Page 29 of Check You Out

Anxiety flutters in my stomach. Does he think I’m annoying? “I just want to learn more about you.” I watch him for a second before adding, “Is that ok?”

“Of course,” he replies with a tight-lipped smile. “I’m just not used to it.”

I pluck a loaded potato skin from the plate, dip it into the sour cream, and take a bite. “Damn, this is good,” I mutter out loud.

“Told you.” He takes one, globs a dollop, and takes a mouthful. After he swallows, he asks, “Can I ask you questions?”

I wave a hand. “Sure. That’ll make things fair.”

“How long have you owned the bookstore?”

I drum my fingers on the table. “I inherited it from my father after he died of Covid in 2020.”

“Oh.” His expression softens and he raises his hand, stretching the palm as if he were about to reach out and grasp my own. “I’m sorry. Shit, the other day, you said was and I didn’t even connect the two.”

I shrug. “It’s ok. My mom’s still alive. If you’re wondering. She’s living her best life traveling with my aunt in Europe for the summer.” I don’t know why, but it seems relevant to share that information with him. I take a sip of my water. “Did you always want to be an English teacher?”

“No, I actually wanted to be an English professor.”

“So instead of dealing with moody high schoolers, you wanted to deal with moody college students?” I ask him with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

“That makes me sound insane,” Aidan replies with pressed lips and a scowl. “But I would’ve loved the research and publication side of academia. I love the works of minority authors during the twentieth century and wanted to specialize in it. Everybody has read The Great Gatsby and The Sun Also Rises, and everything by Sylvia Plath, but how many people have read Beloved or A Raisin in the Sun or anything by Langston Hughes?”

“Do you like teaching?”

“I do. I can’t imagine doing anything else. Teaching college would have been fun, but I more of a positive impact.” He chews on his lower lip. “While I’m limited by what I can teach thanks to our county curriculum, I do have some freedom with what books my students read.” He grabs another potato skin and takes a bite out of it. “It gets annoying when parents complain that I’m”—he air quotes—“‘too woke’ to teach their kids. But I like it when the students connect with an author or a poet who looks like them. When I tell them there are a whole bunch of authors who look like them, the kids actually start reading.”

I snicker and grin. “And they become my customers when they have grown-up money.” Lifting my water glass, I toast him. “Thanks for fueling the book addiction pipeline.”

“Always happy to help,” he replies with a smile.

“Why didn’t you get your PhD and become a professor?”

Aidan pauses for a moment, looking down at his plate while drumming his fingers on the table. “Too much money. My father only agreed to pay for graduate school if it was a law degree. I didn’t want to go into debt.” A shadow passes over his face.

That explains why his dinner with his parents was interesting.

“Graduate degrees are expensive.”

He sips his drink. “College is expensive.”

“It is. I’m still paying off mine.” The waitress brings our food, and we immediately dive in. I bite into the fluffiest, butteriest pancakes I have ever tasted.

“Did you always want to be a bookseller?” Aidan replies between bites of his pancakes.

“Yup,” I remark, setting my knife and fork against the checkered plate. “Dad opened the store when I was in high school, and I worked there whenever I could. I started full-time after I graduated from college, and I’m not really sure if I could do anything else. Books are my life.”

“What did you major in?” he asks.

“Business Admin with an English minor. I hated the business classes, but I felt like it would help me with running the store.” I drum my fingers against the table. “I learned a lot about marketing and finance, so I’d like to think it was a good investment.”

I eye his fancy looking pancakes. They’re drizzled with caramel and topped with bananas. “Those look really good.”

“Want a bite?” Without waiting for my answer, he cuts off a generous piece of pancake and sets it on my plate.

“Thanks,” I say, almost dumbfounded. I can’t remember the last time a guy ever gave me a bite of his food, let alone offered it so willingly.

He notices me staring and stops eating. “You ok?”