Page 96 of Get A Fix

He turned to me. “You said you would try, and we shook on it with spit, which was disgusting,” he reminded me. “Why’re you walking that back?”

“Distance is hard.”

“Only if you don’t know what the other person is doing. I will share my calendar with you, and you could send me yours. That way you can ask questions, and so can I.”

“That’s a great idea.”

There was a spark in his eyes, and I got a trace of a smile.

“And maybe,” I continued, “you could call and tell me when you’re going out, meeting friends for dinner, and I’ll check in the next day and ask how it was.”

“Or I could call you after dinner and tell you.”

I shook my head. “We’re on different coasts, in different time zones, and you don’t want to have to call if you’re in the middle of a great discussion about method acting.”

It took a moment. “I’m sorry, what? Method acting? Is that what you said?”

“I just don’t want the calls to ever be because you have to, but instead because you want to,” I made clear. “Talking to me has to be the best part of your day, not a chore. Never a chore.”

We were both silent, looking inside the store.

“I just—I can’t imagine a time when I won’t be as enchanted as I am now.”

“Enchanted?” I smiled at him.

He groaned miserably. “I don’t want us to be apart.”

“But we will be, and that’s okay. We just both have to be committed to making sure the other person knows, at all times, where we stand and what we want.”

He reached out and put a hand on my cheek. “I promise if you get food poisoning, I will walk off my movie set to come take care of you while you’re bazooka barfing.”

I scowled at him.

“What? That’s not romantic?”

“For starters, you’d be sued if you walked off a movie set, but why am I vomiting in this scenario? Why the food poisoning?”

“That’s what I was last sick with, which is why I am no longer eating eggs at breakfast. Pancakes, French toast⁠—”

“Which are both made with eggs,” I pointed out.

“I mean, like, scrambled and stuff like that.”

“I see. How long has it been since you had eggs?”

“I’d rather not say.” He let his hand slip off my cheek and took hold of my bicep. “Now let’s go inside because you’re freezing. That sweater isn’t doing enough to keep you warm.”

Leading me, holding the door so I could go in first, jingling bells announced our presence as we wiped our feet on the designated mat.

“Hello,” a woman in a leather apron called out from behind the counter, giving us a wave. “Welcome to Avalon Books and Tea. I’m Kiyomi Robinson, and you two have excellent timing. My husband, Noel, has just brewed some hearty Earl Grey, and all the tables are open and ready for sitting and reading.”

That sounded heavenly.

“How does it work?” Ash asked, smiling at her as we approached the ancient-looking counter, and I noticed locked cases of old books behind her.

She pointed to the right. “First you go pick a mug, then I’ll fill it for you, then you walk over to the milk-lemon-sugar-and-honey station and doctor it up how you like it.”

“Sounds good.”