#bookstore reader

oh, christmas. it was your favorite time of year. no, not because of the friends and family you could see, or the surplus of food you were blessed to have. it was because it was quiet. it was the perfect time to be cooped up in the bookstore with nothing but the fire crackling and snow falling to disturb you.

the books scattered around the store had no logical flow. ever since you took over, you made it a point that none of the shelves would be arranged alphabetically or by genre. they were organized to your liking; whether that was ‘definite reread’ or ‘bad writing, but pretty cover’. you could venture the small space and find the exact book you were looking for, and that made the bookstore yours. you decorated it to your liking, too, with plants and fluffy rugs, and teacups with pens and sticky notes, so strangers could leave their thoughts in the margins of the books.

you loved customers—how each of them had a story, and a purpose, and you would personally assist them in finding a book for whatever reason. that was the allure of bookstore owning, you thought, because as much as books were subjective, these complete strangers would trust you in finding a book to satisfy the craving of their mind and soul. you could still remember most of the customers you had and what book you recommended to them. each person was distinct, most especially because of what book they ended up leaving with. a teenager was questioning their path in life for love and career, so you gave them ‘red, white, and royal blue’. for a girl who was obsessed with greek mythology, but her mom wanted her to step into more advanced books, you gave her ‘the song of achilles’. and for an older couple who wanted to relive harry potter in a different sense, you ended up giving them a very limited printed and bound copy of ‘all the young dudes’, a marauders era piece of fanfiction. but you could never forget the odd quirky brunette man who wanted sci-fi that was scientifically accurate. and you laughed at his face, then realised he was serious, and gave him a compromise, ‘origin’ by dan brown.

that man was still in your head when you thought about what books you’ve sold. he never came by again. it was possible that he just didn’t like the book, and didn’t trust your book recommendations any further, but a part of you kept hope that he did like it.

but yes, christmas was great, because all of your regulars and even passerby customers were busy enjoying the holiday, and you were left in the once-a-year quietness of the store. you used the time to catch up on your tbr, immersing yourself into fictional worlds, with breaks for coffee, tea, snow-watching, and snacks.

so when the bell of the door had jingled, the sound was heard too quickly, snapping you out of your imagination.

like a reflex, you stood up and brushed the cookie crumbs from your lap, to greet the customer who had entered.

“hi, welcome! how can i help y—” you stopped, the stranger’s features coming into the light, and you found a semi-familiar face. you hadn’t seen him in two years. somehow everything about him was the same, but so, so different. his hair was shorter now, but the same kind, interesting face was there. his eyes were the same; tired, scarred, but willing.

he seemed to recognize you too. he tried to get a word out, but you just had to ask. “origin, right?” he raised an eyebrow. “sorry?” “i sold you origin by dan brown about two years ago, yeah?”

his posture settled, as he understood exactly what you meant. “right, yeah. you still work here, huh?” he offered a half-smile. he seemed tired, and you wanted to accommodate his energy. “yeah, i do. how can i help you?” you wanted to be warm. it was christmas eve, and even if he didn’t celebrate, you were wondering why the contagious happiness wasn’t rubbing off on him.

he approached you slowly. with the odd lighting of the store, the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced. his breathing was slow, like he was taking his time. like he had nothing more to lose.

“i’m looking for a new read. anything, honestly. just need to get into it, get out of a rut.” he said it so casually, he had accepted it, and was trying to move past it.

“absolutely anything?” you asked, careful not to pry.

he pursed his lips and nodded.

you perused the store, going through each of the sectors in your cognitive map to find him something. would he need a little cheering up, or was that too forward? you wanted the book that you gave him to be just right. he was trailing you as you moved around the store, and for some reason, you were nervous. although you managed the store for years, this complete stranger made your breathing unsteady. you heard his footsteps stop behind you, and you swiveled to find him stopped at a shelf. he eyed a book on the top, a little out of his reach.

“here, let me.” you said, dragging the stepstool to pick up the book. as you stepped down, he offered his hand to help steady you, which you graciously took. his hands were still cold from the winter bite, and the warmth of your hands spread to his.

you placed the copy of the book in his hands. it was a slightly tattered, but loved, copy of the ‘narrative of john smith’. as soon as the book hit his hands, you felt the tension in his body dissipate. he clutched the book like it was somebody’s hand, and looked at it so lovingly.

you heard him take a breath and you took that as the notion to continue finding him a book. you proceeded throughout the store, glancing at all of the titles, before coming to a complete stop. he probably was following you mindlessly, because you felt his chest bump into your back suddenly.

“oh, sorry.” he said, startled.

you giggled. “no worries!”

you pulled out the exact book you were seeking. it was a small paperback version of life of pi.

his eyes widened, recognizing the book. the silence was insulated by the stacks of books near you. “i don’t know you, or what you’re going through, but this book has brought me out of ruts countless of times. so, maybe, it’ll help you out.”

“spencer.” it came out of his mouth like a whisper, but you were a good listener.

“sorry?” you asked.

“you said you don’t know me. so, uh, spencer. it’s my name. that’s a start.”

you gave a shy smile. you could hear his voice, the way he sounded like he was trying to be a little more welcoming.

“hi, spencer.” you said.

“and this is perfect, thank you.” he looked at the book, before making eye contact again with you.

you lead him to the cashier area to bag the book for him. he was still quiet, and paused to look at ‘the narrative of john smith’ again.

“would you like that book too?” you asked, curious.

“oh, no, thank you. i have two copies.”

that had a story behind it, you were sure. but maybe it wasn’t a story he was ready to share—a fresh wound that he didn’t need reopened.

“oh, okay.” you said, proceeding to the counter. he pulled out his wallet and paid quietly. you didn’t ask anything further.

you placed the book in a paper bag, with the usual personal note that you leave for the customer. you liked the quiet, but this was unsettling. he picked up the bag and gave a soft smile, and turned to leave. you picked up your book again, ready to let go of the drained interaction and start your reading again. but the bell didn’t jingle, and your eyes found spencer still standing in front of the door. you heard him exhale, and turn around.

“i’m sorry.” he said, piquing your interest. “life has been kind of crazy lately and my thoughts are really loud.”

you were caught off guard. the man was essentially a complete stranger, but with the way he was acting in the twenty minutes you analysed him, he seemed like he needed company. “spencer, you don’t need to apologise for anything. or explain anything. really.”

he sighed, relief escaping. “origin was really good, by the way.” his smile was bigger now, and he was looking at you directly.

you perked up. now this, this, you could talk about. “i’m glad you liked it! it’s definitely one of my favorite books.”

he walked towards you slowly, unsure if he should continue initiating conversation. he looked around the bookstore, finding no other people around. “not that busy, huh?” he peered behind the counter, counting the amount of books you had set out. “light reading?”

you laughed. “just the christmas reading i’d like to get accomplished. and yeah, christmas tends to be really quiet over here.”

his posture changed, becoming more comfortable. “listen, i-uh, was wondering if you had any plans today?”

you didn’t expect that at all, nor did you know how to respond. “excuse me?”

“sorry, that didn’t come out how i wanted it to.” he paused, thinking. “could i just hang out, for a while, here? you can continue reading, and i’ll be quiet, i just want to be away from reality for a while.”

your heart softened for him. there was no reason for you to reject him, too, as he presented his solid case. you contemplated for a minute, before saying without an ounce of hesitation in your voice, “of course.”

“thank you.” his voice was friendlier.

you felt the stress in your body ease. “cookie?”

his presence would only be made known when you heard his distant footsteps finding another book. it was a little frustrating—when you moved to your next chapter, he moved to his next book. you were an avid reader, so why the hell was he so much faster?

other than that, you barely noticed he was there. it came to the point where both of you were lost in your books, consumed by the words on the pages, ignoring all of reality. you forgot to switch the sign to say ‘closed’, only remembering your responsibility when the streetlights outside began to light up. you stood to switch the sign, eyes involuntarily scanning the store for the brunette.

you found him, cooped up in a corner, where his knees were brought to his chest as he sat against a mound of cushions. the stack of books he had read began to tower over him, and you couldn’t help but fall a little. who doesn’t like a reader?

“i’m getting chinese for dinner, how does that sound?” you asked casually.

he didn’t look up from his reading. “chow mein noodles and sweet & sour pork, please!” he was definitely invested in that book. “oh, and ask for a fork, thanks!”

you laughed. this did not sound like the same guy from hours before.

when you paid for the chinese delivery, you heard his footsteps move away from his corner as they crescendoed towards you. wordlessly, he picked up the bags of chinese food and followed you, bringing them to a behind-the-counter area where a table and couch were.

you slowly unpacked the food. “now i know you said you just wanted chow mein and the pork, but i felt, hey, it’s christmas eve, so a little feast would be nice, don’t you think?”

spencer’s eyes widened at the amount of chinese food you purchased. chow mein, sweet and sour pork, shrimp fried rice, honey garlic chicken, fried tofu, salt and pepper squid, and everything in between.

“you can bring the leftovers home.” you beamed at him.

he laughed a little. “that would be great, thanks.”

he sat down next to you. his hair was more disheveled than this afternoon, but there was a spark behind his eyes that you figured came from hours and hours of reading. you understood how that felt, the way books and reading could bring you back to real-life by contrarily transporting you to a separate reality.

“good reading session?” you asked him.

his mouth was half-full of the fried rice, and he answered a muffled “mhm. how ‘bout you?”

“yeah, finished two of my books. five more to go until midnight.”

he tilted his head, interested. “do you always spend your christmases reading until midnight?”

“i mean, it’s my favorite thing to do. don’t make it sound so sad.” you poked.

he nervously laughed. “sorry! i mean, me too. just in my apartment, not in a bookstore.”

you relaxed, taking off your sneakers and folding up your legs. “so what’s the change this year?”

“apartment’s a bit of a mess, i needed to get out.” he continued to put food on his plate. “thank you, by the way, for letting me stay here..and eat dinner here too. i realise this isn’t in your job description.”

you chuckled. “i like the quiet company.”

he smiled.

you continued to eat, the conversation flowing from books to careers, and eventually what was clouding spencer’s mind.

“it’s been over the acceptable amount of time to grieve, and i feel like i should be moving on.”

at this point, your hand was on spencer’s knee. he wasn’t flinching. “you aren’t obligated to move on, spence.” you hesitated. “um, can i call you spence?”

he smirked. “yeah, spence is okay.”

you continued. “what you went through is beyond..i can’t even put into words how traumatizing that must have been. you’re allowed to grieve for however long you must. we all process things at different paces. what you’re feeling is valid, spence.”

he needed to hear that.

he looked up at you, where your eyes were ready to meet his. he seemed to scramble for words, and when those weren’t enough, the tears started forming, and he tried to hold them back.

you whispered, “it’s okay.”

and that clicked with him, so the tears came pouring down as he sobbed silently. you held your arms open for him, whenever he was ready, and he slowly eased into your arms. you felt his breathing shake as he failed to steady his breath, and you fought the urge to stroke his curls. you settled your hand on his hair instead, softly and gently patting his head. he whispered into your body a billion ‘thank you’s that were unintelligible, but you didn’t need to hear it to know it.

he collected himself after a few minutes. seeing him with puffy eyes spoke levels to his vulnerability and made you feel connected to his soul. you wiped the remaining tears from his face as he returned his lips to the shy smile he was so used to giving.

“last piece of pork, do you want it?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“we can split?” he offered.

you smiled, realising the amount of progress you had made with him in only a few hours of truly knowing each other.

“yeah, we can split.”

spencer helped you clean up, transferring leftovers into containers and placing the trash by the door to be taken out later. neither of you knew what to do then.

“i should probably go, then.” spencer said, packing up his satchel and placing his books on the trolley with all the unsorted books. “sorry for messing up the store. i shouldn’t have gone too crazy with the reading.”

“no, not at all!” you reassured him. “but, uh—”

“yeah?” spencer was hopeful you would ask him what he was thinking.

“you could, i don’t know, maybe stay?”

spencer tried to hold his smile in, to which he failed miserably. “if you insist.”

for another three hours, you both sat in silence, reading. but spencer wasn’t hidden in his corner anymore. now, he was next to you, behind the counter, munching cookies silently with only the page turning to break the silence. you got used to his incessant speed-reading. and as you finished another book, you couldn’t help but compare both of your ‘read’ piles, where yours was a midget compared to spencer’s.

you felt your eyes starting to droop, and you leaned your head against the wall to rest. spencer noticed you dozing off, admiring the way you slept so contently, even if you were uncomfortable against a wall. he realised he was probably staring, but didn’t feel the need to hide it—there was no one watching him watch you. he felt safe with you, which was something he hadn’t felt in so long.

and like divine intervention, your head sleepily and slowly dropped, balancing on its side. something in spencer had registered, and he moved his shoulder closer for your head to land on. and when it didn’t quite exactly land, he gently guided your head to rest on his shoulder. you involuntarily shifted in your sleep, turning your body towards him, looping an arm through his, and shifting your body weight to your side.

he was frozen for a while in disbelief. his hand stayed still, afraid he would wake you, and he put down his book. he sat, staring at the way the snow fell and how it gleamed under the streetlight glow. for the first time in months, his thoughts went quiet.

spencer noticed the yelling of parents and children as they tooted horns and lit sparklers on the road.

“i think it’s midnight.” spencer’s voice woke you.

“hm?” you asked, comfortable with the position you were in.

he spoke softly. “i think it’s midnight, it’s christmas.”

your head lifted from his shoulder briefly, looking at the snow and commotion outside. “oh, then merry christmas, spence.” you said sweetly, before returning into your cuddled position, falling asleep so easily again.

spencer’s voice was reduced to a whisper. “merry christmas, stranger.”

read the rest of the series: athena's twelve gifts of christmas

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