IT’S A Friday. He plans on opening the shop tomorrow for a sort of preview before the official opening next week.
He’s spent the morning unpacking books and setting shelves. He’s sore, but it’s a good soreness, derived from hard work.
And he can’t wait anymore.
He thinks, Now, now, now.
He thinks, Okay. Okay.
He thinks, It’s time.
His hands are shaking when he closes the door to Bookworm, but he’s resolute.
He’s never wanted anything more. He’s sure of it.
He walks down Main Street, the sky so blue above, the birds chirping. People say hi and hello and how do you do? as they pass him on the street. He nods in return, not trusting himself to speak.
He pauses outside the diner. Something tugs in his chest, some ache that seems like a memory, but he doesn’t have time to focus on it now. He’s here for one reason and one reason only.
He opens the door. The bell jingles overhead.
People turn to look at him, curious at this stranger in their midst. They know of him, but they don’t know him. Not yet. They will, and soon, but for now, he’s still a curiosity. There are friendly smiles and small waves and he does his best to smile back while thinking, Oh please, oh please, oh please.
Walter’s there behind the grill. He nods his head in greeting before going back to the burgers and the fries.
He thinks, Wait. Just wait. Just—
A voice says, “I think I know what you’re looking for.”
He closes his eyes. Takes in a shuddering breath.
Finally, finally, he turns his head.
Standing next to him is a slight man. A young man. A man with messy dark hair that seems to have a mind of its own. His eyebrows are slightly bushy and his nose slightly crooked. His ears stick out just a little bit from the sides of his head, and he wonders how his shoulders can be so broad while he’s so skinny, but he doesn’t wonder about the stumbling of his heart.
He’s staring and he knows it, but he’ll be damned if he can make himself stop.
The man isn’t handsome, not by traditional standards. He’s lanky, and maybe his lips are a little thin, his fingers boney, like spindly little spider legs. He’s still growing into himself, but there is just something about him that captivates more than any other. The people in Amorea are the nicest people he’s ever met. They’ve made him feel welcome.
They’ve never made him feel like this.
Ever the wordsmith, he says, “Hi.”
The man smiles wider. “Hi. I’ve heard about you.”
“You have?” he asks, never breaking his gaze from those bright green eyes.
The man cocks his head. “Hmm. Here and there.”
“And everywhere?”
“They talk. They always talk. And apparently you’re something to talk about.”
“Yeah?”
He wrinkles his nose a little bit and says, “Yeah.”
He thinks, Oh. Oh. Oh, how I love you.