Book Lovers

“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.

Another message comes in. A page from the Bigfoot Christmas book, featuring a particularly egregious use of decking the halls, as well as a reference to a sex move called the Voracious Yeti, which doesn’t sound remotely anatomically possible.Libby walks into my periphery. “Already done with the Wi-Fi?”“Thoroughly unplugged,” I reply. “Have you ever heard of the Voracious Yeti?”“That a children’s book?”“Sure.”“I’ll have to look it up.”My phone vibrates with another message: I find the Voracious Yeti highly implausible.I find myself smiling, possibly with knives. So disappointing. Really pulls the reader out of an otherwise stunning work of realism.

There is, of course, the misconception that straight men universally love tall, thin women. Being such a woman, I can debunk this.Many men are too insecure to date a tall woman. Many of those who aren’t are assholes looking for a trophy. It has less to do with attraction than status. Which is only effective if the tall person is a model. If you’re dating someone taller than you and she’s a model, then you must be hot and interesting. If you’re dating someone taller than you and she’s a literary agent, cue the jokes about her wearing your balls on a silver necklace.

I jut my chin toward the wine. “You have to drink all of that. I’ve already had two drinks, and I’m a lightweight.”“Oh, I remember,” he teases, sliding my glass toward me, “but this is wine. It’s the grape juice of alcohol.”I lean across the table, grabbing the bottle and tipping it over his glass until it’s full to the brim. As deadpan as ever, he hunches and slurps from the glass without lifting it.I burst into laughter against my will, and he’s so visibly pleased it gives me a full-body twinge of pride. He wants to make me laugh.