Chapter Text
I took a deep, steadying breath attempting to catch the scent of unopened books before facing the customer in front of me. Her narrow face was pinched as she shook the wobbly paperback under my nose.
“This was a terrible book that you recommended,” she hissed at me, “I want my money back right now or I’m calling the police.”
I breathed deep one more time and did my best to keep my eyes from rolling. Plastering on a bright smile that didn’t feel nearly real enough to fool the woman in front of me I quickly turned on my best customer service voice.
“I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy the book, but I can definitely help you with your return. Do you have your receipt on you?”
There was a beat of silence where the woman, taken aback by my polite answer and high pitched fake voice, registered my words. Her face pinched even closer together as her eyes narrowed and her eyebrows angled downwards.
“Why the hell would I have a receipt?” She said, gesticulating wildly.
“Ma’am, you need a receipt in order to return anything to this store,” I said, exasperated, “I’m sorry, but unless you have the receipt the best thing I can do is swap out your book for a different book of equal or greater value.”
She pursed her lips and her body began to expand as the rage inside her small body began to consume her. I looked around the near empty bookstore praying to whichever God available. Hopefully they’d get the message and strike me down where I stood. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of the top of a tall man’s head. His hair was cropped and curly and his brown eyes were scrunched slightly in concentration as he scanned the pages or the back of the book I assumed he was holding. Then, as though he could feel someone watching him, he glanced up and our eyes met. It was only for a split second, but perhaps my desperation was overwhelming, and he stepped out from behind the bookshelves.
“Excuse me,” the angry woman in front of me snarled, snapping her knobby fingers at me, “excuse me, are you going to pay attention and do your job? I am not swapping this book out for another piece of trash. Either give me a refund or I’m calling the police.”
I pulled my eyes away from the tall man and focused back on the small, angry woman. Not even trying to hide my sigh and eye roll, I braced myself against the desk and smiled widely at her again.
“Let me get you my manager,” I said sweetly before pivoting and stalking to the back of the room where Matt stood sorting new releases. He looked up before I got there, probably hearing my heavy sigh and leaned slightly over to glance at the front desk.
“Another disgruntled customer?” He asked, resigned, “Jemma, you gotta stop recommending that book.”
“I can’t help that people don’t understand how great Betty Smith’s classic novel is. They should have better opinions.”
Matt glared at me for a few seconds. He still had a book in his hand, hovering over an already towering stack of literature that would eventually be arranged decoratively on the table by the front door. “You’re lucky I like you so much. What does she want?”
“A full refund --” Matt opened his mouth, “--and no she doesn’t not have her receipt on her.”
He shut his mouth and closed his eyes. He blew a gust of air through his nose and, when he opened his eyes, he was completely transformed. Now was his turn to become Customer Service Drone.
“Hello, ma’am,” I heard him say sweetly as he stepped around the counter, “Let me take care of you over here.”
He braced a hand on her shoulder blades, steering her towards a different register across the store. Mollified, the woman didn’t argue further. Maybe she was just happy not to be dealing with me anymore, maybe she was just overwhelmed by a man taking control of the situation suddenly. Either way I decided I hated her and was happy to be rid of her. I took a moment to scan the store. Thankfully, no one else had entered the store during my altercation so I stepped out from behind the register to wander the stacks. I hadn’t forgotten the tall, handsome stranger, but the promise of walking through the shelves was much greater than making even more of a fool of myself. I paused briefly in the Mysteries section to thumb through one of the latest true crime novels.
Eventually I found him perusing the Classics section. He had squatted slightly, bracing his hands on his knees obviously looking for something. Not yet aware of my presence, I took the time to study him.
Now that I wasn’t trying to fight anyone off I could see that his hair was artfully curly yet there were a few curls that hadn’t gotten the memo. Subconsciously, he reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear though there was nothing there. Obviously he was still getting used to this length of hair. He straightened, frowning, and tugged his grey sweater vest down over the top of his pants. I could see the hint of a white shirt and a deep purple tie peeking out of the top of his sweater vest. The tie matched the purple converse I could see peeking out of the bottom of his pant legs. Mumbling slightly to himself, he frowned again and squatted fully, examining the bottom row of books exposing his mismatched green and polka dotted socks. I chuckled quietly to myself.
Not quietly enough however. His eyes shot up to meet mine and he lost balance tipping into the bookshelf behind him. Several (thankfully paperback) copies of Bram Stoker’s Dracula dropped onto the top of his head.
“Oh my God, are you ok?” I said, stumbling forward to help him off the floor.
He rubbed the top of his head and pulled himself back to his feet, ignoring the hand I had held out to him.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he mumbled, picking up the fallen books, “Sorry to make a mess of your bookstore.”
I pulled my hand back in, a little crestfallen. He towered over me, at least a foot taller. Blushing slightly, he avoided eye contact. Feeling just as embarrassed as he probably did I cleared my throat.
“Oh, no worries. It’s an easy fix,” I held my hand out and he handed me the fallen books. I cleared my throat again, “Is there something I can help you find?”
He nodded, still avoiding eye contact. Instead he chose to study the bookshelf in front of him again.
“Actually yeah. I was looking for a book, but I’m having trouble finding it. I tried locating it by author, then, when that didn’t work, I tried alphabetically by title. My next thought was maybe Dewey Decimal?”
I blinked at him. “Dewey Decimal?”
His eyes met mine for one second before it skittered away again.
“Yeah. The Dewey Decimal system? It was originally created in 1876 by Melvil Dewey and introduced the concepts of relative location and relative index which allow new books to be added to a library in their appropriate location based on subject. It's a classification system is used in 200,000 libraries in at least 135 countries.” He seemed to have found a rhythm, forgetting completely where he was. “It was originally described in a four-page pamphlet, but it’s been expanded to multiple volumes and revised through 23 major editions --”
Suddenly he came back to himself, realizing he was explaining the Dewey Decimal system to a bookstore employee. He flushed again, glancing at me before focusing on the tips of his sneakers.
“Sorry. I get kind of carried away sometimes,” he said, sheepishly.
Unable to help myself, I laughed. His eyes darted to mine again and, slowly, his lips started to curl upwards.
“You don’t have to apologize,” I said, smiling back at him, “Are you in Library Sciences?”
“No, I -- uh -- actually I work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit in the FBI.” His sheepishness was back. He reached up to tuck the nonexistent hair behind his ear again, “I’m just a fan of knowledge.”
I blinked at him. He barely looked older than 30 and he worked within the FBI?
“Um -- wow, ok. That’s awesome,” I sputtered, “Well, maybe I can help you find what you’re looking for, Agent.”
“Spencer.”
“What?”
“My name. It’s Spencer.”
Once again he met my eyes briefly before darting away. I couldn’t help but smile.
“Ok, Spencer. What book are you looking for?”
His brow furrowed again as he scanned the bookshelf one last time. “Wuthering Heights.”
I scoffed, “Why?”
He looked back at me, startled. “Why?”
“That is a terrible book. You’re wasting your time reading it. I could find you ten other books that are better than that rag.”
Spencer stared at me. It was the longest his brown eyes had ever rested on my face. It was honestly a little uncomfortable. Like squinting into the sun I couldn’t keep my eyes on his.
“My mother used to read it to me when I was a kid.”
Crap.
“Oh, I mean. I haven’t read the book in a long time, so I could be confusing it with a completely different book and not the book that your mom used to read you--” God, if you are there I’m ready to die now.
“She preferred Greek Mythology,” he said, thankfully interrupting my attempt at grovelling, “I haven’t read it in a while either. I thought maybe I’d give it another shot.”
I swear I could see the glint of mischief in his eye, but before I could fully register it it was gone and his gaze had moved away from mine again.
“But I suppose I could be talked into a different book. What was the book you recommended to that woman?”
I could feel my cheeks flushing. So he had been paying attention to the register. That cranky lady, now thankfully long gone, hadn’t been quiet in her beratement, but I wasn’t sure if Spencer had been listening.
“Oh, uh, she was looking for a classic as well. A coming of age story with a good plot. I recommended one of my favorites -- Betty Smith’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.”
Spencer thought for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve read that one.”
“Oh man, you’re missing out.” Without thinking, I took off down the aisle back where I had come. Spencer, confused, followed a few steps behind. I leaned back slightly, scanning each spine quickly before I found what I was looking for. A little girl sat on a half wall, her leg dangling off the side. I studied the cover for a second before handing the paperback to Spencer. He took it and flipped through the first few pages, his finger sliding down the page. It wasn’t until he had flipped the page a couple of times before I realized something.
“Wait. Are you reading it right now?”
He looked up at me, his brown eyes taking a second to focus completely on me. He was already enthralled with the book, I could tell.
“I read 20,000 words per minute.”
“Oh,” was all I could manage. There were two more beats of silence. “Lucky you.”
Spencer’s brow furrowed. “Lucky me?”
“Well yeah, I’d kill to be able to read books that fast. You know, ‘time enough at last?’”
“Like the Twilight Zone episode?”
I laughed, surprised. “Good job! Not many people get that reference. It’s a gut punch of an ending, but aside from the whole glasses thing I’d love to have all the time in the world to read books. To read 20,000 words per minute would almost make that possible.”
He smiled at me and, for a few seconds (or maybe minutes) we stood in between the bookshelves grinning at each other like idiots. Behind Spencer, Matt stalked by the end of the aisle obviously looking for me. Catching sight of me and a tall, handsome strange man he didn’t know, Matt stopped suddenly, stumbling slightly. He caught my eye and waggled his eyebrows at me. Sensing something, Spencer began to turn and I panicked.
“So --,” I started suddenly. Spencer turned back to me, a little shocked at my sudden outburst. “So, uh, are you willing to give Betty a chance?”
He looked down at the cover and nodded, “Yeah, I think I will.”
“Great!” I said, my voice reaching dog whistle level decibels as Matt mimed making out with an invisible person. I’m going to kill him. “Let me check you out -- I mean get you checked out.”
Spencer followed me to the register where I rang him up in silence. He had already gone back to reading, scanning his finger down each page. It took him a few seconds to realize I was handing him a receipt.
“If you hate it and want a refund, please bring your receipt with you,” I said, trying to joke before he was gone.
His fingers closed over the paper, his thumb barely grazing over mine. If it hadn’t spread warmth throughout my entire body I wouldn’t have realized it had even happened. Perhaps he had felt it too because I saw him swallow hard, his eyebrows furrowing one more time before he pulled the receipt from my hands and tucked it into the book as a bookmark.
“Of course,” he said, “Though I don’t think I’m going to hate it. Thanks for the recommendation --”
He trailed off, his eyes scanning me and the desk around me. It took me a second to realize he wasn’t trying to check me out, but was looking for a nametag.
“Jemma,” I blurted out. “Jemma Hamilton.”
His lips curled into the sweetest smile I had seen from him yet. It took all I had not to melt into a puddle on the floor. Behind Spencer, Matt rolled his eyes at what I assume was the dumbstruck look on my face and mimed throwing up into the romance section.
“Thanks for the recommendation, Jemma.” He turned and pushed open the door, glancing quickly back at me before he turned and walked up the street. Matt moved back behind the register, knocking into my shoulder and shaking me out of my stupor.
“What was that?” he singsonged, knocking my shoulder again. “Who was that?”
“Spencer from the BAU,” I murmured, still watching the door. I swiped my finger over the tip of my thumb, still tingling slightly from the contact.