Page 18 of The One Where They Fall in Love

I consider bringing Thor back upstairs early, just to bother Oliver. It’s around seven, which means he’s probably just fallen asleep after getting home. I wonder if I have a fog horn around? Maybe I could get one from the store on the corner? I could claim that he wasn’t answering his phone…

Thor lets out a sweet little moan, and I decide that I am keeping this dog as long as humanly possible. Maybe I need to be late for work today. For my mental health.

I brush my teeth and throw on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. It’s the end of March now, and the bitter cold is starting to ease, meaning I can get away with a heavy fleece rather than a parka. I put on Thor’s leash and take him up to the park. While there are many issues with my apartment, its location is not one of them. I’m only a few blocks from Central Park West, which means I have access to green space to touch some grass whenever I need it. Thor is also thrilled about it, galloping in his too-big paws up the sidewalk, stopping to pee on every patch of mulch that he comes across. I’m probably not supposed to let him do that.

I’ve just let Thor off the leash at the dog run when my phone buzzes.

Oliver

Got home a little while ago and couldn’t sleep. Want me to come grab Thor?

Elle

Us too. We’re at the dog park if you want to join us.

Oliver

Be there in a few.

I’m excited for Thor. Maybe Oliver will let him stay at the park later than I’m able to. Part of me wishes I could stay too. I wish I could have Thor for more than just a night. I shake my head at myself as I watch him chase a miniature doodle.He’s not actually your dog, Elle.

Just as I find a seat on a wooden bench that’s not covered in dogs, I see Oliver approaching the gate to the park. I resist the urge to smile at the adorable scene of Thor jumping on his hind legs to get to Oliver as he opens the gate, clawing at the knees of his sweatpants with his tongue lolling out. I’ve never seen Oliver in sweatpants before. I wonder if they’re the same ones he wore to bed. I wonder if he sleeps with no shirt on…

Okay, time to stop the wondering.

He is wearing a zip-up vest over a black hoodless sweatshirt, and a beanie. I mean, maybe he doesn’t realize it’s a beanie, but it’s a beanie. I stifle a laugh as he approaches me, and he furrows his brows.

“What?” he prods.

“Nothing,” I say, pressing my lips into a line. He takes a seat surprisingly close to me. “It’s just that, you rolled out of bed to come here, and you were like, ‘This hat looks good. I’m going to wear this hat.’” I snort as I finish my sentence.

“It’s cold out. Hats are usually warranted in the cold,” he says, holding his hands out like he doesn’t understand the joke, which makes it even funnier.

“Sure, hats are warranted,” I reply with a nod. “But you have to pick the hat that matches your look. That hat readsskateboarding hipster. You need more of a black skull cap.”

“Yeah well, when I wear a black hat, people tend to think I’m going to rob them,” he says, completely serious.

“I see that,” I agree. “But that’s your look—scaring children, moonlighting as a bank robber. Embrace it.”

He grimaces at me. It’s like his natural facial expression. I don’t think he’ll respond well to me calling him Grimace to his face, so I may just troll him with pictures of the McDonald’s mascot later.

“And what’s your look?” He eyes me. I’m wearing a sweatshirt that saysRead Banned Books, and leggings from my yoga studio. “Selling people books and reading their horoscopes?”

“Well, you’re half right, I suppose.”

He opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it again. A moment passes before he tries again. “So the books you work on… They’re like the ones with the half-dressed men on the cover?”

I roll my eyes. Over the years, I’ve gotten over my rage at this response to people learning about my job. People only know what they are exposed to. If you’re not part of the romance community, then you don’t really see all the amazing parts of it. Sure, half-naked men are amazing, but that’s not all romance is. Even though the genre has evolved so much over the last few years, people still like to put unfair labels on it. Romance doesn’t get the credit it deserves, and I’m afraid it never will.

I settle for a vague response, because it’s too early to get into a heated debate about the intricacies of my job with Oliver. “There’s more to it than that.”

He raises his eyebrows at my vague answer. “I shouldn’t have implied there wasn’t,” he says, apology in his eyes. He takes a beat before adding, “And that’s what you wanted to do? Like those are the books that you wanted to work with?”

“Since I learned that working with books was even a job,” I say confidently.

“Why?”

I chuckle at Thor who is mirroring a French Bulldog’s playing position. When I turn back to Oliver, a piece of a smile is still on my face. “Why romance?” I clarify. He nods.