The Bookseller's Boyfriend (Copper Point: Main Street Book 1)

by Heidi Cullinan

  “I don’t view this as a fling.” Rasul frowned at the tabletop. “This is important for me too. I’m learning a lot about myself by being here. And he’s the only reason I’m going to finish this book.”

  “My advice,” Matt said, “is to go slow. I know you probably think about this as glacially paced already, but his getting drunk the other night is the first time he’s really allowed himself to consider this potentially possible. Or more to the point, he had to get drunk to let himself go there. We’ve been hoping he’d date someone for a while, but nobody ever would have guessed you would be who he’d end up with.”

  Rasul felt more out to sea by the minute. “I honestly only came here to get some direction. This is… a lot.”

  Gus tilted his head. “That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you. Being with Jacob, truly being with him, especially you being with him, is a lot. Normally we wouldn’t get this involved in a friend’s love life. We want this to work for both of you, but we also don’t want him to lose the ground he’s gained.”

  “Like I said. Go slow.” Matt patted his shoulder. “I know that’s not usually how you operate, but give it a shot. You said Jacob’s been good for you. Maybe this will be too.”

  Rasul rubbed his cheek. “I’m just afraid I’ll fuck it up. And fuck him up in the process.”

  “Don’t worry.” Gus sipped his coffee, meeting Rasul’s gaze over the rim. “We’ll be watching to make sure you don’t.”

  JACOB WASN’T precisely sure what he’d expected after Rasul nearly kissed him behind the cash register, but it certainly wasn’t that he’d disappear for nearly two weeks.

  He didn’t disappear precisely. He still came by, though not as often, and when he did, he went straight to Jacob’s kitchen, put on headphones, and entered a zone not even a fresh cup of tea beside him could jolt him from. On the days he didn’t show, he uncharacteristically didn’t text or call to apologize for not coming.

  It worried Jacob. It also made him distracted, which meant when the time came to finally decide whether he was going put his name in for chamber president, he said yes out of some weird panic response. He couldn’t even be bothered by Les Clark’s outraged fury and the silent promise in his eyes that he would take Jacob down at all costs. He was too busy wondering what was going on with Rasul.

  His restlessness must have showed, because one day Jodie came up to him while they were working and asked, “Is something going on? Did something happen?”

  Caught off guard at being addressed so bluntly by the young girl who rarely remembered to greet him or tell him she was leaving, Jacob paused stacking the new releases. “Ah, I’m fine, thank you. Why do you ask?”

  She fidgeted. “No reason. Just… wondering.”

  Obviously something was going on, but teen girls had always been a mystery to Jacob, on every level. He tried to brush away the awkwardness with a breezy smile. “Everything good with you? How are classes?”

  She shrugged. “Fine. Grandpa is making me take precalculus and I don’t want to, but other than that I’m okay.”

  Since Jodie’s grandfather was Les Clark, he thought it might be best if he didn’t make any judgments there and sent her back to work.

  He didn’t stop worrying about what Rasul’s silence meant, and when he couldn’t take it anymore, Jacob sent Rasul an email. It felt like a strange thing to do, but it was cruel to ask him to respond on that keypad.

  I noticed you haven’t been by as much. Is everything all right?

  He resisted the urge to add, Did I do anything to upset you?

  Jacob had deliberately done this during the time he knew Rasul kept aside for wrestling with his inbox, so he received a reply fairly quickly.

  All good. Was thinking about some things, then started writing and hit a real groove all the way to the midpoint. Kind of superstitious about the midpoint. Don’t want to break it. Can we make a date for next week? I should be through the worst of it by then. I mean a real date, not one for show.

  Oh. Jacob touched his lips as he read the email again. Well, that was a decent explanation. And a bit exciting. He was doing that well?

  An actual date. He drew in a breath, let it out, and replied.

  I’m glad to hear the story is coming along. Can I bring you over some food? Maybe some little meals you can heat up easily? I won’t stay and bother you. I just worry about you not eating. Also, yes, I’d love a date. Saturday?

  Another reply.

  Food would be welcomed, but isn’t required. I don’t want to put you out. I just wish this place had DoorDash. Saturday sounds perfect.

  Jacob had meant to leave it at that, but couldn’t resist one more exchange.

  I’m surprised you’re writing in your apartment. Didn’t you say you hated it there?

  This reply took slightly longer. It was so old-school, sitting there waiting for an email reply. He should have suggested they log in to desktop chat.

  This probably sounds weird, but being in a different space is giving me what I need. I don’t have much to do there and don’t particularly like it, so I focus on getting the words out. Also, I made a few modifications. I miss the bookshop, though.

  Jacob did not tell him the bookshop, and its owner, missed him too.

  He loved the idea of being meal delivery for Rasul. He wasn’t sure what this DoorDash thing was, so he looked it up. It certainly did sound handy, and also something that would never come somewhere as small as Copper Point. He could be a personal DoorDash, however, which worked out because despite how much he loved the idea of bringing food to Rasul, he still hated cooking more than the bare minimum.

  So he made some trips around town, worked his charm and set up his plans, then did a swing through the grocery store before heading over to Rasul’s place. He caught him just after he finished his office hours.

  “Hey.” Rasul’s smile was soft and inviting as he leaned on the doorframe. Then he stepped back as he saw the bags in Jacob’s hands. “Wow. Come on in.”

  “I brought you a few things because I assume your fridge is bare, as are your cupboards.” After toeing out of his shoes and draping his jacket over a chair, Jacob carried the bags to the counter. “When you get writing, I’ve noticed you forget other things, or at least resent doing them.”

  “Guilty.” Rasul poked into the bags. “Ooh, Cheetos.”

  “I have another something for you.” Jacob withdrew a small collection of cardstock from one of the bags and presented it to Rasul, who read it with a slight frown.

  “Rasul Youssef’s Personal Order and Delivery Service?”

  “Yes.” Jacob pointed to a card. “If a restaurant is on there, it means I set up an account with them and they’re in touch with my network of people willing—and safe—to make a delivery. You can square up with the businesses later, and I’m paying the delivery people. It’s not an app on your phone, but it is one phone call away to delivery.”

  Rasul’s mouth had fallen open as he flipped through the cards, each one for a different restaurant. “This is amazing. These are all the best restaurants in town.” He gasped and looked up at Jacob. “This is the secret Taiwanese menu at China Garden!”

  “I know how much you liked it when QUAG met there.”

  “This is so great. Thank you.”

  He leaned forward and brushed a kiss on Jacob’s cheek.

  Jacob’s whole body tingled, and he couldn’t help touching the space where Rasul’s lips had been. “I don’t want to keep you, because I know you need to get back to work. But between what I brought and the restaurants on call, you should be set for a week at least.”

  Rasul took a step closer. “I intend to see you sooner than that, you know.”

  Jacob blushed. He tried not to withdraw or be ridiculously demure, but he felt flustered. He stepped farther into the apartment instead. “This isn’t half as bad as you make it out to be.”

  Rasul huffed. “The kitchen is so damn dark. No natural light whatsoever. Plus it’s too quiet.”
>
  Jacob drifted to the window, peered outside to the small, badly maintained courtyard below. “Where do you write when you work here?”

  “My bedroom mostly. That room I don’t mind so much.” He grabbed Jacob’s hand and tugged him through the living room. “Here, I’ll show you.”

  Jacob’s pulse fluttered—it didn’t matter how he chided himself for being ridiculous, it still happened. He gasped when they went through the door. “Oh—wow, this is amazing!”

  Letting go of Jacob, Rasul stood in the middle of the room, or at least up against the side of the bed, arms extended and a grin on his face. The glow of thousands of string lights filled the walls, part of the ceiling, and spilled onto the floor. In several spaces, there was dark gauzy fabric behind the lights, making it feel as if….

  Well, as if Jacob had stepped beyond a veil and into the stars.

  Rasul beamed at the space he’d created. “Christopher helped me rig it. Gorgeous, right? It puts me in the mood when I feel like I’m losing the threads of the story. Which is sadly much easier than I’d like.”

  The door was open behind Jacob, and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to rush out of it or close it tightly and meld into the space. He was highly conscious of Rasul’s bed, half-made and littered with pillows. The room smelled like him, like the sweatshirts he often left behind when he worked and which Jacob would steal whiffs of as he hung them politely on the back of Rasul’s usual chair.

  If you shut the door, he’ll make love to you right now.

  Jacob took a half step backward, making himself a doorstop. “It’s lovely. I’m glad to hear writing is going so well.”

  “Yeah.” Rasul put his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. “I worry a lot that it’ll evaporate. For a while there, I’d open the document thrilled at how much progress I was making, eager to push out more. Then I realized how far I was and started dreading each day would be the one when I realized it was nothing but ash.”

  “I’m sure it’s not ash.”

  More fidgeting. Now it was Rasul who couldn’t look at Jacob. “It’s so close to home. I feel exposed but also worry it’s too ridiculous.”

  “Can you show your agent and have her reassure you?”

  “Oh, she’s seen sections of it, and she likes it. But….”

  Oh—Rasul was blushing.

  Rasul lifted his gaze to Jacob’s. “I want you to like it.”

  Thump. Thump. Thump. Jacob put his hand over his heart, trying to quiet it. “I….” He couldn’t say anything more.

  “There’s so much of you in this book. So much for you.” Rasul gestured to the lights around them. “When you read my work, I want you to feel like this room makes me feel as I write. Soft and safe, slightly breathless, hopeful.”

  Knees. Where were Jacob’s knees? “I… I feel that way about your work already.”

  Rasul shook his head, a flare of passion kindling in his gaze. “I want you to feel it more. I want this book to blow my other two away—for you.”

  Jacob gave up. He leaned into the doorway to keep himself upright.

  Rasul didn’t move, but he somehow crowded Jacob all the same. His gaze was so intense. “I want to press you against the door and kiss you until you’re boneless. I want to push you into this bed and undo you until we’re both weak and spent.” His gaze softened. “You’re not ready, and to be honest, the pining and tension is fueling the book. When it’s done, though… when it’s done, I want you to read it. And I want to make love to you.”

  Jacob’s fingers curled against the wall, the wood of the frame. He couldn’t answer. He could barely breathe.

  Rasul’s smile made Jacob’s blood fizzle. “I’m going to go back to work now. And I’ll use your delivery service. Next week, when I feel more stable about this, I’ll call you and we’ll go on a date. You think about where you’d like to go. In the meantime….”

  He crossed to the dresser, opened the top drawer, and withdrew something small. When he held it out, Jacob saw it was a key.

  “I have a key to your place. You should have one to mine.” Rasul held the tip of the key by his fingertips and extended it toward Jacob. “Feel free to use it anytime.”

  Why was Jacob so turned-on by a damn key? He swallowed against his dry throat, then swallowed again. “Y-you’re working.”

  The smolder in Rasul’s gaze could have lit a blaze in a rainstorm. “If you use this to let yourself into my bedroom, I won’t be working for very long. And I won’t mind.”

  Jacob shouldn’t take the key. He knew this. He should make a polite refusal, give a smile, and depart. Under no circumstances should he take the key from Rasul. He absolutely should never use it.

  Shaking, Jacob took two steps forward, feeling as if he were in a dream. For a second, when he closed his fingers on the metal, he swore he felt a jolt of electricity, a sharp current connecting the two of them, running through every inch of his body.

  Shut the door and you can stay. Shut the door, and he’ll pull you into his arms.

  Jacob drew back, stumbling, then hurried out of the room, through the house to the door, swiping up his jacket and shoes on his way out. Once he was down the stairs in the foyer, he dropped his shoes and wrangled his feet into them.

  With a shaking breath, he tucked the key into his pocket and left the building.

  Chapter Ten

  VEIL OF Stars was either the best thing Rasul had ever written, or the worst, and not knowing which it was drove him up the wall.

  He didn’t remember feeling this way about his first two novels, or any of the short fiction he’d managed to churn out while he spun his wheels. The first one had been… well, lightning, really. His father had nagged him the whole time he’d been writing, telling him how novels never made any money and no one would read it. He’d written The Sword Dancer’s Daughter full of defiance and a determination to make his dad eat it even as Rasul battled a crippling depression telling him he and everything he did was garbage. The book hadn’t been garbage. People had read it, and there’d been that movie option too. No movie was ever made, but still. He’d been paid, enough to feel smug.

  Book two had been slightly different. There was a lot of expectation on him, and weird jealousy from people he didn’t even know, everyone ready to watch him fall on his face. So he’d made sure he didn’t fall. And this was enough, apparently, for everyone to leave him alone. The movie for Carnivale was indeed in the works. His dad bragged about him now. His mother gave his books to her friends. The critics eagerly awaited his next offering, certain it would be a hit.

  That, for some reason, was when Rasul had pancaked, and he hadn’t been able to recover. Not until now.

  Not until Jacob.

  The day before Jacob had shown up with meals on wheels, Rasul had decided. He didn’t care what else happened with the story, but Jacob was going to like it. Every critic could laugh at it, his publisher could throw it out the window—none of it mattered, so long as Jacob thought it was good. This mantra had carried him over a dangerous impasse, and after he’d seen the way Jacob melted inside his bedroom, clearly longing to come inside, equally terrified and needing to stay away—that had sealed the deal. He would please Jacob with this story. Maybe he wouldn’t win his heart and get him into bed, but piercing him with story would be enough.

  It wouldn’t. He wanted Jacob more every day. But that was fine. It made him work harder.

  The protagonist, Adam Hasan, was a pretty serious self-insert, but it was his adolescent self-insert, so no one would know except his dad, who might actually not see it anyway because he didn’t read Rasul’s stuff. He wouldn’t continue past the first kiss, at least.

  It was a steamy kiss. He’d felt surprisingly self-conscious and had stalled himself for a day worrying he was going to get that worst sex scene award, so in a panic he’d rifled through the romance section of the bookstore and done some homework. He’d emerged hours later full of sober reflection, then had read some more.

 
He was pretty sure he was writing a romance novel, surprisingly enough. A young adult romance novel. He wasn’t sure what Elizabeth would think of that, but she didn’t matter. Only Jacob did.

  Would Jacob like it if Rasul wrote a romance novel? Rasul knew he liked them. He’d seen some in the living room in Jacob’s apartment. Obviously he’d read those immediately.

  Anyway, it was a romance novel now, and Jacob would love it. Rasul was confident in that most times, especially when he sat inside the veil and blasted music through his headphones to set a mood. Today, the day he was supposed to meet Jacob for a date, the song was Styx’s “Come Sail Away.” He had it on repeat and at full blast, and he bobbed and swayed to the beat as he wrote, singing along with and banging his head to the chorus.

  It got really cheesy, because the song influenced the plot, and Adam and Milo were sailing through a technicolor trail that in Rasul’s head looked like the sky in The NeverEnding Story. He didn’t care. It was a great scene.

  Adam and Milo looked a lot like him and Jacob, but absolutely nobody would ever know that.

  Rasul was whirring along and belting quite definitely off-key when the door to his bedroom cracked open. Looking uncertain, Jacob stuck his head in.

  Heart skipping a beat, Rasul tugged down his headphones and grinned. “Hey.”

  Jacob’s cheeks stained with a blush. “You said to just come in. I heard you singing.” He frowned at the headphones. “That’s loud.”

  “Keeps me in the zone.” Rasul hit Pause on the keyboard. “You ready to go?”

  “I can read in the living room if you want to write some more.”

  “I won’t get another word out of myself if I know you’re in the other room and I could be off having fun.” He closed the laptop. “Let’s go.”

  He tugged the bedsheets haphazardly back into place and brushed hands over himself, realizing he probably should have changed. He’d originally intended to organize the date and make it wonderful, but book brain had taken over, so when Jacob said he’d plan something, he’d gone with it. If there had been details about the outing, though, he’d missed them. He glanced at Jacob, who had on a coat and therefore gave no silent hints.