I needed a break.

Between sci-fi conventions, all-you-can-eat buffets, and long walks on the beach, I quickly discovered I was spending more time focused on my dating life than on my actual living life-- and that's not even considering the ghost.

I was worrying more about what other people thought about me than what I wanted to think about for myself. So, when I woke up on the morning of July 29th, I promised myself it would be an all-Suzi day, and the dating world would be there when I returned tomorrow.

So, after I woke up without an alarm at the glorious hour of 10:00am, I took my time rolling out of bed. With coffee brewing, I idled at my kitchen counter, flipping through the month-old Penny Saver while I munched on an apple danish. Neither the Help Wanted section nor the Personal Ads had any pull on me, especially since none of them magically changed in the last twenty-eight days. Tossing it aside, I filled a mug with coffee before strolling into my small, and rather disheveled, living room.

The benefit of being unemployed and living on your own is that no one else can tell you how to decorate. With a wall of built-in bookcase brimming at near capacity, there was no one to tell me to stop buying books either. I ran a hand over their bindings, observing their different sizes, fonts, and colors.

Every book had a place because each one belonged. The only restriction was money, and though I currently had a severe lack of income, I made a point of allotting just enough to satisfy the need to add to my collection.

Today was one of those days.

Once I finally deigned to shower and get dressed, tossing a flannel shirt over a white tank and jeans, I took my time making my way to my favorite independent bookstore in Los Angeles, Book Soup.

There was something about physical books that had me avoiding the purchase of an eReader for some, regardless of how often Trystan tells me it would save me time, space and money. But I needed to hold a book to appreciate it- I needed to smell its ink and feel its pages. Books were to be cherished and revered like priceless relics, and treated just the same. No bent corners or torn dust jackets allowed- bookmarks and book sleeves were a requirement should anyone consider wanting to borrow from my personal collection. Reading to me was an experience more than the story an author wanted to tell. A trip to the bookstore should be such an adventure.

A smile formed upon my lips the moment I walked through Book Soup's main entrance. My senses were immediately bombarded with the familiar sights and smells of literature just waiting to be perused. Though I knew exactly where I was going, I took my time getting there as as I wove through the rows of shelving.

The Mystery section was like a second home. I could browse titles, new and old, from the greats like Nora Roberts, James Patterson, and David Baldacci. Even John Grisham and Dean Koontz occasionally made an appearance. As it was, there was a new release from Daniel Silva that had grasped my attention weeks ago, but with all of my time dedicated to these damn dates, making a point to purchase it was furthest from my mind.

Until now.

Book Soup was very good at keeping their shelves in alphabetical order by author, so I had to crouch down to search through the S section. So distracted was I by my mission that I didn't realize is had company until they spoke.

"I hear Henry Scott's Revenge is really good."

Startled, I leaned back on my heels to look up at the source, more so to confirm they were talking to me.
But damn, was I glad I did.

Standing above me was a goddess. Her dark hair was pulled back behind her perfect head into a ponytail that ran down her back like a river of chocolate. Her blue eyes were vibrant, though her gaze was intent on the books between us. Even though she wore a loose off-the-shoulder top in baby pink and jean cutoffs underneath, more than enough skin revealed her slender figure, supple bust and grabbable ass.

Thankfully, she was more intent on schooling me on authors I'd never heard of than to berate me for my primal ogling.

"Human Untouched by Sydney Carvahall is great, too- have you read Shut Up and Dance? Sam Camp isn't one to miss either."

I wondered how long she would have continued on, and I considered letting her. Her voice was like a choir of angels in the most cliche of ways, and I could have stayed there listening to her all day if my leg didn't start to cramp. Groaning, I pushed myself back up to standing and we stood just about eye to eye.

"You certainly seem to know a lot about mystery novels," I said by way of greeting.

The beautiful stranger before me smiled unabashedly. "I work at Book'em."

I blinked, the blank look on my face answer enough.

"Book'em Mysteries?" She tilted her head to the side. "It's only L.A.'s finest independent establishment for the niche mystery and true crime genres." She scowled for a moment at the bookshelf headlining the bestsellers. "And clearly at the forefront of the independent author movement as well."

I blinked again. Now I felt foolish. I've lived in L.A. all my life, and I didn't even know where was such a store. And that I knew so little about the mystery genre...

"So, what are you doing here?" I asked, diverting the subject. "Isn't this your competition?"

She shrugged. "I have the day off."

"So you're spending it in another bookstore?"
"If there's something worth my while to bring me there."

The heat in my cheeks as our gazes locked in mutual understanding proved I was more than aware of her insinuation. Subconsciously licking my lips, I held out a tentative hand. "I'm Suzi."

Her hand soft though her grip firm as our palms met. "Kris."

"So, tell me again about these independent authors every mystery reader must have?"

It didn't take her long to fill my arms with her favorite books and unknown-to-me authors, which made me feel like I had hit the literary jackpot.

Even more so when she asked me to grab a coffee.

"Enough about me," Kris mused as we took our seats at the nearby cafe. "Why don't you tell me what brings you to an independent bookstore in the middle of a Monday."

I snorted into my cappuccino. "You mean other than being painfully unemployed after graduating with a degree in English Lit?"

"Yes, other than that." She smiled. "There must be something else you like doing with your time."

I watched her for a moment. She was serious. "That might be the most loaded of loaded questions."

She assessed me with that gorgeous cerulean gaze as her finger traced the rim of her espresso cup. "I'm a very good listener."

I didn't doubt that one bit.

Taking a deep sip of my drink, I placed the cup down and folded my hands on the table before me before I launched myself into a tirade about the disaster that was my love life ever since I accepted that damn challenge at the beginning of July.

And she wasn't wrong- Kris listened to every word I said. Between widening eyes and muffled chuckles, she more than listened to my recount of each and every date, almost as if she was evaluating each on a scale of 1 to 10.

I had just finished telling her about the confusion from the night before when she picked up her espresso and finished it in one sip.

"Maybe you should write about this," she said over her glass.

I scoffed. "Oh please, no one would want to read about this."

"I would."

"Then you're a masochist."

"And so are you."

I peered at her slightly. "And none of this has you asking any... questions?"

"On the contrary. It makes me want to know what you have planned for tonight."

I felt my mouth go dry and reached for my drink, only to remember I had finished my cappuccino well into explaining Date Fifteen. Taking the opportunity to clear my mind, I reached for her espresso cup. "Let me get us a refill--"

Her hand covered mine before I could take the empty away. "I have a better idea. Why don't we go to my apartment, and I'll get us a drink while we'll discuss some more authors you may have never heard of."

For a moment, that small voice in the back of my head has me hesitating.

Suzi, what happened to your an all-Suzi day?

Well, couldn't this be considered something I wanted to do?

But she's asking you back for drinks and books and you know that never ends platonically.

My small voice wasn't wrong.

But even so, it still didn't stop me from taking her hand in mine as I balanced my book haul in the other, and I allowed her to lead me back to her small apartment in West Hollywood.

***

The sex was amazing.

Sure, we went back and she supplied me with the wine as promised, and we drank while she showed me her bookcases, but they also happened to be in her bedroom, and one thing always seems to lead to another when books and wine were involved.

I lost track of time. I don't even know if we stopped for dinner, but there was something about Kris that satiated every appetite I may have had, hunger or otherwise. Being with her made me forget about the last month-- the good, the bad, and the ugly. Even when that nagging voice at the back of my head reminded me that I had a challenge to maintain, I justified this as enough to satisfy the day's date requirement.

More than enough.

Sleep must have overcome us at some point because one moment we were tangled in each other's arms, attempting to catch our breath, and the next I was blinking away as the morning sunlight hit me in the face through her bedroom window.

Memories of the night before were stronger than the hangover pounding against the brain and I smiled to myself and I glanced to Kris' naked form, sleeping soundly beside me. The bedsheets were in a pile on the floor, so I could see every dip, curve and crevice from where I lay, even in the dim light of dawn.
I knew I was going to enjoy this view again, and again, and again.

But there were still two more days of the month, and even though I had a promise to keep, nothing said anything had to come of those dates. Not to mention, Kris had heard the worst of the worst and still brought me home-- keeping her updated with a mere two more dilemmas would be nothing compared to the previous onslaught.

Two more days.

Stretching, I rolled out of bed, hoping to not disturb her. Maybe I'd go down the street and get us breakfast before we had to part ways. Or maybe we could just go out to breakfast? The thought made me smile as I gathered my belongings and threw on my clothes.

As I combed my fingers through my blonde hair, my attention immediately caught on the rows and rows of titles lining the bookshelves in her room. She certainly had an extensive collection, there was no denying that. I was about to turn away in search of my shoes then a dark and familiar cover caught my attention.

It was Daniel Silva's new release.

With careful hands I slid the hardcover from its snug home...

And almost dropped it on the ground.

My heart pound in my chest and my palms began to sweat.

This... this....

This was horrible.

To say the dust cover was bent and torn would have been an understatement. The folds were ripped at the seams without even the slightest effort to repair them, and the front and back both looked like they had survived a tornado, a hurricane and an earthquake, all at the same time.

With a pain in my heart and a pit in my stomach, I opened the book.

Inside, I wanted to cry.

Pages were dogeared every which way with almost every corner showing wear, all in addition to sporadic pages being folded back upon themselves throughout.

But that wasn't even the worst of it.

If it happened once or twice, I could pass it off as a slip up, a mistake.

But no.

On every page...

Highlights.

Bright yellow highlights.

And notes.

Handwritten in the margins.

I felt sick to my stomach.

I wanted to bring this book home with me. I felt like I needed to nurse it back to health, show it that it is loved, prove to it that it was more than just someone's piece of scrap paper.

I looked to where Kris continued to sleep, a monster lurking beneath her skin.

This could never work.

Things would get serious, and then she'd want to borrow my books.

My books.

Someone like her should be blacklisted from all bookstores in the area. They needed to know what kind of treatment they'd be subjecting their goods to!

It was too much.

I needed to go.

Breakfast be damned.

Kris be damned.

I finished putting on my shoes as fast as I could and got the hell out of Dodge.

Fumbling for my phone as I rushed down the stairs from Kris' apartment, I called the first contact I could think of in such a time of despair.

He picked up on the third ring.

"Trystan?"

An incoherent groan was all I recieved on the other end, but as I made my way down the L.A. sidewalk in the early morning hours, I glanced back over my shoulder at the chaos I was quick to leave behind.

"I think it's finally time to invest in that Kindle. I'm not going back to the bookstore for a long, long time."

***

Author's Note: This one-shot is part of the 31 Blind Dates anthology from more than two dozen Wattpad writers including members of the Stars program, published authors, Ambassadors and Wattys winners. If you want to start at the beginning, go to the profile of rskovach You will find the next story in the collection on the profile of ESHurricane Just look for this sticker: