Book Best Served Cold Novels & Stories

I say quietly to Selene later that night. She looks at me. “Meaning?” “Meaning the Axis will outgrow singular stewardship,” I answer. “Whether we want it to or not.” Rowan stiffens. “You’re saying she won’t always be the center.” “I am saying she may become the first reference,” I clarify. Selene absorbs that without flinching. “Then Book Four,” she says slowly, “is about expansion.” “And Book Five,” Rowan adds grimly, “is about survival.”

He was pale as a ghost, and his heart had stopped beating. He was already cold as ice. Meanwhile, the sounds of bragging from Wayne's room hit me like a sledgehammer. "Ms. Stewart! Shouldn't we have the doctor check on Frank, just in case?" "Josh’s son is as worthless as his life. He won't die that easily." Jessica's voice was soft, but it cut through me like ice. "Just take care of yourself. If he dies, the Stewart family will have one less problem to deal with.

I said. "Well then," he said. "Please enlighten me: what is your favorite film and book?" "Favorite film is Gone with The Wind, favorite book is Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy." He grimaced. "I half-expected the gushy romance part, but not the lack of happy endings," Adam said. ''Lack of happy endings?!'' I asked. "Says the man whose favorite book is The Art of War..." "I see your point." I leaned forward and pulled out the bag of breakfast that Mrs. Chandler had sent us.

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Parang may maliit na bagay na nakaipit dito. Out of curiosity, agad ko ng kinuha ang librong 'yon mula sa shelf then dusted it off. "'Where the sun doesn't shine' by Marvens Jeff Bonhomme..?" I couldn't help but shook my head just reading the title at the cover page. This hardbounded black book was no doubt a novel, an old novel kaya ba't naman nandito ito? Was Mr. Romero also interested with this piece of crap? With disgust glare at that book, kinuha ko na lamang yong papel na nakaipit dito and then put that book back to the shelf.

“You’re being paranoid. Or maybe you’re just not attracted to me anymore. Which is it?” I opened my mouth, but how could I explain it? The sensation wasn’t fear exactly. It was warmer. Deeper. Like invisible fingers trailing down my spine, teasing the sensitive spot just above my ass. My clit gave a faint, traitorous throb. I pressed my thighs together, mortified. “Stan, please. I’m not crazy. It’s this new book I got today. Something about it—”

The frozen ravioli sat there in its plastic container, frost still clinging to the edges from the grocery store freezer. I boiled water and dumped them in. The ravioli rolled around in the boiling water for a while before splitting open completely. Ricotta leaked into the pot, turning everything into a starchy mess. I scooped one into my mouth. The pasta was still undercooked, and the ricotta inside was cold. My stomach churned instantly. I rushed to the bathroom and threw up. In the end, all that came out was bitter acid. My phone vibrated again, indicating that Isabel had updated her social media.

Just one more night. He picked a bookstore café this time. Said he wanted to show me his favorite reading book. It was intimate. Thoughtful. He even pulled a worn paperback of *The Secret History* off the shelf and said, “I think you’d love this.” I smiled, heart skipping. “I probably will.” We sipped coffee. Talked about poetry. I felt my walls thinning, cracking in ways I hadn’t prepared for. And then Julian’s voice dropped. Too calm. Too cold.

The other Wednesday had become the day the book arrived. Ernest made coffee. He brought Don a cup. They sat in silence. The fire was not lit—it was morning, the fire would be lit in the evening. The kitchen was cold in the way kitchens in February were cold, the cold that came through the stone floor and the old windows and the walls that had been standing for centuries. The cold was not uncomfortable. The cold was the condition of February, and the book had arrived in February, and the book would keep. ---

It was hot but it was delicious. “Found what you’ve been looking for?” He stood against the counter watching her. He seemed amused by her choice. She glanced at the book. Criminal Law in Ancient Rome, she read on the cover. “Umm yeah, I’d read just about anything to help me sleep,” she said, tittering to herself. “Well thanks again and sorry for bothering you Mason. I’ll head on up to bed with this.” She took the mug and book turned to go. “You do that. Sleep well.”