Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
I’ll look into other neighborhood shit to make a few quick bucks here and there while waiting for a real job to pan out. Walk dogs. Rake leaves. Build birdhouses. Whatever. Whatever it takes to start financially contributing to this relationship, I’ll do it. And let me just say one more time, fuck…I can’t believe how good it feels to be in one.
Sharing an ice cream swirl cone on our way to a local bookstore wipes out the last of my funds, which leads to Jaye insisting she’ll cover whatever we decide to buy in the shop, swearing she doesn’t mind.
She loves purchasing books.
For her.
For the students.
For random literary charities.
Me.
I hate that she spends her money on me. I really fucking do, but yeah, I like getting to pick what I read versus just what others don’t. Doesn’t matter to me if it’s new or used. It’s just so fucking nice to choose to read a mystery or fantasy or a sports scandal.
As we prepare to enter Crack That bookstore – located in Highland’s very trendy Cloud District – I momentarily halt our movements to inquire about the place next door. “Have you ever eaten there?”
Jaye’s head tilts up to read the quirky Little Soup of Horrors sign to herself. “That’s a negative.” She swings her stare back my direction. “Chris was really picky about his soup. Taste. Texture. Temperature. I learned pretty early on to just avoid places where that was the only thing they served.”
I slowly nod my understanding prior to asking, “Do you like soup?”
Confusion crinkles her brow.
It shouldn’t.
It was a simple fucking question.
I didn’t ask her to solve a calculus equation.
Fuck, I didn’t even ask if chowder is technically a soup, a definition challenge that would excite her because words always do.
No.
I merely asked did she like a certain food.
Something I know no one else has probably asked her.
It irks me that no one seems to put the time in to get to know this woman.
Almost as much as it pisses me off that she’s let herself just become a compilation of other people’s preferences over the years.
The real Jaye, though?
The one that eats Skittles in the color of the rainbow and belts Gym Class Heroes songs while folding laundry and tries not to cry every time she watches – or rereads – A Walk to Remember is the person I’ve come to know and fall for against my more responsible judgement.
There’s just something about her that does that to me.
Makes me forget that I’m less of a man than others.
Less of an unworthy human.
And learning everything I can about the real version of that woman…that curly haired, smells like cookie dough, brown skinned female is my main mission in life.
And I don’t plan to fail it.
Or her.
Ever.
We clear?
“Sweetheart, I’m not asking for the ingredients to your favorite soup – however, I am open to making it for you if you like.” The offering shifts a smile back onto her face. “I was just trying to see if you liked soup at all.”
She drops her hands onto her thick, off-white sweater dress covered hips on a loud hum. “I guess I don’t really know anymore. It’s been so long since I’ve had any. Dad prefers chowders because they’re thicker and heartier and have more meat, but Mom rarely ever makes those, and I honestly can’t remember the last time she even thought about making soup.”
“Maybe we could try that place on one of our future dates?” The question is followed by my hand finding hers. “You know when I can afford a bowl.”
Jaye sweetly smiles and gently tugs us towards our actual destination. “We’ll start a list of places to go together and keep it on the fridge.” I’m shot a sweetly scolding expressing. “And who will be picking up the tab for those dates will not be included.”
Inside the bookstore, we’re immediately given a warm, loud welcoming. The people behind the counter enthusiastically yell, “Crack That!” and those in the store shopping happily reply “Spine”.
Did not expect that shit.
Jaye giddily giggles as she leads me to the right, the direction of children’s books according to the dangling from the ceiling street style sign. “I fucking love this place. The energy. The excitement. That smell.” She suddenly sucks in a giant gulp of air. “Plus, they have the largest section of diverse books – for both kids and adults – in the entire city. This is my go-to choice for every specialty topic that comes up. Whether I’m looking for books to acknowledge or celebrate the differences in cultures or how families are shaped or built or even something emotionally specific like building self-esteem – shout out to Giraffe’s Can’t Dance for assisting in that one – this place is perfect. They have a whole team of buyers who specifically aim to keeping the shelves stocked with more than just ‘basic mainstream’ shit for both children and adults.”