As much as I was looking forward to dinner, I wouldn’t mind spending some more time here as well. It had taken me twenty minutes to find Stanton’s book, which had left only a few minutes for browsing—not nearly enough.
“How about I hold these for now? I promise I won’t peek. That way, you have your hands free to browse some more,” he suggested.
The man certainly knew the right words to woo me. “That sounds perfect.”
We started in theNew Arrivalssection, chatting as we checked out the titles. “Do you still stay up to date on the news?” I asked as he flipped through Seymour Hersch’s memoir.
“Not as much as I used to, and thank god for that, but it’s a hard habit to break. I love that I have more time to read other things now.”
He ended up buying the memoir, as well as a book on the Vietnam War and one on the Stonewall Riots.
“You’re into history?” I asked as we climbed the creaky stairs to the fiction section.
“Love it. Especially queer history. It’s important to know where we came from, you know? My degree is in history, actually.”
I nodded, watching him trail his fingers along the spines of books as we walked. The way Stanton’s face lit up at certain titles was as adorable as it was recognizable. “What’s your favorite period?”
“The twenties.” He pulled out a book and showed me the cover ofThe Great Gatsby. “Though this isn’t exactly representative of queer culture back then. Have you readGay New Yorkby George Chauncey? It’s fascinating.”
“I haven’t, but I’ll add it to my list.”
We spent another hour exploring the store’s nooks and crannies. I’d never met a man who loved books as much asI did, and it was heaven. He ended up buying four books for himself. My stack counted seven books—trust me, that was on the low side for me—but Stanton insisted on paying for me. I let him, though it did make me wonder. If he wasn’t working as a reporter anymore, what did he do for a living?
We returned to Stanton’s truck, where he carefully put the books on the backseat. “Ready for dinner? I made reservations at a place that can accommodate your dietary needs.”
He was so thoughtful. If his goal had been to make a good impression, he was more than succeeding. “Thank you.”
He took me to a seafood restaurant with a stunning view of the water. And he’d been right. Their menu was very accommodating for me, with plenty of options. I chose a grilled salmon with a double portion of steamed vegetables, foregoing the starchy sides. Because of that, I allowed myself a glass of white wine.
Stanton ordered a seafood risotto and a nonalcoholic beer, which I appreciated. I’d once had to call a taxi when the man I was out with had insisted he was fine driving after three beers. No, thank you. I had zero desire to play Russian roulette with my life and that of others.
“Time to exchange our books.” Stanton rubbed his hands, and I smiled at his enthusiasm.
I handed him the book I had picked, then studied the clues on mine:
1. Words that changed the world
2. Controversial for its time
3. Beat this!
“Hmm.” I tapped my chin. That last clue had to refer to the Beat generation, the famous literary movement that had started in the forties. “Is itOn the Road?”
After all, Jack Kerouac had been its most famous proponent.
“Good guess, but no.”
I tried a few more titles but couldn’t figure it out. When I finally unwrapped it, I gasped. It was a leather-bound collection of Allen Ginsberg’s most famous poems. “Oh my gosh, I love it. This is perfect!”
He smiled almost shyly. “I noticed you have poetry posters hanging in the library…and you have a mug with theInvictuspoem on it.”
My heart melted. He’d been paying attention. “Thank you. You really found me the perfect gift.”
I hoped I’d gotten it right as well. Stanton didn’t figure it out based on the clues, but his face lit up when he opened his gift. “Oh, I’ve wanted to read this for a long time. Thank you! It definitely hits the right themes for me.”
We spent the rest of dinner discussing books, renovation projects, and our families. Like me, he had supportive parents and siblings, which I loved for him. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and I was completely captivated by his stories and his genuine interest in mine.
But there was one thing I couldn’t figure out. He’d casually mentioned he was retired, but how was that possible when he was only forty-eight?
