I avoid looking at him as the silence grows. I completely misjudged him, and my soul collapses down into a black hole of shame. Passions can be difficult creatures, I suppose. I never had one. Making itineraries for fantasy trips I’ll never go on doesn’t count because it’s not serious. I’m about to ask if we should leave in the least defensive way I can muster when he speaks.
“You are observant, Ari. And right. I have been having trouble. Music used to flow, and now there’s nothing but a watery flatness. Nothing to grip.” He tilts his head to the side and rubs the back of his neck, contemplating the shelves before he smiles at me. “It feels better since I’ve been here but not as it should be. I like this idea.”
Emboldened, I raise my eyebrows. “Do you accept the challenge?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Sure, if you want to be a quitter.”
His eyes narrow. “Set the timer, Ari.”
We separate as the numbers count down, each of us retreating to a different part of the store. I look at a 1970s tome on pickling before turning to a book on road maintenance. Neither seems particularly inspiring to a songwriter, so I pull out another.Bread Sculptures for Fun and Profit. There’s a photo of a toasty golden brown mermaid on a shell, raisins decorating her throat in an edible necklace and almonds covering her like a bra.
I put that in the maybe pile.
Across the store, Jihoon reads through the titles on the shelves. I feel a pang of guilt. I assumed his English was as good when reading as it is speaking, and I hope I didn’t embarrass him. I should have asked; Hana is always telling me to use my words.
He catches my eye, and my knees get sweaty. As we’ve gotten toknow each other, Jihoon has become even more attractive. I think he’s starting to stand closer to me when we talk or touch me more, but I’m not sure if it’s wishful thinking. Occasionally, when he laughs or looks at me a certain way, I wonder what he’d do if I caged him against a wall and kissed him. I have that feeling right now, and as if I’m somehow broadcasting my thoughts across the store, Jihoon’s eyes get bigger.
They drift down to my mouth. Or so I think.
Definitely I wish.
My phone softly beeps out theJames Bond theme song, which Hana set as a joke, and we both step away from the shelves. Since I’ve been busy mentally undressing Jihoon instead of paying attention, I grab a book without looking and hope for the best.
Jihoon comes over, waving his book triumphantly. “I win,” he declares.
“Not so fast.” I look down at the book in my hand,Theater Interiors for You!“Proscenium arches are very stimulating.”
“Really, Ari?”
I’m ready to defend my terrible choice. “Theaters mean plays and plays are art.” No lie there. Before she left, Hana and I sawOperation Oblivionwith Sam Yao and Wei Fangli. It had been stellar, even for a Philistine like me. The chemistry between the two had been off the charts.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m confident.” He shows me his book, which, incredibly, is calledInspirational Exercises for Mental and Physical Strength.
I can’t even be mad at how bad he’s trounced me. “Unbelievable.”
“I know.” He pages through. “It says I should dictate my ideas to a willing helper as I do a handstand to take advantage of the blood flowing to my head.”
“A willing helper?”
“Are you volunteering?” Jihoon touches a finger to my bare arm, and to my horror, I come out in goose bumps.
I do my best to edge away without looking obvious so he doesn’t notice. “I’ll consider it.” Pleased with how steady my voice is, I take him to the back of the store, where a cheery turquoise vending machine sits, and hand him a toonie. “Put it in.”
“A book vending machine?”
“Think of it as an idea generator.”
Bemused, he slots in the coin, then reaches down after the soft thump indicates his prize has been dispensed.
We unwrap the brown paper and look at the book, which is calledHannah, the Story of a Girl.
I gawk at it. “You’ve rigged this store.”
“You could be onto something with this game, Ari.” His eyes crinkle as he smiles. “I’m keeping it for Hana.”
He pays for the first book, and I take both purchases and pack them into my tote. “I’m winning,” he says complacently and, frankly, unnecessarily.