The next door love
“You always read something serious.”
“Fine,” I admitted. “Romance.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Figures.”
“Oh please,” I said. “You love romance.”
“I love watching you react to it,” he replied.
I kicked his foot lightly under the table. “Behave.”
He leaned in. “No promises.”
After coffee, we wandered through the bookstore. He picked up random titles, reading the back dramatically.
“‘A tragic tale of lost love,’” he read aloud. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?”