I never thought I’d be the guy wandering around a book fair on a rare weekend off, but here I am. And it’s not just any book fair—this one’s massive, a maze of colorful stalls, towering bookshelves, and enthusiastic readers clutching tote bags filled with their literary loot. Normally, my weekends are spent recharging or sneaking in a quick karting session. But today? Today is different.

I glance to my left. There she is—my wife, my bookworm. Her eyes are sparkling as she flips through a thick hardcover at one of the vendor stands. I don’t know what the book’s about—probably some historical drama or fantasy epic I can’t keep up with—but the look on her face makes it worth it. She’s in her element, completely lost in the world of words she loves so much.

“Lando,” she says, turning to me with that mischievous smile I can never resist, “you promised you’d pick a book today. No excuses.”

“I did?” I raise an eyebrow, playing dumb. “Are you sure I didn’t say I’d just carry the bags? I’m pretty good at that.”

Her playful glare says it all. “You’re picking a book. You need to read more.”

I laugh, throwing my hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. But don’t get mad when I pick something ridiculous.”

We weave through the aisles, her hands brushing against mine as she stops every five steps to examine a new stack of books. She talks animatedly about her favorites, and I nod along, pretending to understand half the references. Honestly, I’d listen to her talk about anything. She could read me the dictionary, and I’d be hooked.

At one point, she drags me to a display labeled Sci-Fi Adventures. “This looks like your kind of section,” she says, holding up a book with a spaceship on the cover.

I squint at it. “Do you think they have anything with cars? Or racing? Maybe something like The Fast and the Furious in space?”