Page 19 of Bear and Book

It was ridiculous to let him stay. Completely unnecessary. But my hand moved of its own accord, taking the sandwich.

We ended up sitting on the floor between two half-empty shelves, dinner balanced on an overturned crate, the air still faintly dusty from where I’d been pulling boxes all day.

The last of the daylight spilled through the propped-open windows, painting the spines of a hundred old classics in warm gold.

Leo took a huge bite, chewed, and made an appreciative noise.

“You ever notice how pulled pork is the perfect food? Warm, messy and a little sweet?” Leo asked.

“I can’t say I’ve thought about it that way,” I said dryly.

“Guess you’re more of a soup guy?” Leo asked.

I narrowed my eyes. “What does that even mean?” I demanded.

“Comforting. Reliable. Simmering under the surface,” he said, like it was obvious.

“Soup doesn’t simmer under the surface,” I pointed out.

He shrugged, unbothered. “Metaphor.”

I hated that it made me want to smile.

Leo talked between bites , not enough to stop eating, but enough to fill the silences in a way that didn’t feel forced.

He asked about the shop, about the oldest book I owned, about whether I’d ever read The Count of Monte Cristo all the way through. I had. Twice.

And somewhere between discussing Alexandre Dumas and arguing over the merits of coleslaw, I realized he wasn’t watching the clock.

Leo wasn’t here out of obligation. He was here because he wanted to be. By the time we packed up for the day, the store looked noticeably better.

A few shelves were now level, the damp smell had faded with the windows propped open, and the counter was no longer buried under boxes.

“You’re here all week?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“If you’ll have me,” Leo said, tone hopeful but just casual enough to pass for politeness. Barely.

I considered telling him no. I should have. It would’ve been the sensible thing to do.

Instead, I said, “Fine. But bring more tools. Not the muffins.”

He laughed. “You liked the muffins,” Leo pointed out.

When he left, the shop felt quieter. Not better, just different.

I told myself it was relief. That I could finally think again without the constant background hum of his presence.

But when I sat down behind the counter and saw the one remaining muffin he’d “accidentally” left behind, I didn’t throw it away. I put it in the back room for later.

Chapter 6

Leo/ Elias

LEO

The bell over the door gave a tired little jingle as I nudged it open with my hip, my hands full with two paper cups of coffee and a grease-spotted bag that smelled like heaven.

The shop still carried that faint mustiness from the storm. Old paper and wood that had been damp once but was drying out, but it was less oppressive now.