12
Aweek later, Seb still hadn’t asked Martin about coming with him to his parents’ party. He’d tried, repeatedly. After his conversation with Oliver, he’d come back to the bookstore to find Martin busy with a customer. Seb tried to make it back downstairs, but his lack of sleep caught up with him, and he crashed.
The next day, he went out early to the framer’s to pick up the case he’d ordered for theAlicepiece. He meant to pick it up and get right back to the store, but the case was not right at all. It wasn’t the right size, and the glass panels had a blue-ish tint that would not work with how he’d envisioned the piece.
He’d tried to talk with Martin a couple times since then, but Seacroft’s population suddenly developed a fascination with used books. Every time he went downstairs, Martin was always helping someone navigate the shelves.
The blues night was on a Thursday. Seb was upstairs working when the beep of a reversing truck shattered his peace of mind. On the street below his window, a large white van parked in front of the store. Carol Anne stood on the sidewalk, a clipboard in one hand as she pointed and gave orders. Two workmen carried rental furniture down the ramp and into the bookstore.
After that, getting anything done was hard. Usually, the store was silent, and Seb could work in peace. Today, strange thumping sounds echoed as furniture was moved around, and instructions were shouted or relayed over crackling walkie talkies.
Around three o’clock, he gave up. The noises downstairs were too foreign and distracting to allow him to make any kind of progress. Martin was once again occupied with a customer as Seb went through the store, so he waved and let himself out onto the street.
When he returned, it was after six. The shop door was locked, and the inside had been transformed. The usual overhead tube lights had been turned off, and someone from Carol Anne’s army of volunteers had hung strings of white lights from the tops of all the bookshelves. The heavy couches had been moved out of the way, replaced with tall tables and groups of low chairs. A cluster of music stands and a microphone stood to one side.
He was fishing for his keys when a slim man in a dark suit appeared from the shelves. Seb did a double take—it was Martin. He had shed his usual oversized wardrobe somewhere between the cookbooks and the biographies. As he unlocked the door, he gave a shy smile that did things to Seb’s insides.
“Sorry,” he said. “I saw you go out earlier, but it’s been so busy today. I thought I must have missed you when you came back.”
“You look...” Seb couldn’t find complementary words that wouldn’t sound like he was undressing Martin with his eyes.
Even though that was exactly what he was doing.
Martin grinned crookedly. “Penny lent it to me. It’s a good thing it fits, right?”
It sure did fit right.
“You look great,” was all he could manage. He pulled his cap off, sure his hair was mashed down underneath it.
“You’re still coming tonight?” They hadn’t really talked about that, but Seb smiled at him, wishing desperately they had talked about a lot of things sooner so he could be the guy on Martin’s arm.
“Yeah. I just have to go get changed.” He’d stolen the sweater underneath his jacket from Kenneth in college. The collar had holes, and the cuffs had given up their shape almost a decade ago.
“Good.” Martin’s smile turned nervous. “I might need someone to carry me off the stage when I hyperventilate.”
Seb put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll do fine. It’s no scarier than talking to a lecture hall of students.”
“Yeah, and I was never very comfortable with that either.”
Seb took another step toward him, squeezing his hand. “You’ll be great!” He stared into Martin’s eyes, willing him to believe what Seb was saying. Martin blinked, lashes fluttering. His breath was shallow, and he licked his lips nervously.
“So listen,” Seb said. “I have something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“Sure.” Seb watched Martin’s lips shape the word, and he wanted to kiss him. His jaw carried the barest hint of gold-brown fuzz. Seb wanted to run a finger along it. Maybe press that finger against Martin’s bottom lip.
“You had a question?” Martin’s voice had gone low and soft.
“Right. Yes.” Focusing on words was so hard. He shuffled forward another half step. Martin’s lips parted again, and he leaned forward slightly under Seb’s hand. The bright lights in the store seemed to dim, and Seb gasped as Martin’s fingers brushed against his hip, and Martin’s eyes flickered down toward Seb’s mouth.
“Gentlemen, you’re blocking the door.” Carol Anne’s voice made Seb jump.
Just like that, the spell under the twinkling lights from the bookshelves was broken. Martin hopped out of reach, a hand going to his mouth. The way his skin flushed made Seb want to haul him back and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. Instead, he pasted on a smile and turned to find Carol Anne and Penny standing in the bookshop’s doorway. Their twin smirks said they knew exactly what they had interrupted.
“You know, we really did a great job with this place. It’s so cozy and,” Penny shot a glance at Seb, “romantic.”
Seb contemplated murder while Martin coughed uncomfortably behind him.
Carol Anne blew her daughter a kiss. “Why thank you, honey. And you and Martin did an outstanding job of breaking him out of his secret bookstore identity into the next internet heartthrob. You shine up really good, Martin!” She slung an arm over Seb’s shoulders. “Doesn’t he?”
Seb gave Martin another once over, unabashedly lingering on all the places the suit hugged his frame.
“He really does.” His eyes met Martin’s, and he stared for longer than was strictly appropriate in mixed company, warming as Martin stared right back.
“Should we give you two a minute?” Penny asked. Martin flushed and turned away, nervously playing with his tie. Seb held back the sigh that threatened to sail out of him. He smiled at Carol Anne.
“I should go change,” he said and slipped away.
