Book Lovers

He starts to lead me up the hillside, and immediately my heel sinks into the mud, pinning me to the ground. I take another step and the other heel punctures the mud too. An indignant half shriek rises out of me.Charlie stops, sighing heavily as he eyes my shoes. “Am I going to have to carry you?”“I am not letting you give me a piggyback ride, Lastra,” I say.“And I,” he replies, “am not letting you destroy those poor, innocent shoes. I’m not that kind of man.”I look at my mules, and a miserably petulant sound squeaks out of me. “Fine.”“You’re welcome.” He turns and hunches as I hike up my dress and say a fond farewell to the last remnants of my dignity, then hook my arms over his shoulders and hop onto his back.“All good?” he says.“I’m getting a piggyback ride,” I reply, adjusting the umbrella over us. “Does that answer your question?”“Poor Nora,” he teases, his hands settling against my thighs as he starts up the steps. “I can only imagine what you’re going through.”

Her mouth shrinks, tightening into a knot as she reads, until finally, she bursts into laughter. “Oh my god!” she cries. “It’s Nora Stephens fan fiction!”“Can it really be called fan fiction if the author clearly isn’t a fan?” I say.“Has she sent you more? Does it get smutty? Lots of fan fiction gets smutty.”“Again,” I say, “not fan fiction.”Libby cackles. “Maybe Dusty’s got a crush.”“Or maybe she’s hiring a hit man as we speak.”“I hope it gets smutty,” she says.“Libby, if you had your way, every book would end with an earth-shattering orgasm.”“Hey, why wait until the end?”

“City people,” he tuts. “Never stop to smell the roses, or look up to see the very prominently displayed signs over local businesses.”I wave a hand. “Oh, I have the time. It’s just that the Botox in my neck makes it hard to get my chin that high.”“I’ve never met someone who is both so vain and so practical,” he says, sounding just barely awed.“Which will be what actually goes on my headstone.”“What a shame,” he says, “to waste all that on a pig farmer.”“You’re really hung up on the pig farmer,” I say. “Whereas Libby won’t be satisfied with me dating anyone but a widowed single father who rejected a country music career to run a bed-and-breakfast.”He says, “So you’ve met Randy.”

After we eat, I return to work and Libby turns her focus to a Mhairi McFarlane novel, gasping and laughing so regularly and loudly that, finally, Charlie’s gruff voice calls from the other room, “Could you keep that down? Every time you gasp like that, you almost give me a heart attack.”“Well, your café chairs are giving me hemorrhoids, so I’d say we’re even,” Libby replies.A minute later, Charlie appears and thrusts two velvet throw pillows at us. “Your majesties,” he says, scowl/pouting before returning to his post.Libby’s eyes light up and she leans over to stage-whisper to me. “Did he just bring us butt pillows?”“I believe he did,” I agree.“Count von Lastra has a beating heart,” she says.“I can hear you,” he calls.“The undead have famously heightened senses,” I tell Libby.