3
The bookstore on Monday turned out to be less of a hotspot. Fewer customers and no supernatural visitors. Martin turned the “Open“ sign over at ten, but the first customer didn’t come in for hours.
The poor hotspot metaphor extended into the literal when Martin discovered the store had no reliable Wi-Fi signal. He’d been so busy on Saturday he hadn’t even noticed. There was one network calledGet Your Own, but it was password protected.
At noon, an elderly man arrived with a box of books. Martin, who had been hunched overHeart of Darkness,got through initial greetings and chitchat without too much stammering. He’d always been better in one-on-one situations, but even those had been difficult in his last months at Mount Garner. Another small victory for him now.
The man’s box held a variety of old hardcover mysteries and political thrillers set in countries that didn’t exist anymore. Cassidy had shown Martin the cheat sheet, kept beneath the cash register, laying out pricing for books brought in. It was organized by decade published and whether the book was hardcover or paperback, but that was as scientific as it got.
Martin kept a running tally as he sorted through them. When he came to the end, the total felt disappointingly low.
“I can give you fifteen dollars and twenty-five cents.” He couldn’t even look the man in the eye as he said it.
“That’s fine. I have to buy a few books for my wife anyway.”
Martin’s head shot up. “You’re okay with that? You could make a lot more if you sold them online.” He ran his hands over the spines of some of the books in the box. They weren’t exactly literary masterpieces, but there was a market online for everything, and these books were nearly perfect. Uncracked. Even the dust jackets were pristine.
The old man shrugged. “What do I know about that? Just need these off the shelf. Our new place doesn’t have as much space as the old one did, and these hardcovers take a lot of room. I’m glad someone else will have a chance to read them.”
Martin went to hand the man his money but was waved off.
“I told you, I need some books for my wife.”
“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of making space by selling these?”
The old man chuckled and raised a white eyebrow. “Are you married?”
“No.” Martin’s skin heated around his shirt collar. He hadn’t expected for the conversation to turn its attention on him.
“Girlfriend?”
Martin shook his head. What would his customer think if he knew he was being served by a real live homosexual?
“Well, someday you will, son. And then someday after that you’ll learn that things don’t take up as much space if they’re hers.” The man’s eyes twinkled like a Christmas card Santa.
Despite his discomfort, Martin couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled out of his throat. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The old man patted cold fingertips over the back of Martin’s hand.
“You do that. Now help me find something for my missus. She likes those chick flick novels where the girl always gets the billionaire in the end.”
It took some work because of course no one would file the kind of book they were looking for under a heading as simple as ‘Romance.’ Martin led them on a slow weaving tour of the rows of shelves. The whole way, the man kept up a pleasant stream of conversation without requiring Martin to do much of the talking. He reminded Martin a bit of a friend. Doug was a more-than-mature student who had gone back to school for a history degree after retiring from thirty-five years as a manager at a shipping company. He’d been fond of popping by Martin’s office to chat during office hours. Martin had never been particularly in demand, so knowing Doug would show up at one point or another was nice, and Martin enjoyed his company. They hadn’t kept in touch as much as they could have once Doug had finished his degree, though.
Eventually, they found a book that seemed to appeal under a chalk board marked ‘You Go, Girl!’ and they made their way back to the front of the shop.
The blond man from the other night had materialized.
He was leaning against the counter like he was waiting for them, running a hand through his platinum hair. Martin’s breath caught as the man smiled at them. It was a bright, confident smile, the kind that drew attention as the wearer walked into a room.
“Hey, Earl.” The voice curled around the smile, and Martin would have melted on the spot if there hadn’t been a convenient bookshelf to lean against. He tried to stay casual, but the voice brought back the remembered heat of a body close to his and the whisper of breath on Martin’s skin as the man had slid past him in the stacks. The sensation wrapped around his stomach might almost have been desire, except Martin hadn’t felt anything like that in a long time.
His shopping companion seemed to be completely unaffected by the new arrival, though. The old man waved, his new paperback tucked under one arm.
“Seb. Nice to see you.”
“You too. Barb got you spring cleaning again?”
Martin had a flash of irritation over their familiar conversation, as if Sebastian had taken something that belonged to Martin, but then the irritation turned inwards as he realized he hadn’t even bothered to ask Earl’s name.
