"Is that the new Wilderwood Chronicles?" Emma asks, breaking the moment. She's pointing to a fantasy novel featuring a silver-haired girl riding a dragon across a starlit sky.
I kneel beside her, grateful for the distraction. "It just came in yesterday. You've read the others?"
"Only like a million times," she says with the delightful exaggeration of pre-teens. "Dad reads them with me sometimes, but he does the voices all wrong."
Nathan makes a sound that might be a suppressed chuckle. "Literary critic," he mutters, but there's unmistakable affection in his voice.
"The dragon voices should be rumbly and deep," Emma explains seriously, "but Dad makes them sound like they have hiccups."
I laugh, a real laugh that bubbles up unexpectedly. "That's a very specific critique."
When I glance up, Nathan is watching us, and something has changed in his expression. The weariness is still there, but there's warmth now too, a slight curve to his lips that's not quite a smile but closer than before. It transforms his face, makes him look younger, less burdened.
"She's particular about her dragons," he says, and the fondness in his tone wraps around the room like a blanket.
I stand, suddenly aware of how close we all are in this corner of the store. "Well, as a fellow dragon enthusiast, I respect her standards."
Emma beams at me, then turns pleading eyes to her father. "Can I get it? Please? I finished my history project early."
Nathan hesitates, and I jump in without thinking.
"First customers get a discount," I say conspiratorially. "Store policy."
His eyebrow lifts slightly. "Is that so?"
"Absolutely," I nod, completely serious. "It's in the small-town bookstore handbook. Page forty-two."
There it is, a real smile, small but genuine. It makes my stomach do a ridiculous little flip that I haven't felt since... well, longer than I care to remember.
"Hard to argue with official handbook rules," he concedes, and Emma clutches the book to her chest in victory.
I ring them up at the counter, hyper-aware of Nathan watching me, his presence a gravitational pull I'm trying very hard to resist. Emma chatters about dragons and plot twists, and I match her enthusiasm, recommending other books she might enjoy.
"You really know your stuff," Nathan comments as I hand Emma her purchase in a paper bag stamped with the store's crescent moon logo.
"Occupational requirement," I reply. "Plus, I was Emma's age when I fell down the fantasy rabbit hole. Never really climbed out."
"Thanks for the book. And the information about the drive." He reaches for his wallet, but I wave him off.
"First responder discount," I say. "Also in the handbook."
He looks like he wants to protest, but Emma's already tugging him toward the door, eager to start reading.
"We'll be back," Emma announces with the confidence of youth. "Maybe next time you can recommend something for Dad. He only reads boring books."
Nathan rolls his eyes slightly, but there's no irritation in it. "Emergency medicine journals aren't boring," he tells her, then glances back at me. "But I could probably use something... different."
"I'm good at recommendations," I manage to say. "For all reading preferences."
He nods, holding my gaze for one more heartbeat. "I'll keep that in mind."
After they leave, I stand frozen behind the counter, my heart hammering foolishly. Through the window, I watch them walk down the snowy street. Just before they turn the corner, he glances back at the bookstore.
Atme.
I step back quickly, knocking over a stack of bookmarks. "Smooth, Sullivan," I mutter, bending to gather them. "Very smooth."
But as I straighten up, I can't help smiling.
