#fluffyjulydaysix

Amelia Shepherd hated book clubs. Actually, correction... Amelia Shepherd hated the idea of book clubs.

"They're homework," she'd declared the moment you'd come home waving a flyer you'd picked up from the hospital café. "Everyone keeps trying to invent ways to make my free time feel like school."

You'd laughed. "It's only once a month."

"Yeah, once a month of assigned reading." She sighed, chopping up the carrot you had placed in front of her with enthusiasm.

"They have fancy coffee."

She raised an eyebrow and picked up the next veg to chop, zucchini, "I can buy drinks that I like without having to discuss pathetic fallacy."

"They have snacks." You tried.

"I can also buy snacks."

You leaned against the kitchen counter, smiling patiently, "They're letting partners join," and that made Amelia pause, just for a moment.

"...Partners?"

"Mhm."

"So you don't actually have to work at the hospital, huh?"

"Nope." You shook your head and couldn’t conceal the grin forming on your face, she narrowed her eyes, "What?" You asked, aiming for the innocent angle.

She put the knife down, shaking her head, "You've already signed us up, haven't you?"

"I might have." You stirred the mixture of food in the pan, not quite yet daring to look Amelia in the eye. She'd be fine with it... you'd hoped, anyway.

"You absolutely have."

Now, you risked a glance, "I thought you'd like it."

Luckily, she was smiling, "I won't."

"You don't even know what the book is."

"I don't need to."

"You are judging an entire experience before trying it."

"I am," she said proudly. "It's something I am very good at."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Amelia found that she hated it right up until she didn't.

The first meeting was awkward for approximately nine minutes.

Amelia spent those nine minutes wearing the expression she reserved for mandatory HR training, sipping terrible coffee and answering questions with as few words as possible. She looked like a grumpy teenager.

Then someone made an awfully incorrect interpretation of the main character's motivations and Amelia lasted a whole seven seconds before jumping in.

"No," she said, sitting forward. The room stopped to look at her, "That's... no. She isn't selfish."

The discussion lasted forty-five minutes and you barely spoke. For the most part, you watched your girlfriend accidentally become the most enthusiastic person in the room.

Walking home afterward, Amelia frowned thoughtfully, "You know, I still think book clubs are pretentious."

"Mhm."

"But Linda's point about the ending was ridiculous." She fumed to herself.

You joined your hand with hers, pulling her closer to you, walking shoulder to shoulder, "So you enjoyed yourself?"

She considered the question for a moment before shrugging, "I enjoyed being right."

"That's not what I asked."

"...Maybe I enjoyed it a little."

You bumped her shoulder, "I knew it."

"Don't get smug."

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The real problem arrived with book two because this book was six hundred pages long. Amelia Shepherd barely had enough time to remember to eat lunch, let alone fit 600 pages into her evenings.

With three emergency surgeries, two overnight consults and one resident who nearly fainted during rounds, there was no chance she could squeeze in reading six hundred pages.

By one week in, the bookmark was still sitting stubbornly on page forty-three. She dropped onto the couch beside you with a dramatic groan, "I've failed."

"You've read forty-three pages." You tried, using a light and positive voice.

"Out of six hundred." She groaned, tossing the book onto the coffee table, it landed with a thud.

"To be fair babe, you've had seventy-two working hours in four days."

She rubbed both hands over her face, "The annoying thing is that I actually want to read it."

"I know."

"I just..." She sighed. "Every time I sit down, I fall asleep."

You looked at her for a second, then closed your own book, "Okay."

She frowned, "Okay, what?"

"I'll read to you," You shrugged, leaning across and grabbing her copy of the book.

"...What?" She sat up, frowning.

"Whilst you cook, I'll read."

Amelia blinked, "You mean..."

"Exactly what I said." You let out a soft laugh at her little furrowed brows and small pout.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because... that's ridiculous." She shook her head.

"I disagree."

"You'll get bored."

"I won't."

"You'll do the voices."

"Oh, that? Yes, I absolutely will do that."

She pointed at you, "Fine, read. But I swear, no voices."

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The arrangement lasted exactly one evening before becoming tradition. Amelia would come home exhausted, shoulders tight from twelve hours beneath the glaring lights of the hospital.

You'd already have vegetables chopped or pasta boiling or something simmering on the stove. Then, she'd tie on an apron and you'd pick up the book.

"'Chapter Five,'" you announced dramatically.

"Oh no." The last chapter hadn't ended well.

"'The rain fell with remarkable determination-'"

She put down the knife and shook her finger at you, "No, you are using your narrator voice. We said no voices."

"No, you said no voices." You grinned, "And, I don't have a narrator voice."

"You absolutely do."

You ignored her and continued, "'As though the sky itself-'"

She snorted, "You sound like you're narrating a nature documentary."

Without missing a beat, you deepened your voice. "Observe. The overworked neurosurgeon attempts to make risotto while pretending she isn't emotionally invested in the lives of these fictional people."

She rolled her eyes, picking the knife back up and scraping the chopped food into the sizzling pan, "I hate you."

"You love me," You joined her at the stove top, wrapping your arms around her from behind, book still in hand.

"I tolerate you," she mumbled.

You leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, "You literally moved in."

"I made mistakes," She shrugged.

"You were the one who bought our matching mugs."

She sighed, "The biggest mistake." You could hear her smile before you saw it.

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The thing was...

She really did like listening. There was something different about listening to a story instead of just chasing the words across a page after sixteen hours awake.

She could stir sauce, chop herbs or lean against you while setting the table. She could also close her eyes for just a second and your voice would just keep carrying the story forward.

On occasion, she'd interrupt, "No, wait."

"What?" You paused, holding your finger against where you had just been interrupted so as to not lose your place.

"Read that sentence again," You flipped back a line and she smiled.

She hummed, "I liked that bit."

Sometimes she'd predict endings, "He's lying."

"We don't know that." You shrugged, trying to remain impartial.

"He is," she'd sing-song and often, to her credit, she was correct.

"...We're literally only on chapter eight, how do you-"

"I know people." She'd reply, very enigmatic.

"You know fictional people?" and she would just shrug, tapping the page for you to continue.

Sometimes she'd even argue with the author, "Oh, that's lazy writing."

"They're just setting something up."

"No, I bet their editor just missed that. It's just that rubbish."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

About halfway through the month, Amelia stopped pretending she wasn't invested.

"Don't start without me." She called down the stairs, having just got home and now running for a quick shower.

"I wouldn't," you called back, grabbing her favourite blanket and lighting the candle by the couch.

"You promise?"

"I promise," You heard her let out a little sigh of content before the shower kicked to life. You just smiled to yourself.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It happened on a Thursday.

She'd been in surgery nearly ten hours, the operation had gone well and the patient would recover but Amelia looked absolutely done in.

She barely spoke through dinner and instead, just leaned against your shoulder while you loaded the dishwasher.

"You okay?" You whispered.

She nodded slowly, "Mhm."

You paused as you put in the last plate and stood up, "You don't have to be."

"I know."

A few minutes later she was curled beside you on the couch, her hair still damp from her shower, one leg tucked beneath yours. You picked up the book, "Ready?"

She nodded sleepily and so you started reading. Her breathing had slowed within minutes.

You paused to look at her and check. She was not quite asleep, not yet. Just resting, so you kept going. Outside, rain tapped gently against the windows. Half an hour later, you reached the end of the chapter.

You looked down and this time, Amelia was fully asleep. One hand still loosely curled around your sleeve. A soft snore sneaking its way past her lips. You smiled and carefully marked the next page to read. You turned off the lamp and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She stirred, "Mmm..." she rolled further into you.

"You fell asleep." You whispered into her hair.

"No..." She protested, stretching out her tired limbs and forcing her eyes open.

"You did."

"No, I'm listening to you read."

You chuckled, "You were dreaming."

"I can do two things at once." She mumbled and you laughed quietly.

"Come on," you shifted slightly, letting her sit up before you stood. She didn't move again. Instead, eyes still closed, she mumbled,

"...Just one more time."

Your heart melted, "What?" You crouched over her.

"The last few pages. Just read it one more time for me?"

You shook your head softly, "You won't hear it."

"I will." She pushed to re-open her eyes.

You brushed her hair behind her ear, "You won't."

"...Please."

You looked at her, really looked. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, her hair was escaping in every possible direction. She was still wearing one of your hoodies that she'd stolen months ago.

You knew she wasn't asking because she desperately needed to know what happened, she was asking because your voice had become part of her coming home routine, the way for her to rest into the night, separate herself from work.

"You need sleep more than these pages, Amelia."

She made a tiny, dissatisfied sound, "But..."

"I'll read tomorrow." You whispered.

"...Promise?"

"I promise."

She sighed dramatically, "Fine." and took your hand, accepting your help to guide her upstairs and into your bedroom.

Thirty seconds later she was asleep again.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

By the final week of the month, you had a problem, "You know we have..." you counted on your fingers, "...three evenings left."

Amelia looked at the remaining pages, "Oh."

"There are two hundred pages to go still."

"...Oh," She sighed and, for a moment, she looked genuinely distressed, "We're not going to finish, are we?"

"We'll manage," you tried to persuade yourself, as well as her. 70-odd pages a night, you could just about do that... maybe.

She bit her lip, "I don't want to skim it though."

"We won't."

"I actually want to know what happens."

"I know."

She sighed, "Ugh, I hate that I like this stupid book." She thoroughly mixed the sauce that was cooking, stabbing at some particularly large clumps of tomatoes, "I hate that this stupid book club was your idea."

"I know."

"I especially hate that you were right." She pointed a wooden spoon at you, splattering little red drops of sauce onto the floor, "Don't enjoy that."

"I am enjoying it immensely," You grinned, rushing to clean up after her.

Later that same evening, the idea arrived while Amelia slept. She'd fallen asleep on your shoulder again, book open in your lap.

You looked at the clock, then at her. Then at your phone, and picked it up.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, Amelia kissed you goodbye in the kitchen, gathering her things, before pausing at the door, "Oh and I'm sorry."

"For what?" You asked, passing her the packed lunch you'd prepared the day before.

"I'll miss reading tonight."

"You've got another late surgery?" She nodded miserably, "It's okay." You assured her.

"I was actually looking forward to chapter forty-two."

"I know." She took the lunch with a kiss and she left before you could say anything else.

Later, at around 11pm, while she was getting ready to leave the hospital, her phone connected automatically to her headphones and a notification appeared.

Playlist shared by You.

Chapter Forty-Two.

She frowned, pressed play.

Your voice filled her ears as she stood in the hallway of the hospital, bag slung over one shoulder.

"Hi." A pause. "I figured if you couldn't be on the couch, then maybe the couch could come to you." She laughed despite herself. "So... chapter forty-two."

You cleared your throat theatrically, "'The train arrived just before dawn...'"

She listened all the way home. At some point, chapter forty-three started automatically. Then forty-four.

And between chapters you'd left little messages.

"Remember to drink water."

"This guy is still really annoying."

"I had to re-record this sentence six times because I couldn't pronounce this town's name."

"If you're smiling right now, I was right about this being a good idea. Don't try to convince me otherwise."

By the time she pulled into the driveway, she was crying a little, mostly from laughing and a little from missing you despite the fact she was sitting just outside the door.

She found you in the kitchen, dropped her bags and wrapped both arms around your waist, "You made me an audiobook."

You looked over your shoulder innocently, "I may have."

"You recorded..." She held up her phone. "Three chapters."

"I got a little carried away."

"You know," she said quietly into your shoulder, "I've spent a lot of my life believing people eventually get tired."

You rested your cheek against her hair, "I know."

"They stop showing up."

You tightened your arms on top of hers, "I won't."

"I know." She smiled, "You keep finding new ways."

You pulled back just enough to look at her, "And I'll do my best to keep finding them."

She searched your face, as if checking whether you understood the weight of what you'd promised.

Then she nodded, "Good."

You kissed her forehead, "So..."

"So?"

"Chapter forty-five?" You nodded to the couch, where her bowl of food was waiting, still steaming.

Amelia smiled, the tired, genuine smile that belonged only to the version of herself that existed at home. She took your hand and led you toward the couch.