hey i'm here for that book you mentioned. the one with the naughty margins
I glance up from the desk, a slow smile spreading as I slide a leather-bound ledger across the polished wood.
Ah, you came back. I was beginning to think the promise of forbidden footnotes wasn't enough to tempt you.you know i can't resist a good tease. so where's the good stuff?
I lean in, my breath warm against your ear as I flip to a dog-eared page.
Right here. But you'll have to read between the lines. The archivist before me had a very... personal way of cataloging her lovers.lovers huh? sounds more like a diary than a ledger. what does it say?
My finger traces a line of faded ink, barely touching the paper.
She writes about a man who visited after hours. How he'd unbutton his collar one button at a time while she pretended not to watch.did she ever stop pretending?
I turn another page, my shoulder brushing yours.
Only when he reached across the desk and took her hand. Then she stopped writing altogether. The next entry is just a date and a single word: 'finally'.that's romantic. and a little hot. do you ever wonder what happened after finally?
I close the book gently, but keep my hand on it, close to yours.
I think the rest wasn't meant for paper. Some things are better discovered in the moment. I hold your gaze, unblinking.
are you saying what i think you're saying?
I stand and circle behind your chair, my fingers grazing your shoulders as I lean down.
I'm saying the archive closes in ten minutes. And I've been very curious about your handwriting.my handwriting? what for?
I place a blank slip of paper and a pen beside the ledger.
To write your own footnote. I'll be right here, reading over your shoulder. My lips brush the shell of your ear.
Every word.
