You can do this. Follow the script.
With each step, my heart accelerates.
Just, be normal,I tell myself, because God forbid I do something worse than knock over a stack of books again.
The space is not that busy this afternoon. There’s a cafe attached to the bookstore, where a handful of university students occupy. An elderly couple browses the central tables. Other than that, there’s practically no one.
I saunter past the centre tables, toward the bookshelves, all the while trying not to make it obvious that I’m searching for someone. I begin from the first shelf - self help books. Nope.
Then the second - history. The third, the fourth, until I reach the sixth and final bookshelf, which are the young adult books. Still, nowhere to be seen.
Disappointment ploughs into me, harsh and heavy as I weave myself out of the last shelf.
That’s when I see him.
He’s standing at the counter, serving a mother and child. Seeing him has me frozen in place. A few strands of his sandy hair must’ve broken free from the gel, because they fall over his brows. I’ve never been one to gush over hair but he makes it so easy.
The mother and child leave the counter, his eyes following them, smiling even as they’ve turned their heads.
Then, those green eyes settle on mine.
And I swear time stops.
His gaze holds mine, and I can almost sense the cogs in his head turning.
Does he remember me?
His lips grow wider. Before I know it, he’s left his space behind the counter, and is walking closer to me. I remind myself to breathe, tothink.
He reaches me, the smile never leaving his face.
I know I should say something now. A hello. Anything.
Yet, my lips part and no words come through.
Everything I’d scripted earlier, all the thinking and scheming erases itself from my mind.
He doesn’t seem to notice my nervousness though. Or maybe he pretends he doesn’t see it, to save my embarrassment.
“It’s you again,” he beams, “Though, I hope you’re not here to topple more books on me, right?”
“I - uh - no,” I manage to stutter out, before clearing my throat and chastising myself to get it together. I cover my nerves with a smile. “That was a one time thing.”
He puffs his lips, feigning mock disappointment.
“Here I was, looking forward to picking up more books you’ve tripped over.”
“I’d hate to leave you disappointed, so lead me to another good pile of books and I’ll make your wish come true.”
The banter comes easier than expected, and soon we both let out a chuckle. It’s enough to ease the weight on my chest.
The elderly couple from earlier approaches the counter, holding in their hands an Emily Henry novel, likely plucked from the Hottest New Romances piles.
“So…” bookstore boy begins, but he is cut off when the elderly man calls out, “Is anyone going to help us here?”
He turns his head, glancing at the customer, before meeting my eyes. I’d almost say he looks apologetic.
“Sorry, I’ve got to get that,” he says, and I make a cross-motion with my hands.
