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Joe led a very normal life, and he liked it that way. He opened his bookshop at 7am every morning, and spent the day there until 4pm every afternoon, with a brief lunch when he had enough time to take it. Some days were slow, and he spent hours upon hours organizing books and meticulously cleaning every corner of the shop before he settled down with those in old languages long since opened to pore over them and give them the sort of love they deserved. And some days were full of customers and questions and running this way and that to fetch novels or study guides or textbooks, and he loved it.
His shop was unique in that it carried a large variety of books that other shops did not. While he lovingly held to the newest novels and research books that came in, he traded more often in second-hand reads, in those that had been loved and given into his care to find new eyes to see them. But treasured most was the vintage section of his shop - those that he curated with an attention to detail that most would not find in any interaction in their lives. In fact, there was nothing Joe looked at with so much adoration as his books, as the old leather-bound tomes in languages both dead and living, as the first editions and rebound and reprinted and rare copies that he treasured and kept so carefully.
No, Yusuf al-Kaysani had never looked at anything or anyone with as much love as he looked at his books until Niccolo di Genova opened a coffee shop across the street.
The coffee was good, of course, and the pastries were delicious. But what Joe loved about the shop was the man who owned it. He loved every morning stopping in before work to order a coffee traveler, of which he kept behind his counter to hand out complimentary coffee to sleepy college students and his favorite regulars. He loved watching the sure, precise mannerisms of the man as he packaged up several of Joe’s favorite pastries and asked if there were anything else he could get him.
Every day, Joe wanted to invite him over to see the bookshop, or perhaps to go to dinner. Not much use inviting a man who owns a coffee shop out for coffee. And every day, Joe simply smiled and shook his head, and waved at him as he left.
He knew from day one that he was gone for that man.
He had a lovely view of the front of the shop from his own large bay window, situated directly across the street. He could see the customers walking in and out, and the place itself was frequented by his own patrons. Those who had spent a large amount of time in his shop would tease him about how he gazed out at it so often, or the way he would bring up the man across the street in casual conversation, but nothing would come of it, he was certain.
That is, until one quiet day, the cheery little bell above the door rang, and Niccolo stepped into his shop.
Now, Joe had no way of knowing that the other was not here for pleasantries, oh no. He, of course, hadn’t realized what it would look like were his favorite customers to wander into the coffee shop carrying Niccolo’s branded cups and happily stating they’d gotten it from the bookstore across the street. Of course he hadn’t imagined that the man in question would storm over here to start an argument over upselling his coffee.
Which, had Joe been doing, would have been fair. But as Nicky di Genova was about to find out, he hadn’t been.
Because when he entered the shop a bit hot under the collar and ready to demand an explanation, he found the soft-spoken man in deep conversation with a young woman of about college age who looked as though she’d been living on energy drinks and study notes for roughly a week. And as he stood near the front of the shop organizing his irritable thoughts into words, he watched as Joe told her to wait, and disappeared behind the counter to return with exactly the coffee he’d ordered not an hour past from Nicky’s own shop, to press it into her hand with a smile and a shake of his head. He was too far away to hear the words, but the exhausted girl flashed a grin in return, waving to Joe before she made her way out of the shop and past Nicky. And as Joe’s gaze followed her, it alighted upon Nicky, and his smile broadened into a grin as he raised his hand in greeting, beckoning him further into the shop.
“Niccolo! Welcome, come in, come in! This is your first time, I believe. Are you looking for a book?”
And of course, were Nicky not there fumbling to find a way to cover up the baseless argument he’d planned on starting, there would be no better reason than to buy a book. “I -- yes, yes, I’m here for a book,” he responded with a nod, and while he hadn’t thought it was possible for Joe’s smile to widen even further, but it did, and Nicky found himself offering the barest hints of a smile in return.
“Did you have a title in mind? I have a list of suggestions -- books I think you’d like.” He continued to speak, Nicky was sure of it, but he remained caught on his first words. Was Joe the sort of person to keep lists of books for each new acquaintance he’d made, or was this a particularly special event?
When Joe disappeared into the shelves and returned with a volume clutched to his chest like it were his own child, Nicky became aware that this was, in fact, a special book, if not a special circumstance.
“I’ve kept this one for a long time,” he began as he set the leather tome down on the counter in front of Nicky, watching him intently with dark eyes. “No one around here can read it, not that I’ve found. I thought you might appreciate it.”
Nicky’s fingers ghosted over the cover, before carefully flipping it open. An eyebrow raised as he glanced over the text there, written in fluent Italian. The book was clearly old but well-cared for, and Nicky glanced up to Joe with again, the barest hints of a smile quirking his lips. “...it’s beautiful.”
In the end, Nicky wasn’t quite certain what happened between then and finding himself back in his own shop with the newly purchased book in his possession, but that night he was up late, turning page after page of the book selected carefully for him.
The next day brought a certain foggy weariness that comes only after staying up til the wee hours of the morning, but it did not stop the way Nicky’s attention was immediately drawn to the door when Joe entered as he always did, smiling and cheerful.
“Are you enjoying the book?” He asked, rather than beginning with his usual greeting, and Nicky nodded, the soft huff of air that escaped him hinting at what could be a chuckle.
“I am. How did you know I speak Italian?”
Joe’s bright grin was sunny as ever as he laughed, shaking his head. “You uh - you talk to yourself when you’re working. It’s always Italian.”
Nicky could feel the flush crawling up the back of his neck, and could only hope it wasn’t visible to the man standing opposite him. “...ah. I -- yes, I love the book, it reminds me of home.”
“I’ve only been to Italy once, when I was a boy. I’ve always meant to go back, it’s beautiful.”
“It is.” Nicky’s voice was soft, and he found himself relaxing slightly as he met Joe’s warm gaze. “I haven’t been back in a few years, but there’s no other place like it.”
“Well, if you ever want to tell someone about it, I’d love to hear. Haven’t been traveling a lot recently, I have to live vicariously through someone. ”
Maybe it was the way Joe said it, or the open warmth in his gaze, or the fact that Nicky had noticed a peculiar feeling in his stomach when the book keeper had opened the door to enter, but he found a sudden surge of boldness, and he leaned his hands against the counter.
“Why don’t you come in on Sunday? I have some time then, I’ll tell you everything you’d like to know.”
“Isn’t the shop closed-- oh, okay, yeah -- yeah.” A laugh escaped Joe as he nodded, catching on to what Nicky was asking. “I’d like that.” He smiled as Nicky turned to grab his usual order, setting it on the counter before him. “Thanks. I’ll uh - I’ll see you Sunday then, Niccolo.”
“Nicky,” he answered, and Joe nodded, his smile never once fading from its stunning brilliance.
“Nicky. See you Sunday.”
The door closed behind him as he went on his way, leaving Nicky standing behind the counter somewhat surprised at himself. For a long moment, he simply stayed where he was, gazing across the street until the other man disappeared from his sight behind the door of his bookshop, before he shook his head and busied himself wiping down his work area. He’d finish the book tonight, so he could properly discuss it with Joe on Sunday. Maybe he’d end up spending more Sundays there if this went well.
He’d never been happier for a misunderstanding about coffee.