As I’d unpacked the day’s delivery of books and wrapped up online orders and posted reviews on Instagram, I’d decided that I was going to win Lucas over. He didn’t need to be embarrassed, and I would prove to him that we could be friends.
‘Fucking wings,’ Hamish grumbled. He hauled a red, flapping monster partway into the shop.
I ditched the display of irreverent bookmarks I’d been fiddling with near the counter and hurried over to help him and his latest creation through the door.
I’d been surprised when Hamish appeared in Island Books three years ago and announced he needed a part-time job. He informed me he would work set hours over the weekends whenthe shop was busiest with tourist trade and he would come in two afternoons after he’d gotten the boat home from school. The then fifteen-year-old placed a piece of paper on my counter, then walked out. I’d flipped it over to find his hourly rate.
His dad, the island’s mechanic, had confirmed that his son was reading him out of house and home. Hamish had always been one of my most loyal customers, but I hadn’t realised the lad was interested in working in the bookshop.
Three years later, and I wasn’t sure I could confidently say he had ever been interested in working here. Hamish certainly liked to read. When he wasn’t creating one of his minutely detailed window displays, I’d often find him holed up in a nook between the shelves with his ginger head tucked into a book. But he looked at me with disdain when I asked him to man the till, or tidy any of the genres he wasn’t interested in, or hoover the shop at the end of the day. After years of working together, we’d settled into a comfortable rhythm; Hamish did whatever he wanted and I got on with running the bookshop.
It wouldn’t have been financially viable to pay a member of staff who was uninterested in most of his work, except that Hamish’s window displays brought in tourists from near and far. Some specifically came to the island to check out the displays Hamish changed according to a schedule he didn’t feel the need to share with me. The amount of likes we got on Instagram for posts about his masterpieces was way higher than for anything else. The piles of books ordered online and happy readers walking out of the shop as a direct result of Hamish’s creations more than covered his salary.
I’d asked him if he wanted more hours after he finished his A-Level exams weeks ago, assuming he would be grateful for the additional income to spend on more books. He’d given me a flat stare and stated that a healthy work/life balance was important.He continued working the same hours as when he’d spent five days a week ferrying across to the mainland for school.
‘Get. Through. The. Shitting. Door,’ Hamish grunted. His red hair wasn’t cut short at the sides and left in a curly tangle on top to match the other teenage boys of the island. Instead, Hamish’s was a barely contained mop, his head ablaze in all directions.
I’d long given up asking Hamish not to swear in the shop. Mutely, I held up one wing while he manoeuvred a long tail through the door. He made his creations in his dad’s workshop, where there was a plethora of tools and materials for him to play with. He didn’t always account for getting them through the bookshop’s narrow door, though.
The dragon would have been heavy for someone without werewolf strength. I tried to subtly take more of its weight than Hamish as he worked the second wing inside.
It had been made with scrap metal. At least, I hoped it was scrap. More than once Hamish and his dad had argued outside the shop, hands set on their hips as Hamish explained that his father could have whatever he’d stolen back at the end of the month. They looked startlingly alike, even if their interests were starkly different. Hamish had inherited his father’s thick ginger hair and stocky build, but his flannel shirts were more likely to be covered in dust from the rare times he cleaned the tops of the shelves rather than the engine oil that decorated his dad’s.
‘Dragons are in?’ I helped Hamish carry the beast to the wide window. He’d cleared the previous display over the weekend and had strung up a curtain he claimed his dad didn’t need in his bedroom over the glass for the grand unveiling. The bags under his father’s eyes were always at their most purple before a new bookshop display was revealed to the world.
‘Dragons are hot as shit,’ Hamish confirmed.
He let me help pivot the shoulder height dragon into the perfect position, then glared me away. I retreated to the counter to grab the boxes of books Hamish had ordered for the display.
He would have read them all and each would be propped up with a hand-written personal recommendation. Hamish had blushed when an elderly visitor to the island pinched his cheek and told him he was a dear. I was glad she’d had the guts to do it. I never would, but Hamish deserved to know that despite his crabby exterior, we saw the teddy bear underneath.
Hamish arranged the books around the dragon and snapped pictures on my phone. He’d berated me once for posting them before the grand reveal and for not saving them to share throughout the month. Now I knew to keep them in a folder and eke out his recommendations over the next few weeks, each post meticulously checked by my lone co-worker before it was deemed acceptable to send out into the world.
‘What do you keep looking at the clock for?’ Hamish appeared at the counter. Someone of his stature shouldn’t have been able to sneak up on me, especially with my sensitive werewolf hearing, but he always managed it.
‘Are you ready for me to film the reveal?’ I dodged the question.
For someone who barely tolerated my presence, Hamish was oddly invested in my social life. He would have many enquiries about my new housemate once he found out about him, and I didn’t need a teenager giving me judgemental looks when I insisted my interest in the good-looking guy who’d moved in with me was purely friendly. Hamish was of the opinion that I should be dating a lot more than I did. Which wouldn’t be hard, because I didn’t date at all.
I didn’t need anyone else assuming Lucas and I would get together. Everyone in the pack seemed selectively deaf to Aster’s grumblings that his best friend was as lamentably straight as anarrow. Apparently, he’d tried on several occasions to convince Lucas to kiss him. All to no avail.
Luckily for me, I didn’t want to kiss Lucas. Not as much as I wanted to be his friend, anyway.
It was helpful that I’d become overly practised at scenting when someone was attracted to me. Helpful in this instance. I wouldn’t have minded turning off my nose when boatloads of tourists bundled into the shop and decided that perusing the shelves was secondary to ogling me.
My enhanced senses, that had been ruthlessly fine-tuned by the battering attention I received on a daily basis, meant that even though the rest of the pack was placing bets on when me and Lucas would have sex, I knew he simply wasn’t interested.
Such lack of focus on my appearance was refreshing. Even straight guys looked at me. I’d talked more than one through a sudden sexuality crisis as they bought more books than I suspected they needed, their eyes wide and scent a combination of burning need and sparking panic.
I was excited about the possibility of a friend who wasn’t either being intimate with their significant other most evenings of the week or hiding from their trauma in the mountains. Although Callum had swapped the hiding for sex recently as well.
With many directions about angles and capturing the best lighting, I filmed the grand reveal of Hamish’s latest display. He snatched my phone to edit the footage. He tucked himself into an armchair between his well-maintained shelves of young adult fiction and the section dedicated to the island’s maps and memorabilia he refused to have anything to do with.
With Hamish’s head bowed, I checked the time again. A thrill shot through me. Half an hour until closing.
Hamish spent the rest of his shift composing the perfect message to go along with the unveiling of his dragon. I serveda few of his old classmates who always bought his latest recommendations despite his distinct lack of interest in their opinions on his favourite books. With ten minutes to go, I whipped the hoover around – for which Hamish lifted his boots – and tallied up the day’s takings.
‘Have fun with your new roomie,’ Hamish called over his shoulder, my phone abandoned on the arm of his chair. Apparently he already knew about Lucas but had decided not to scowl about my inability to date anyone for the years he’d been working here.
