Those blue eyes darted toward Martin again, like a wrist flicking at a fly. The man grinned, a slow sly grin that made Martin’s insides twist.
“You’re new, aren’t you?” the man said.
Martin’s ears burned. He knew a dismissal when he heard one.
“If—If there’s something you’d like to buy, I can help you cash out. Otherwise, we’ll be open again on Monday at—” What time did they open? It had been nine o’clock on Saturday. Was it the same time on weekdays?
The blond man frowned, and Martin’s heart lurched under the stranger’s scrutiny. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had really looked at him. For all his rising panic at the feeling of being alone in the store earlier, he very much wanted to return to that solitude right now. It was so much better than being the center of this man’s attention.
“How long have you worked here?” The strange man’s voice was soft and low, rippling through the space between them.
Martin shivered and had to focus to keep his feet planted. “We’re closing and—”
“Where’s Cass?” The man glanced over Martin’s shoulder, giving him a moment to breathe.
“Cassidy? She went home.”
“What’s your name?” Those eyes were on Martin again in an instant, making him light-headed.
“Martin.” Too late, he wondered if he shouldn’t have introduced himself, particularly when the other man made no effort to return the favor.
“Well then, Martin.” The man took a step forward. “It appears no one bothered to inform you—”
“I’ll call the owner.” Martin was losing ground and needed to fix this quickly. Calling Mrs. Green to resolve a grumpy customer was absolutely a bad idea, but he was on the verge of being run out of his own bookstore, so there weren’t many options left.
To illustrate that point, the blond man’s eyes widened and his lips formed into an ‘O’.
“No no. Please.” He held his hands wide, as his mouth pulled into another grin. Everything about it made Martin want to shrink into himself until he was nothing but a speck of dust on a bookshelf.
“I’m sorry,” he said, giving it one last go. “But we close at six and—”
The man didn’t appear to hear him. He toed through the pile of books at his feet.
Martin winced as pages bent under his shoes. “Please don’t—”
Thin fingers pinched the crumpled pages together and lifted them in the air, the book’s heavy covers flopping to the sides. There was the soft sound of paper tearing.
The man tucked the book under one arm. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll pay for it.” He put a hand in one of his pockets, then actually swaggered toward Martin, whose vision wavered as the man’s fingers brushed against his own. Martin gasped at the hard weight of something metal in his palm. The silence of the bookshop was broken by the sound of coins tumbling out of Martin’s frozen hand and onto the floor.
“That should cover it.” The man whispered it low. The feeling of his breath on Martin’s skin made him turn into a Martin-shaped statue, frozen in place as the other man slid past him.
“Nice to meet you,” the man said. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
It felt like hours, but it probably was only a matter of seconds before he trembled and broke out of his daze. The floorboards creaked as the man walked away. Martin knelt and collected the coins he’d dropped. They were all nickels and dimes, and they totaled up to just under two dollars.
A door closed and the shop fell quiet.
Martin wound his way back the way he’d come. Nerves boiled inside him, and he hesitated around every blind corner between shelves, half expecting the blond stranger to leap out at him like some deranged Jack in the Box. He stumbled into the open space at the front.
He was alone.
Martin went to the door. It surprised him that the hinges hadn’t made their booming wail as the man left.
His hand stopped as he reached for the deadbolt. It was still in position. The door was locked.
Where had the man come from? And where had he gone?
