The Romance Novel Cure

by Ceves, Nina

  “I know, he should try Proactiv. It’s really sad.”

  “How could anyone even get close enough to kiss him?”

  “That’s so mean!”

  “I’m sorry, but would you? Can you imagine?”

  “Hard. Pass.”

  I turned around and left. If they had only known how many medications I had tried. The thing is, I didn’t feel angry at them, I didn’t blame that girl. I understood. That made it worse, somehow. Made it harder to bear.

  I hated remembering it, but somehow it felt good to tell Greta. I didn’t like how sad it made her look, though. Her eyes held so much pain. She tried to speak and couldn’t. She shook her head and slowly kissed me, all over my face.

  What else could I do, but love her forever?

  Greta

  I heard Ben stirring and I quickly closed my laptop. I felt really anxious, wondering what Ben wanted to do today. I felt happy, too, that he wanted to spend time with me, after how angry and sad I’d been, and how closed off. I remembered how he had looked at me last night and I felt my stomach clench in pleasure and nervousness.

  While Ben was in the shower, I made tea, and set out some biscotti and leftover frittata. I sliced up some strawberries I had bought a few days ago. I was arranging the berries on a plate when Ben came into the kitchen, all soapy smelling and damp haired, wearing clean, worn jeans and button down green shirt, his feet bare. It was an extremely adorable look on him.

  “Morning, stripy,” he said, reaching around me to take a strawberry.

  “Don’t look at me,” I said self-consciously. I was still in my old pajama bottoms and tee shirt, my hair a mess. I should have showered first thing, and changed.

  Ben was quiet behind me, chewing the strawberry. He reached both arms and braced his hands on the counter, so that he was surrounding me, but he did not touch me.

  “I want to, Greta,” he said, very softly. “Tell me not to, really, if you don’t want me to. I’ll understand. But… I want to look at you.”

  I caught my breath, my hands frozen in space in front of me. I darted a look behind me, but didn’t meet Ben’s eyes. I just looked at his arms, those strong arms, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He radiated heat. I smelled the scent of soap, and his shampoo, and strawberry on his breath. He was quiet, waiting. A slow pulse of heat began to pound within me, its rate increasing with every breath. I felt warm, embarrassed, and flattered. I had butterflies. I felt the impact of his words everywhere.

  “You can look at me,” I said really fast, and really quietly, all in a rush, staring right in front of me.

  I swear I felt his gaze travel down and linger on my ass as I heard his breath exhale slowly.

  I felt his eyes create heat where he looked.

  I still felt really shy. But, I also felt: that heat.

  Ben

  “You can look at me.”

  When Greta said that, it was all I could do to stop myself from touching her. So, I let my eyes linger on her neck, where her wisps of hair trailed, down her back, sliding into her waist, oh, that sweet little dip of her waist, and then my eyes caressed where her curves flared and rounded.

  My hands burned with the need to touch her, but I held onto the counter. I finally made myself let go and back away, before I made Greta feel even more uncomfortable than I probably already had. I hoped that underneath any self consciousness, she felt that I wanted to look at her, that I was still there for her, loving her. I just didn’t want to make her feel any sense of pressure. I brought the plates of biscotti and frittata to the table. Greta was quiet, bringing the tea and strawberries.

  “You… you look nice,” she said, looking down, smiling a little.

  “Yeah?” I asked, pleased.

  Rule number four: Dress the part.

  If I wanted to be the romantic hero in Greta’s life, I couldn’t dress like a college student anymore.

  Silas didn’t walk around with ancient baggy tee shirts with nerdy sayings on them over long sleeved tee shirts. Caspian had a penchant for well -made vintage clothes from Europe. I needed to do some work in this area, but for now, I had on a button down shirt on. It had been hanging in my closet for so long it had had dust on the shoulders. I had brushed it off. Like a boss.

  We sat down and ate breakfast together, quietly. I felt so aware of Greta’s every move, every shift of her body. Even though she sat an arm’s length across from me, she still felt very far away. I wanted her with every fiber of my being.

  Greta

  I could barely eat. I couldn’t look at Ben, except in little glances. When we first started dating, I had felt so natural. I just kept getting closer and closer to him. We clicked, and even though I had felt nervous and excited, starting a new relationship, I had also felt this sense of rightness and momentum.

  Now? I was off course, off kilter, and just off, all around. I felt as though I forgot how to be in a relationship, how to be married.

  “Do you want to go to the aquarium?” asked Ben, looking at me, waiting.

  My heart twisted. That had been one of our first dates.

  “I would love to,” I said sincerely.

  His eyes warmed and he smiled.

  It felt so good to have him smiling at me again. I had pushed him away for so long, we’d been living these parallel lives, so disconnected.

  I put the dishes in the dishwasher and took a quick shower. I stood in front of my closet, uncertain about what to wear. I had shoved most of my pants to one side of the closet, hoping to be able to fit into them again one day soon, but not really doing anything about it. What was left was pretty meager. I had gotten into the habit of wearing the same few khaki pants and big tee shirts. My mood started to sink and I shook my head determinedly. If Ben was admiring me in my oldest pajamas, I could find something that looked okay. From the back of my closet, I pulled out a casual gray wrap dress that I had bought on sale a year or so ago for going out to brunch when Ben’s mom was visiting. I shook it out and put it on, looking at myself in my full length mirror. I dug back into my closet for some slouchy, flat, suede boots that I think I wore once last year. I stood back and looked. It was magical: suddenly, instead of feeling lumpy and squeezed into my clothes, I felt wrapped and draped with soft fabric that made me look curvaceous, and brought the blue out in my eyes. I spritzed some of my favorite rose scent on, put some rosy lip balm on, and went out into the living room. Ben was putting his wallet in his pocket and he froze. He stood completely still and stared at me. I looked down, feeling self -conscious. A dress? It was too much. Albuquerque was a very casual town, and on a Saturday morning? But I couldn’t start randomly explaining how practically none of my clothes fit.

  Ben took two long strides and stood in front of me.

  “Greta,” he said, huskily, “you look so pretty. You’re… beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” I said quickly, glancing up at him for a split second. I felt that heat again.

  “You smell so good,” he said, his voice lower. He took a step even closer.

  “You let me look at you,” he whispered, “now, can I smell you? Or is that weird?”

  I couldn’t stop the nervous laughter that burst out, but I nodded, blushing, looking down.

  His face came closer, closer, and brushed past my cheek. He lowered his face into the side of neck, just above my shoulder. He barely touched me, just paused there, breathing in and out.

  My legs started to tremble. He pulled his face away, slowly, and my neck felt cold and forlorn. I looked up at him, and he looked down at me. He waited for a few heartbeats, then cleared his throat.

  Silently, we left our condo, got in the car, and headed to the aquarium.

  Ben

  I couldn’t take my eyes off of Greta. We walked through the dimly lit aquarium, which was quiet, as it had just opened. We walked under the archway of enclosed water, looking over our heads, seeing fish swim directly above us. The light from the tanks of jellyfish made her look otherworldly, glowing. Our eyes kept meeti
ng. I had the thought that her eyes looked like gorgeous, exotic fish, swimming through the darkness. She looked up at the tank of jellyfish which were nearly transparent, her expression enthralled.

  “They’re like fairies,” she whispered. “Underwater fairies.”

  But all I could look at was her.

  In the last year or so of being nearly estranged, Greta had been in some kind of cocoon of pain and grief. Here she was, so incredibly beautiful and alive. I hadn’t remembered her as being this curvy. To me, she had always been perfect. Now, though, she looked as though she was someone almost new: so mature and alluring. I kept catching subtle hints of her rose fragrance. Completely in love, and intensely desiring her, I basically trailed around after her mumbling incoherently.

  Greta

  When we finally got to the area with the big tank, we sat down close to each other. The fish, turtles, and the shark were mesmerizing. I was lulled, sitting by Ben, feeling his nearness, and watching the underwater world in front of us. Ben had been so sweetly attentive, listening to me, asking me questions, making comments as we had walked around the aquarium’s exhibits.

  It had felt like a first date, with a best friend. It had felt like new start. It had felt like old times. It had felt like starting over. It had felt like moving forward.

  I wanted to kiss him, so much. I turned and looked at him, watching him watch the sea turtle.

  “I hope they’re happy in there,” he said.

  Really fast, and very softly, I kissed his cheek.

  He turned to me, slowly, his eyes blooming into happiness.

  “I’m sorry I pushed you away so much. I’m sorry I’ve been so mad all the time,” I said, choking the words out, looking at the fish swimming slowly by.

  “No,” said Ben, “I’m so sorry. About — everything.”

  “You?” I said, “you have nothing to be sorry about.”

  “I wanted,” he started to say, “I didn’t know how…”

  “I know,” I whispered.

  He leaned close to my ear.

  “I love you,” he said.

  My eyes burned with tears as I looked at him. My throat tightened and I couldn’t speak, but I nodded. I had to look away. The look in his eyes just devastated me. All the pain of the last year and more, the love for me — it just hurt so much to see it.

  “Let’s get some lunch,” said Ben, seeming to try to shift the mood.

  “Sandiago’s?” I asked, sniffing and wiping under my eyes quickly. “They have all those gluten free and dairy free entrees.”

  “Where do you want to go, though,” smiled Ben. “I want to take you some place you want to go.”

  “I love Sandiago’s,” I smiled.

  After a walk in the botanical gardens, the sun very bright despite the cool temperature, we drove to the restaurant. It felt like old times, but all new. The air was dry and smelled faintly of piñon. Sandiago’s was busy, but we got a small table quickly. I declined the sopaipillas, which are pillows of deliciousness that you pour honey on. Ben looked at me, and I looked back, tilting my head. “Just in case I get the urge to kiss you again,” I said boldly. I didn’t want to risk eating anything made from wheat. He grinned at me, looked out the window, and looked back. I loved that heated, hopeful look in his eyes. We looked at our menus.

  “You’ve got that deer in the headlights look,” said Ben, “so I know you’re trying to decide: red or green. What’s it going to be?”

  “Green.” I nodded decisively. “No, red.” Damn, it was hard deciding on which type of chile. It was harder than choosing an entree. New Mexican cuisine incorporated fresh, locally sourced ingredients, blended cultures and history, and used the amazing roasted chiles which were so famous in this region. “Green. Red.”

  “So,” said Ben, after we had ordered. “I started reading the Caspian Chronicles last night.”

  I cringed. I prepared myself. If he didn’t like it, he didn’t. I happened to love it.

  “I couldn’t put it down,” he continued.

  I had just taken a sip of water and almost spat it out.

  “Really?” I exclaimed.

  “Heck, yeah,” he said. “What’s not to like? Am I the only guy reading this kind of stuff? It’s like Harry Potter for adults.” He lowered his voice. “With so much sex!”

  “Right?” I beamed.

  Ben smiled, then he looked out the window. He scrubbed his face with one hand, looking uncertain for a moment. Then he faced me.

  “Thing is, I had already started another series. I just wanted to read what you were reading.”

  I felt confused.

  “Another series?” I asked.

  “Yeah, accidentally, I just stumbled upon this whole other series and I’m completely into it. It’s the Dark Shifters series, with this shifter guy, I think he’s a werewolf, named Silas and a witch named Sera. I thought…” he paused.

  I just stared at him.

  “Okay, here’s the thing. One day I accidentally grabbed your Kindle on my way out. Sorry. I worked from Cafe Rosita and just didn’t want to head back home with it. I assumed you were leaving for work. So, I’m sorry, but I just looked on your bookshelf and the first three books I saw were the books with Silas and Sera, by Mireya Santos.”

  “Oh,” I said, still staring at him.

  “So, yeah, I just randomly opened on a page and got into it. Don’t you like those books?”

  “Yes,” I nodded, and just kept nodding.

  “Okay…” Ben said.

  I nodded some more.

  “Yep,” I said.

  “But you like the Caspian books better?”

  Our food arrived.

  Ben

  I took a few bites of my enchilada and looked at Greta. She looked so cute, earnestly eating her food, not looking up at me. I was puzzled at her monosyllabic answers about books. I would have thought she would have liked to talk about one of her favorite things with me, now that I was sharing her interest. The only thing I could guess at was that she was mad that I had looked into her Kindle, or mad that I had taken it by accident, or embarrassed by the whole sex in books and pornography online thing. Awkward.

  “I just want to say,” I put my fork down. “That I think these kinds of books are really fun, and hot, and I love that you are into them. If that’s not too random.”

  She smiled and nodded.

  “So,” she touched her water glass, “you… really like the Dark Shifters series… better?”

  “Well, yeah,” I looked at her curiously. “I mean, so far, yeah, I do, but no offense to Calliope Matters. As I said, I could not put that first book down last night. Vampyres and tyger-shifters? How awesome is that?”

  “But… what is it that you like about the other series?” She looked up at me briefly, then looked at her water glass again, moving it to the right.

  “Hmm,” I thought about it. “First of all, not to be obsessed or anything but the sex scenes are just — they’re so…” I broke off, embarrassed. I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Fff— hot.”

  “Yeah?” she looked up at me, staring into my eyes, smiling a little.

  “Yeah,” I said, feeling my heart rate speed up. Her cheeks were flushed, making her eyes look even bluer.

  “I randomly read ahead to this scene that takes place in a cavern, while I was at the cafe. Silas is telling Sera to leave, he is going to face some sort of trial that night and they, ah, make love. I was so… I mean, I couldn’t even stand up for a while.”

  Greta grinned, her eyes sparkling.

  I was embarrassed, but getting into talking about it. We hadn’t flirted or talked like this in so long.

  “And then,” I continued, “the whole rapport between them. It’s really well written, I think. I mean, I know I’m new to this whole style of book, but, I like how they talk to each other, how they flirt and everything. All the history, too, about Salem and everything. It’s really interesting. Then, like the Caspian books, all the action, adventure, magic, d
anger, and everything.”

  She nodded, biting her lip.

  “So,” I asked curiously, “why do you like the Caspian books so much better?”

  “Would you like to see the dessert menu?” Our server stopped by our table, holding out a menu.

  I took it, thanking her, looking back at Greta, who just shrugged, looking at the menu as I held it out to her.

  “I really shouldn’t,” she murmured.

  “But the flan,” I said, disappointed, “you said the flan here is your favorite.”

  “I’ve got to lose weight,” she said softly, looking out the window.

  I just shook my head slowly, starting to smile. She looked back at me.

  “What?” she asked, looking embarrassed but pleased.

  I just crossed my arms and sighed, still shaking my head and smiling.

  “Shut up!” she giggled.

  That giggle. That sight of her face, her throat, her curves.

  “Great,” I said. “Just… great.”

  “What?”

  “We’d better order dessert,” I looked around for the server. “Because I’m not going to be able to stand up for a while.”

  Greta’s eyes widened. She looked uncertain for a split second, then thrilled, her blush deepening.

  “Flan, please,” I said to the server.

  “Would you like to share?” she asked.

  “Hell no, thank you,” said Greta sweetly.