Chapter Text
September, 2018
A.Z. Fell & Co. bookshop was your port in the storm. It was quaint and always quiet; due mostly to the fact that the owner scared off any customer who attempted to enter. He even tried to push you out the door until he realized you only needed a space to read and had no money on hand to buy anything -- you know, college being prohibitively expensive and all.
You had found this cozy shop by happenstance, but it seemed to be fate as there was no coffee shop or café near your small apartment that was quiet enough to work in. During your first two visits, you just browsed the shelves, picked up a novel, read it for a few hours on the window seat and then put it back exactly where he had filed it before. Initially, you were incredibly worried that entering, but not buying anything would irritate him. However, you soon realized that he would prefer it if all his customers were that way. By your third visit, he finally introduced himself.
“Hello Miss. Ummm…” The white-haired man said, pulling your focus away from the novel you had been engrossed in. Something about the pitter-patter of rain mixing with the soothing scent of book pages and vanilla had taken you fully away from reality.
You blinked up at him startled, quickly offering your name with a shy smile and holding out your hand for an introductory shake.
“A lovely name indeed,” He said, taking your hand in both of his warmly. His smile was almost as bright as his hair and his eyes offered the most welcoming look you had received since moving to London. It was like a breath of fresh air. “My name is Aziraphale, it’s lovely to finally get acquainted.”
“Likewise, Aziraphale,” you nodded, “I’ve never heard that name before. It’s beautiful”
“Oh heavens, you are quite sweet,” he responded with a blush, fussing with his tartan bow tie. “Well, seeing as we have now been properly introduced, might I interest you in a cup of tea? I’d love to know more about you as you seem to be a voracious reader like myself.”
You accepted without hesitation. It had been ages since you'd made true, friendly conversation with someone else, and you were feeling starved for company. If it had been any other person, you might have been embarrassed by your eagerness, but with Aziraphale pretenses seemed unnecessary. He showed you to a small coffee table with two armchairs tucked at the back of the store. Somehow, there were already two cups of steaming hot tea set as though they were waiting for you. You thought it was odd, perhaps a bit presumptuous, but didn't dwell as Aziraphale gestured for you to make yourself comfortable. Settling into the ridiculously comfortable chair, you started by asking about his favorite authors. The conversation clipped along toward favorite genres and then favorite books. You enjoyed many of the same stories, though he seemed to find your love of The Divine Comedy amusing, which was an opinion you had never come across.
“I just think that Heaven and Hell would be much different.” He explained when you asked about the scoff he'd supplied at the mention of Dante.
“Well tell me what you imagined!”
“Oh no, it’s silly, maybe another time.” He responded, brushing off your request.
After several hours of delightful conversation, you came to learn that some of his favorite things to read were ancient cookbooks, something you never thought could be that entertaining. But he explained that he enjoyed adapting the recipes and trying them out with modern twists, which, admittedly, sounded quite fun. Inevitably, your conversation then shifted to food and gushing about the different restaurants you had been to. He gave you several recommendations to try, and before you knew it, it was ten o’clock.
“Oh my gosh,” You said, staring with slight panic at the screen on your phone. “I am so sorry I’ve stayed in your hair this long. I should let you close up shop.”
“Well seeing as I locked up three hours ago when I got up to start another kettle of hot water, I’d say you haven’t been in my hair at all.” He smiled at you with a conspiratorial wink.
“Oh – I hadn’t noticed," you responded, surprised. You couldn't think of a conversation in the last few months, or maybe years, that had taken your attention so thoroughly. “Well, I should still be getting home," You added, peeling yourself from the chair and standing to stretch your back. "I have an essay to submit. I’ve been working on it for a few weeks now, and it's due in the morning.”
“An essay?” he inquired with excitement, “Whatever is it about?”
“Oh! Well if you’re truly interested,” you gave him a fairly summarized version of your passion project. It was a bit niche, but the research made you happy. “Everyone has their own opinions, so I understand if you think it’s silly," you added quickly, not wanting to overstate your thoughts on the matter.
“My dear, that doesn’t sound silly at all!” He exclaimed, his enthusiasm filling you with quiet relief. Maybe you had finally found a friend in this new city. “I would simply love to read it – if you’d let me of course! It sounds fascinating.”
You thought about that for a moment, unable to decide if he was just encouraging you out of kindness or if he actually wanted to read your work. You even scanned his face, looking for any sign that he was lying, but his blue eyes met yours with nothing but sincerity.
“Alright,” you conceded, “I’ll bring it in once I get it back from my professor.”
“Splendid! I cannot wait!”
His innocent and unmetered enthusiasm filled you with joy and, for some odd reason, hope. He seemed a rare breed of person in the current social climate. It was not often someone was so open about themselves and truly cared about the interests of others, especially those they had only seen a handful of times and met only hours earlier. Feeling content with how the evening had played out, you wished him well and headed for the shop door. However, just as the bell chimed, he called back out to you.
“My dear, are you going to walk home by yourself? It’s dreadfully dark outside. Please, allow me to escort you.”
You turned to see him walking toward a rack and grabbing a very nice beige overcoat with sleek tartan lining. Putting your hands up to slow him, you assured, “Oh no, I wouldn’t want to impose on your evening any further. It’s just a few blocks. I have walked back at this hour loads of times. You really don’t need to trouble yourself.”
“No, no, I am a gentleman, and a gentleman would never let a lady put herself in danger.” He was not deterred by your statement, pulling on the coat and dawning a matching beige cap.
His comment was endearingly archaic, but you carried pepper spray on your keychain and felt that you were much more likely to win a fight than this portly bookstore owner. You couldn’t deny, however, that not having to walk home on constant alert sounded nice.
“Well, I suppose it would be rude of me to deny your code of ethics then, wouldn’t it, sir?” You smiled, relaxing your arms and giving in.
“Quite, mademoiselle,” he smiled back warmly, “May I?” He asked, offering his elbow.
You took it promptly and walked together back to your tiny apartment continuing the lovely conversation. Normally, you wouldn’t allow someone who was virtually a stranger to know where you lived, especially considering you lived alone, but something in your heart told you to trust him. It was the same feeling telling you that you would be visiting the bookshop much more often.