Page 20 of Bear and Book

Windows cracked open, sunlight spilling in, dust motes drifting lazily through the beams.

Elias was behind the counter, bent over a stack of hardcovers, his brow furrowed. He didn’t look up at first, which gave me a few precious seconds to take him in.

The sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair fell forward when he focused, the quiet concentration that made him seem like the rest of the world barely existed.

“Brought provisions,” I announced, stepping carefully around a pile of boxes and holding the bag aloft.

That got his attention. His head came up, eyes narrowing like he was suspicious of my motives, though I swore there was a flicker of something softer underneath.

“You know you don’t have to keep feeding me,” Elias said.

“Sure I do,” I countered, setting the cups down on the counter. “You’d skip meals if left to your own devices. This way, you don’t have to. Croissants from Bear and Bun. Still warm.”

He eyed the bag like it might explode. “And coffee?”

“And coffee,” I confirmed, pushing one toward him. “Made sure it’s exactly how you like it. Black, no sugar. Even though that’s kind of a crime.”

His mouth twitched.

“I don’t need my coffee to taste like dessert,” Elias pointed out.

“That’s where you and I are very different,” I said, tearing my croissant in half and taking a bite. “I like a little joy with my caffeine.”

He shook his head but reached for his cup, wrapping his hands around it like the warmth was worth tolerating me for.

We settled into a rhythm after that. I went to work tightening the last bracket on the shelf I’d been fixing yesterday.

Elias sorted through a stack of paperbacks that looked like they’d been rescued from a particularly dramatic attic collapse.

The quiet between us wasn’t awkward. It was companionable.

Every so often he’d mutter something under his breath about a misprinted cover or a missing dust jacket, and I’d throw in a quip just to see if I could coax another almost-smile out of him.

About halfway through my coffee, I asked, “So how’d you get into this line of work? Always dreamed of owning a dusty bookstore in a tiny town?”

He gave me a look. The kind where his eyes did most of the talking.

“Not exactly. I used to work with rare books in the city. Auctions, appraisals, that sort of thing,” Elias said.

I whistled. “Fancy.”

“It was different,” he said, his voice quieter now, the words careful. “I was good at it. Knew how to find the right buyer, how to spot a fake. But then…”

He trailed off, his gaze sliding to the window. “Then Jason wanted out of the city. Said it was too crowded, too expensive. Said small-town life would be better for us both.”

The way he said the name Jason was enough to tell me it wasn’t just some casual acquaintance. Irrational jealousy surged through me but I stuffed it back down.

I kept my tone gentle. “So you went with him?”

“I always went with him,” Elias said. “Did what he wanted. Figured it was easier that way.”

His fingers tightened around his cup. “It’s not a good habit, letting someone else make all the decisions for you,” Elias added.

I wanted to ask more. What happened, why it ended, if Jason was the reason he seemed so guarded now, but I didn’t. Not yet.

He’d told me enough to feel like a door had cracked open, and I wasn’t about to slam my foot in it. Instead, I leaned back against the counter, sipping my coffee.

“I get it. I mean not the rare books part. But the whole leaving-behind-what-you-know thing? Yeah. Been there,” I said.