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When Joe walked in just after three, he greeted Anne who was stood behind the counter, doing some work on the register, and he got a small grunt in reply.
Standard. Made him smile. No sign of you, though.
Joe looked, craned his neck, but every corner of the store was empty. You were probably doing something in the back. He’d see you in a second.
Like always, he found a book, found a seat, and settled in for at least an hour of reading. He had the time today. Time to sit. Time to read. To soak up the atmosphere. To maybe kiss you again, if he was lucky. Time to notice how Anne was being more quiet than usual. To see how she was helping customers in a voice so unnatural to her own, it kind of freaked him out a little. To see her disappear into the back and come out back on her own, and…
Where were you?
He’d kissed you a few days ago. Kissed you. And now, something felt… weird. Like something was missing.
It was nearing in on 4PM and Anne hadn’t yet told him to fuck off, or whatever, so he knew something was off.
It was quiet in the store when Joe spoke up and asked, “Hey, Anne… am I going insane, or–”
“It’s your fault.” she was quick to cut him off, not even looking up from her task.
Joe frowned. What had he done?
“What have I done?”
Anne sighed and gestured a vague hand at him as she said, “Just your mere existence.” like it was obvious.
Joe thought back to all of your recent interactions. Your granddad had sadly passed away just over two weeks ago. Last week he tried cheering you up by showing you some pictures from the shoot you allowed him to do in the store. He’d kissed you then. The funeral had happened, and Anne had let Joe help out behind the till for a second and… now, you were… hiding?
From him?!
Surely not.
That was going to make this plan of sneaking another kiss absolutely impossible.
Unacceptable.
Anne watched Joe go through every single thing he’d done or said over the past few days that could’ve upset you, and then begrudgingly sighed.
“You’re such an idiot.” Anne said, before nodding her head towards the door that read personnel - the same door Joe had walked through ten seconds into his first ever visit.
Joe didn’t need telling twice.
When he stepped into the breakroom, he wasn’t prepared for how he found you.
You were sat at the table, buried in your laptop, one leg up on the chair, chin resting on your knee, and it was obvious you’d been crying. No matter how sweetly you smiled at the sight of him, it was obvious. Your face still eyed somewhat blotchy, eyes void of make-up and the delicate skin around them coloured red.
“Hey,” you didn’t seem surprised at the sight of him, at the fact that he’d just walked right into a room he technically wasn’t really allowed to be in.
“Hey, you– I’m sorry, you weren’t in the store, Anne said I could–… are you all right?”
Your smile grew as you nodded.
“Yea, sorry. Something, happened… earlier, it’s nothing,” you were quick to wave a hand, dismissing whatever had gotten you to hide in the back entirely. “I’m okay. How are you?”
Joe didn’t believe you.
Didn’t buy it for a second.
He felt like he should, because it felt like it was polite to take you for your word, but he couldn’t help the suspicious narrowing of his eyes.
“What happened?”
“Well, nothing, really. I overreacted to something and–”
“To what?” Joe interrupted, and immediately apologised. “Sorry, I… I’m sorry, I just…”
He just, what? If Joe knew, he would’ve told you, but it was not that long ago that Joe found you crying in a closed store all by yourself, and this felt oddly similar.
He didn’t like you upset.
Made him want to fix it.
“I promise I’m okay, just… it was for the best for me to not face any customers for a second, and I had to do some administrative work anyway, so…”
Joe’s eyes fell on your laptop as you gestured at it, and then he saw what was next to it.
He recognised it instantly.
The one book you’d never sell.
Was it insane to think that he knew something was missing in the storefront? That he’d subconsciously noticed that it wasn’t in its spot? On the shelf? Where it always sat?
Probably was.
“Oh, um…” you saw Joe’d noticed and laid a flat palm on the leather-bound cover. “Yea, this was,” you had to stop to swallow.
“You don’t have to tell me.” Joe quickly decided. He didn’t want to make you start crying again. He wanted exactly the opposite, actually.
“No, it’s not–” you cleared your throat and sat up straight. You didn’t want to get emotional again over such a silly thing. “It’s Anne. She sat me down here and refuses to let me do anything else.”
You used her as you excuse. You weren’t lying; Anne really had said that you could stay in the breakroom for the rest of the day. She’d man the front on her own fine. Would find you with questions but then would tell you everything was going okay and leave you on your own again. But she wasn’t keeping you there.
You were keeping you there.
“Ah. Can’t piss off Anne, can we?” Joe smirked slightly.
“I think we piss off Anne all the time.” You laughed, and it broke the tension a little.
Joe awkwardly stood in the middle of the breakroom and you were sort of glad he was there, but you wished you would’ve just been in the storefront with him. That you would’ve gotten to see his face as he’d walked in. As he’d sat down with his book. As he’d crossed his legs and let his head rest in his palm of which the elbow pushed into the armrest.
Joe was still staring at where your hand was placed, and now that you couldn’t seem to move your hand away from the big book of fairytales and folklore your granddad used to read you stories from, it felt only fair to explain why you’d gotten upset earlier that day.
“Someone tried to buy it.”
It was so stupid, because, before, when someone would climb up a ladder and find it, you would smile and just tell them, “No sorry, that one belongs to the store, I’m afraid.” and calmly take it from their hands to put it back.
Back where your granddad used to make you reach for it when you were little.
Where your mother would pluck you from a ladder and scold her father for making you climb up so high.
Where it lived.
Where it had always lived.
It had never been a problem before. People were allowed to touch it. To read it. To ask to buy it. You’d just politely tell them no, and that would be the end of it.
Not today, though.
“They caused a bit of a scene when I said they couldn’t.”
You smiled as you said it, but Joe saw right through it.
“They were right though. Why keep a book in a bookstore when it’s not for sale? It’s right in between all of the books that are… I should just, I don’t know. Keep it some place else, I guess.”
“Of course not.” Joe reacted matter-of-factly.
You’d just gone through something extremely traumatic, were still going through something extremely traumatic, and why would you listen to someone who didn’t know? Who didn’t understand?
Joe thought he barely even understood, but he understood this.
He understood the blotchy skin. He understood Anne banning you from your own store for the rest of the day. He understood why you weren’t moving your hand from your grandfather’s book that he used to read you your favourite story from.
“I hope this doesn’t sound insensitive, but… I kind of wish I’d have been here when that happened.”
Not so that he could be the hero. Not so that he could step in and tell them to maybe just accept what the store owner was telling them.
“I would’ve loved to see Anne’s face.”
That made you chuckle. Anne really was your personal guard dog, as so it turned out.
“It was a pretty great face,” you recalled, smiling to yourself. God, you really lucked out with her.
“Store’s fairly empty now, though…” Joe pointed a casual thumb over his shoulder, and you looked at the door to where Anne still was manning the front.
You took a deep breath and grimaced a little, “Yea, I know… but, I kind of… I have some things I can finish here,” you pulled your laptop towards you. “And we’re nearly closing, anyway, so…”
You had already decided this was going to be the place where you would do all of your work today, and didn’t really want to come out of hiding. You’d do that after Anne would lock up. When there wouldn’t be any chance of the bell above the door jolting you back into your anxiety. Your mouth had done enough wobbling for the day.
Joe thought for a moment. Looked at you, your laptop, your grandfather’s book, and…
“Would you mind some silent company?”
That one other time he had found you all fragile and up in your emotions, he’d just sat down right next to you, started reading a book in silence, and it had worked. He kind of wanted to give it another go. See if it would also work a second time.
“I–…” you faltered and looked at the wooden chairs around the table you were sat at. “These aren’t half as comfortable as the ones out front.”
“I asked, would you mind it?” Joe let his eyes twinkle, lips almost smiling. It made you drop your shoulders a bit as you relaxed at the idea of a bit of Joe in the break room, just for your comfort.
“No, I wouldn’t mind it.” you copied his tone, and Joe’s almost-smile turned into a big, beaming one.
“Okay, one second.” Joe said, slapping the doorframe as he passed through it, and you heard how he rushed his steps.
“Not my fault!” you heard Joe call out to Anne.
“Absolutely your fault.” Anne calmly replied.
“Not my mere existence!”
“Just your face then.”
Joe jogged back into the breakroom with a book in hands and pulled out the chair opposite you. He sat down, found his page and gave you a last sneaky little look over your laptop screen.
Then, just like before, he offered you his hand.
His hand.
Joe laid his arm across the table, wrist up, palm open, with fingers just shy of touching your laptop.
You just looked at it a moment.
Joe didn’t need to comfort you the way he had done that day, in the store, when all you could do was think about your grandfather and cry at his memories and the fact that there wouldn’t be new ones made.
A customer hadn’t been very kind to you today about something you felt sensitive about, and over an hour had passed already. You were fine.
But the gesture was sweet. Joe offered his hand for holding and even though it wasn’t needed, necessarily, it was still a nice gesture.
Kind.
Joe was so sweet. So kind. Soft and gentle and lovely.
You remembered how nice the distraction of playing fingers had been. How it had calmed you down enough for you to reveal the source of your hurt that day.
“Come on,” Joe then softly said, not unkindly, and you made eye-contact for a second. If he wasn’t going to be able to kiss you today, he could still try for the next best thing.
“I want to hold your hand.”
Just like that, it all shifted from a comforting gesture that was meant to soothe you to just a thing Joe wanted for himself. It was a bit silly how that made it easier to give in.
You reached a hand over and let the tips of your fingers touch the warm skin of his palm before they spread out and found a way to hold onto Joe’s closing fingers. They curled together best they could in their position, and when you chanced another glance at Joe, you saw the faintest hint of a smile across his face as his eyes had found his page again.
You got back to your work on your laptop, and whilst it definitely was a lot trickier to work down your to do list with one hand, it was also definitely a lot more gratifying.
You sat in the breakroom together like that until you could hear Anne carry the A-frame into the store, and where before you’d wished the day had just been over already, you kind of wished you’d get at least another five minutes with Joe.
All right.
Maybe ten.
Joe stayed put until you closed your laptop.
Joe stayed put until you got up to go back out front.
And then Joe stayed put until you walked back into the breakroom to pick up your grandfathers big leather bound book; the one book you’d never sell.
Joe watched you place it back where it belonged.
Back on its shelf where Joe remembered finding it after your grandfather asked him to go fetch him something from up high.
“Thank you.” you said looking down from you position up on a ladder, and Joe just smiled.
“Thank you.” Joe said in return, holding up the book he’d been reading before putting it down on his little ledge where he kept them.
“Thank me.” Anne dryly said, mostly to herself, from where she was doing the till.
“No.” Joe gave Anne the same smile he’d given you, and made you giggle as he said goodbye and left the store with a small wave.
“Thank you Anne,” you made a point to say it, because Anne really had been the star of the show today.
“Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.”