“That’s neat,” I said.
“This is the third book in the series he’s signing today. I have the first two if you’d like to read them.”
“I think I would.”
“Cool, always nice to have a new covert.”
“That’s a joke, right?” I asked, making sure.
“Intentional hyperbole.”
“Just checking,” I said.
“Very wise.”
As we wove through the store, there were displays of the author’s books placed in strategic places. I picked one up and started reading the description. The book was called June Awakening, and it quickly made sense as to why.
“Wow,” I whispered when I was done.
“I know, right?”
“How is it I’ve never heard of this guy?”
“Most people haven’t, except for those who have. It’s one of those examples of being popular in with a cult following. Kind of like Heavy Metal or so I hear. You’ll find a lot of people who say they hate it, yet the Wacken Festival in Germany attracts 80,000 people. At least that was the crowd when my brother’s band played there.”
It was one of the few cases I’d come across in which the author’s photo did justice to the reality. The coal-black hair tied back in a neat ponytail and deep, dark betraying a very old soul, belied by black jeans and T-shirt, Wolf Birch looked like Trent Reznor in his prime.
“Hello, pretty lady,” Wolf said as we came up to the table.
“Hi,” I said, not realizing he was flirting with me my attention too much on Chris.
Birch signed our books without looking, keeping his smoldering gaze on me. Despite Chris’s failed attempts to get his attention. Finally, we moved on with our books letting the line shift forward.
“Well, that sucked.”
“What did?” I asked.
“All that time in line just to be ignored.”
“He was distracted by my chest,” I said.
“Well, I guess he is only human,” Chris said, his own gaze drifting down to my boobs before flitting quickly away.
Once again, Chris insisted on paying for the freshly signed books. He still looked a bit on edge as we left, so I retook his hand and led him across the street to a boutique coffee shop.
“What do you like?” Chris asked, pulling out my chair for me.
“London Fog,” I replied.
I got out the book as he went to get into the line. I knew I should have gone, Chris seeming to have issues with crowds, but he had insisted. When he came back with a London Fog for me and hot chocolate for him, he looked like he had been through a war zone.
“Thanks,” I said when he set the mug down in front of me.
A grunt was the best I was able to get out of him. I put my hand on his. He flinched a bit but didn’t pull away.
Chris looked down at my hand and then up at me. “I’m okay,” he said.
“Okay,” I said, slipping my hand away.
We started to read. I just couldn’t wait to get through the first two books to see what was going to happen the synopsis of the current novel just being too thrilling. We were both silent as we read. Though it was the good kind of silence. It felt like we were connecting without the need for words.
We were still reading when the coffee shop started to close. It was one of the independent ones that opened early and closed at 5:30.
“Would you like to go back to my place?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said.
Switching things up a bit, it was Chris who took my hand as we walked, the daylight dimming around us. Though there was something different about it. It was a bit more urgent like he was holding onto me for security or something.
Jeepers was at the door as he usually was, too busy investigating Chris to complain about whatever sin I may have committed before leaving. Deciding he approved of the strange man in his house, Jeepers started rubbing up against Chris’s legs, purring as loudly as he was able.
“Jeepers, I presume,” Chris said, looking down at the affectionate kitten.
“Brilliant, Holmes!”
We curled up on the couch, Jeepers hopping up next to Chris, who was his new best friend, and we kept reading. It wasn’t a very big couch, and I couldn’t really tell if Chris was comfortable with our proximity. Though if he wasn’t, he didn’t let on.
In an instance of cosmic coincidence that left both of us speechless for a moment, we finished our books within seconds of each other.
“What did you think?” I asked, somehow missing the tears in his eyes. I couldn’t blame him, really. It kind of choked me up too.
“It was… wow,” Chris said, wiping the tears away.
“Sadder than the Red Wedding?”
“I wouldn’t go quite that far but close,” Chris admitted.
“Yeah,” I said.
It was strange the effect fiction could have on you. Mainly if it was really well done. There had actually been studies done on the connection between reading fiction and the development of empathy.