He stood at the entrance like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be here, wearing a faded tie-dyed T-shirt, a backward baseball cap, and that same careful grin that managed to be both apologetic and devastating.
He slid his sunglasses off, and if he was at all surprised to see me, he didn’t show it.
“Hey,” he said, like it was the most casual thing in the world.
“Hey,” I echoed, painfully less casual. My stomach dropped and flipped at the same time, like it couldn’t decide if this was excitement or panic. “What are you doing here?”
“Buying a book, presumably. Why, you appointment only?”
“What? No.” Heat shocked my cheeks. I slowly strode around the display table, desperate for casualness as I straightened a stack of books that did not need to be straightened. “Surprised to see you here, that’s all.”
“Surprised?” He pressed a hand to his heart, feigning offense. “Ouch. I’ll have you know I’m a big fan of books. They’re like tiny movies for the brain.”
He snapped his fingers beside his temples for maximum adorable effect.
“Wow,” I deadpanned. “Poetic.”
“Thanks,” he said, still grinning. “Would it surprise you even more to know I’mactuallylooking for something specific?”
I tilted my head. “Depends. What is it?”
“Gone to See the River Manby Kristopher Triana.”
It was significantly less surprising that he was into something obscure I’d never heard of, but I wouldn’t dare endear him to that. “What genre is it?”
“Weird,” he said immediately, which, for some reason, made me laugh.
“Okay,sonot helpful.”
“It’s a short story.” He sighed, as if he didn’t want to relinquish the information.
“Unless it’s in a collection or anthology, we don’t carry individual short stories,” I told him. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”
He shrugged. “I’m open to recommendations.”
“Fine.” I sighed and turned on the heel of my sandal.
He followed me between aisles as I led him to fiction. He didn’t hover and was just close enough that I could feel the air shift when he moved. It was disorienting how quickly I’d gotten used to his presence, like he’d already occupied a space I hadn’t realized was empty.
“What aboutHouse of Leaves?” I asked, sliding a big paperback from one of the leaning shelves. “Weird, but beautiful, and a little bit haunting and unnerving.”
He lifted the book out of my hands and flipped through the pages. “Jeez, this thing’s like a thousand pages. I feel like you picked this one on purpose.”
I shrugged, just like he had before. “This is my recommendation.”
“Okay, fine.” He snapped the book shut with a thud. “Why?”
“Because as nonsensical as it appears, the story does make sense,” I replied before I could stop myself. “Things aren’t always the same on the inside as they are on the outside. That applies to people too.”
“Then I’ll take it.”
>> <<
He came back three days later.
Same time in the afternoon, same casual stance leaning against the counter like he owned the place. I was midway through labeling a box of used paperbacks when his voice startled me.
“I finished it.”
