I only mean to duck inside a shop to escape the rain. Though I like it, I don’t like getting wet, especially when I have to walk back to my apartment soaked through.
After all, I am a woman, and nowadays, it couldn’t be helped that there might be perverts lurking around. It’s too exhausting minding my own business while surveying the surroundings at the same time.
The store has a crooked charm, the sign above the door is half-erased, and my phone just died mid-map while I was using it to try to walk towards this apparently trendy place in a forgotten corner.
In the end, I didn’t even get to it, sabotaged by the sudden rain that wasn’t in the forecast earlier. I checked.
The bell above the door chimes like a sigh even though I had abruptly opened the door in my haste. Inside are warm lights, rows of books, dried flowers in vases positioned everywhere in the store, and dust motes floating in still air. It is quiet, the sort where silence is peaceful instead of deafening. It feels old, ancient even. The kind you might probably read described in a historical text. It looks like a place that shouldn’t exist in a city this modern and loud.
And behind the counter, someone is sketching in charcoal.
The guy looks up. And stares.
Not in a rude way, exactly. In a caught-off-guard-by-how-interesting-your-face-is kind of way.
“Uh,” I can’t help but start, trying to make sense of the suddenly awkward atmosphere. “Hi?”
He looks handsome, in a non-disarming type of way. It feels like the more I look, the more regal he seems. And he fits in with this type of atmosphere despite his somewhat soft features.
I rarely ever see handsome people. They aren’t exactly popping up everywhere. The good-looking genes are not spread so widely, unfortunately. Turns out some of their type hide in hidden places. Hallelujah.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” the man says. His voice is to die for. It isn’t that deep, but the slight hint of rumble mixed with the deep and rich tone scratches a very nice itch in my ears. I can listen to him all day. A shame he isn’t using his voice to good use. He should try broadcasting.
I blink.
Wait, what did he say again? I wasn’t supposed to be here? The tone isn’t accusing - more puzzled. Like he’s trying to solve a riddle mid-sentence.
“I get that a lot,” I deadpan, brushing my wet hair off my forehead. Having short hair during rainy season is a blessing. “Is this not a store?”
“It is. But most people can’t… find it.”
That I can understand. This isn’t exactly an easy spot. I did not even notice this place until it rained and I was desperate enough to duck inside without knowing anything about it.
Good thing, too. Just the man himself makes this trip worth it, even if I haven’t reached my intended destination and got caught in this sudden rain.
“Well, my map has a stroke and I follow a black cat.” I shrug. “So. Either I’m cursed or very lucky.” I’m not lying, either. I followed a black cat as the animal itself seems to be looking for somewhere. I see it climbing up this specific store to the rooftop, so I just went inside since the rain was getting heavier.
Now that i think about it-- Thank you, cat deity. You made me find such a fine man.
That makes the man laugh - a quiet, honest sound. “Bit of both, maybe.” He then offers his hand. “Kieran.”
“Eli.”
We shake. My hand is damp. Kieran doesn’t seem to mind.
Something buzzes faintly nearby, like static in a radio, then fades. Kieran tilts his head, looks at our hands, then back to my face again. “Weird.”
“What is?”
“Nothing. Just… your jacket zipper.”
I glance down. I’m not wearing a jacket. I have a T-shirt on, and it had gotten a little wet from the rain. “I… didn’t realize I’m wearing a jacket. You okay?”
Kieran smiles, like he’s collecting himself. He looks even more handsome with it. Why are his teeth so white? “Yeah. Just a little off today.”
I take my eyes off him, fearing he might see through my expression about my thoughts. I glance around. The neatly arranged books, the few tables and chairs, the decoration arrangements. The place looks cozy. The atmosphere itself is appealing. If permitted, this might be added to my list as one of my favorite places. “This place is… cool. Smells like stories.”
“You’re good at metaphors.”
“Only when I’m nervous.”
… I did not mean to say that. I need a mouth filter.
Kieran grins, and dammit, how come he looks even more breathtaking? “So I make you nervous?”
This is it. Fake it till you make it. I can’t lose face in front of a handsome fellow. Just say anything.
But then I stare at him, and he looks so genuine I decide not to lie. It’s not really worth it. So I raise a brow. “A little.”
“Good.”
My heartbeat accelerates. Damn heartbreaker. He’s good at banter. I couldn’t help but grin. He does the same. His eyes look like they’re shining, though I chalk that up to the excellent lighting of the store. But it’s mesmerizing, and I can’t help but look at him some more. He doesn’t seem to mind it. He even chuckles. I give an innocent look, my grin slowly turning into a smile.
I’m usually reserved with strangers, especially with guys. It’s just an automatic reaction as a woman. But Kieran gives me such a reassuring feeling that my nerves can’t help but relax.
Then the bell above the door chimes slightly, ruining the unexplained moment. No one enters, though. I blink rapidly, the reassuring feeling slowly settling into calm. I can’t help but frown slightly at that. I miss Kieran’s eyes flicking toward the door - brief tension - then back to Eli with practiced calm.
“Well,” Kieran says, “feel free to look around.” He gestures towards the shelves all around the store. “This is a store, after all.” He gives a very light smirk.
“Oh. I wouldn’t have noticed if you didn’t tell me, Mr. Obvious,” I couldn’t help but quip with a smirk of my own. He smiles at me widely.
“Let me know if anything… calls to you.”
I chortle. “Hopefully not literally.” Despite the cozy atmosphere, if this place slightly darkens their lighting, it has the potential to quickly give an eerie atmosphere.
I’m not above thinking there’s a ghost here. I don’t like ghosts, even if I haven’t seen one before.
He chuckles but doesn’t say anything. I leave the man there at his counter and make my way toward the nearest shelf, trying very hard not to look like I’m still thinking about him with his beautiful eyes and dreamy voice just behind me.
I fail. How come he is able to so easily disrupt my mind? Though I like watching handsome and pretty people, they don’t usually make me linger on them.
Whatever. I have dignity.
Somewhere.
The first shelf I pass is filled with books that surprisingly look older than anything I would normally dare to touch without gloves. Their spines are faded, some titles barely visible beneath years of wear. I am shocked at how such precious gems of books are so well preserved and are just sitting there right in the open. I’m surprised they have not been snatched away by anyone to be preserved in a museum or the hidden libraries of universities.
I tentatively run my finger along the edge of one of the books, curious as to what it contains before stopping myself.
Nope.
I am not going to be the woman who accidentally destroys an ancient book within five minutes of entering a bookstore. My professional sensibility cringes at the very thought of it.
Though I’m very curious how he manages to do it and even lets it be a part of his merchandise to be sold, I know perfectly well it is not my business to pry, especially when we are just perfect strangers at the end of the day.
Instead, I move to the next shelf.
These are more familiar.
History. Travel. Folklore. Old literature. A few books about architecture and art.
I pull one out.
A History of Forgotten Places.
The cover is plain, dark green, with gold lettering that has almost completely worn away.
I flip through it.
Interesting. Very interesting.
“Finding anything good?”
Kieran’s voice suddenly comes from behind me.
I turn.
He’s no longer sitting at the counter. He is standing a few steps away, a sketchbook tucked beneath one arm.
“I think so.”
“That’s usually a good sign.”
I hold up the book I was reading. “This one looks interesting.”
He glances at the cover, pauses, then gives a tiny nod.
“That one’s good.”
“You’ve read it?”
“A few times.”
I raise a brow. “A few times?”
He shrugs. “I like history.”
“You’re a bookstore owner who likes history.”
“I suppose that makes sense.”
“Suspiciously sensible.”
He laughs.
There it is again. That laugh.
I’m beginning to understand why people probably forgive him for things.
“You don’t seem like someone who’d like history,” he says.
Yes, I don’t. But this one seems interesting. It is unlike any history books I have ever read. For one, it’s not dry. But I’m not about to tell him that. So I divert by looking down at myself.
“Is it the wet shirt?”
“Mostly.”
I stare at him.
He smiles.
Oh. So he’s going to be like this.
“I’ll have you know,” I say, putting a hand against my chest, “I have a very scholarly appearance.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
“I wasn’t complimenting you.”
“I accepted it anyway.”
His smile widens.
I feel my heart skip a beat. Oh no, I can feel heat slowly creeping into my cheeks. Quick! I need a distraction!
I return my attention to the book before my face starts betraying me again, before he can see it.
The pages smell old. Not unpleasantly old. More like paper that’s been sitting somewhere quiet for decades.
I skim through the chapters.
Abandoned villages. Forgotten settlements. Places swallowed by forests. Old roads that no longer exist.
There’s something oddly comforting about reading about places that have disappeared. Maybe because disappearing seems easier than keeping up with everything.
I’m being dramatic. I shake my head and turn another page.
“Do you have a favorite section?” I ask him casually. After all, he has already read this book. Kieran leans slightly against the shelf beside me.
“The chapters about places people stopped remembering,” he promptly answers. I glance at him with a raised brow, intrigued by his response.
“That’s oddly specific.”
“I like the idea that a place can exist even when nobody remembers it.” He looks entirely relaxed yet serious. I study his face for a moment. He doesn’t seem to be joking.
“That’s depressing.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re supposed to sell books, not make people existential.”
“I’ll put up a sign.”
I laugh quietly.
“You should.”
He smiles again, and I can’t get over how good he looks with that. I’m such a sucker for good-looking people, and I realize this weakness of mine is very potent with this man. What a tragedy. I’m being conquered by his handsome face, and he can even banter and make me forget that we are actually just strangers.
There is a brief silence between us. He looks at me for a second longer than necessary. Then he nods toward the book.
“You can take that one if you want.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred.”
I blink.
“Two hundred?”
“Yeah.”
I look at the book again.
It looks like it should cost more than that. Though it does not look like those on the first shelf, this book in my hand is also old and very well preserved. Uncannily so. Just the age and state of it could fetch a good price for this. I would estimate it should be around 700-1,000 Cru.
“Is that normal?” I ask in confusion.
“For this one.”
“You have suspiciously reasonable prices.” So suspicious it makes me want to buy more.
“I’ll try to be more expensive next time,” he tells me dryly. I can’t help but grimace.
“Please don’t. I’m already financially irresponsible.” What a pity for these books to go expensive next time I come. I want to buy more of these at the same reasonable price, even if it feels like I am ripping him off. He laughs again.
I close the book against my chest.
“Okay. I’m keeping this.”
“Good choice.”
Kieran’s smile disappears as he watches her go. Then he glances down at his closed sketchbook and opens it up to the latest used page.
He hadn’t meant to draw Eli. But there she is, sketched in soft charcoal lines - before the door even opens.
TBC.
