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Scott nervously drums his fingers on the counter by the register, then stands on his tiptoes so he can see over the book display in the front window, and checks the parking lot. Stiles snorts from where he’s restocking the cookbooks. Scott flips him off while searching for his two favourite motorcycles. The motorcycles are gorgeous, shiny and running much better than his own third-hand dirt bike, but it’s their owners he’s really interested in.
Isaac and Braeden usually come in around five every Saturday and Sunday. They browse, make small talk, buy a book, then leave. On the surface, Scott’s interactions with them don’t seem that different from the ones he has with most other customers, except that they always greet him by name when they come in, beautiful, radiant smiles on their faces. Braeden throws him winks whenever she catches him staring at her, and Isaac has a habit of turning every other sentence into an innuendo or a pick-up line. Last week, when Scott was taking inventory in the back, Stiles had called him to the front, because Isaac refused to be helped by anyone but Scott. That could just be because Isaac and Stiles had a weird feud going on that Scott doesn’t really understand, but he likes to think it was because Isaac likes him. When they’d left, Braeden had let her fingers linger on the Scott’s hand when he gave her change, and said, ‘Well see you next weekend.’
It was the first time that either of them acknowledged that their trips to the bookshop were planned, and that means something, doesn’t it?
But now, at half past five, Scott’s not so sure anymore. Braeden and Isaac have been pretty punctual so far, but now the black and yellow bikes are nowhere to be seen.
‘Maybe they just have some sort of family thing,’ Stiles tries to cheer him up. ‘I’m sure they’ll be here tomorrow.’
Yeah, Scott thinks. That’ll be it.
He spends the last half hour before closing listlessly tidying up his little space at the register. When the last customer leaves, he shoos Stiles out the door.
‘I’ll close up. You go have fun with Derek,’ he says.
‘Are you sure?’ Stiles frowns at Scott’s morose expression. ‘Well, just keep your inhaler close when you’re dusting.’
‘That was one time,’ Scott grumbles, closing the door in Stiles face and sticking his tongue out at the cheery wave his friend gives him.
After making one more round through the store to make sure everyone’s out, Scott turns up the music and goes in search off the duster and the vacuum. He has a system when cleaning. He starts at the front of the store, with all the notebooks and calendars, and makes his way to the back, checking for books that need to be restocked or have been misplaced by browsing customers as he goes. He’s counting how many copies of The Colour of Magic they still have on the shelf, when there’s a cough behind him. He jumps almost a foot in the air and presses a hand to his heart.
‘Jeez, Stiles, I didn’t you could be so… quiet,’ Scott trails off when he finds Isaac and Braeden standing behind him instead of his friend, twin smirks on their faces and bumping fists at having scared the shit out of him.
‘We’re not Stiles,’ Isaac says.
‘No. I can see that,’ Scott says, flushing a little. He really hopes he hadn’t been dancing. Or singing. Oh god, had he been singing? ‘How did you get in?’
‘The sign still says open and your door’s unlocked,’ Braeden says, pointing over her shoulder in the direction of the door.
‘Oh shit,’ Scott mumbles. He quickly walks to the front, checking for any other possible customers hiding between the stacks, then locks the door. He turns back to Isaac and Braeden. ‘So, what are you doing here?’
‘Someone,’ Braeden looks pointedly at Isaac, ‘broke our washing machine this morning, and the laundromat was a little busy.’
Isaac shrugs apologetically. ‘We figured we’d drop by to see if maybe you were still open. And we, uhm…’
‘What?’ Scott says. He holds his breath as he looks from Braeden to Isaac.
‘We wanted to know if you’d get dinner with us,’ Braeden says. ‘As a date.’
Scott grins widely. All the questions and hopes swirling around in his head since the first time the couple stepped into the store answered.
‘I’d love to. Give me fifteen minutes.’
He races to finish cleaning up, deciding to come a little early the next day to restock, vacuum and do the dishes in the breakroom. By the time he’s fumbling for his keys to let them all out of the store, he’s panting a little and his cheeks are flushed.
‘So where are we going?’ he asks.
‘Oh, we know a great Italian place. Low lighting, good food,’ Braeden says.
‘Long tablecloths,’ Isaac adds with a wink.
‘Sounds great,’ Scott smirks, delighted by the way Isaac’s eyes widen and Braeden smirks back. He finally has the door open and gestures for them to step outside. ‘Lead the way.’