow arched, and says, unmoved. “No.”
“Pleeeease.” I lean in, hands clasped, and throw in a hearty bottom-lip-out pout. “I just want to walk by and look at them. If you do that much, I’ll consider calling Fern while we’re on vacation to follow up on my business proposal.”
He hesitates for a second, the sighs heavily. “Fine.”
I beeline to the cookbook aisle, find Alex’s books on an eye-level shelf, and silently scream. “It never gets old.”
He rakes a hand through his hair and tugs. “Okay, we saw them. Let’s go.”