“What did he do?”
“Built companies.”
“And you chose books.”
“Yes.”
Her smile grows slightly. “Rebellious. Love that for you.”
“I prefer the term selective.” She laughs again. This time the sound is lighter. Less forced. I realize I like that sound. Probably more than I should considering I met her five minutes ago.
She tucks the book under her arm, glancing down the aisle as if suddenly remembering something. “I should probably buy this before someone else grabs it.”
“Highly unlikely,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because no one else in this store was desperately searching for it five minutes ago.”
She narrows her eyes playfully. “You’re very confident.”
“I’m just very observant.”
“Is that why you think you can read minds?”
“Partly.”
“And the other part?”
I lean closer slightly. “Instinct.”
Her eyes meet mine. There’s a brief moment where neither of us looks away. Then she breaks the eye contact first, clearing her throat softly. “Well,” she says, shifting the book slightly in her hands. “Your instincts were correct.”
“About what?”
“That I needed this.”
She taps the cover gently. “My father used to read it whenever things got… difficult.”
The pause between those words is subtle. But I notice it. “Things are difficult right now?” I ask quietly.
She hesitates. Then she laughs lightly. “You’re very perceptive for someone I met six minutes ago.” I raise an eyebrow, “I’m timing it.”
“That’s concerning.”
“I’m invested now.” I smile softly, trying to encourage her while wondering why am I still conversing with this woman.
“In what?”
“Your mysterious life problems.”
She shakes her head slightly. “You don’t want to get invested in that.”
“Try me.”
For a moment she doesn’t answer. Instead she studies my face carefully, like she’s deciding something. Finally she sighs softly.
“My father passed away five years ago,” she says.
