Chapter Text
PERCY
One of the benefits of being in a college town was the steady stream of students that patronised their medium-sized bookstore, a cozy and old-fashioned establishment with olive green accents.
Mother and son duo had set up shop not long after the son started community college. The flagship university a 40-minute train ride away was known for its architecture and history programmes, generous green spaces, and recreational activities. Sally had half a mind to work her way up the city’s library system, but decided, in the end, to use their accumulated savings, along with P’s money, to open a small bookstore in the neighbouring borough.
Percy had been reluctant to work part-time, in the beginning. What business did a dyslexic kid with ADHD have in a bookstore serving such a well-educated demographic? He much preferred the crowd at his community college, where people didn’t put on airs or look at you weird for stumbling in your speech. Well, some people still did. But the college town was different, clean and put together like the preppy kids he half-envied growing up.
Sally reminded him that, disability or not, the skill of reading was open to everyone, and she had made sure he never grew up with that lack. Besides, the environment was more stable for business, barring any disruptions from the university. It was a good way to spend his afternoons and weekends.
Percy’s desire to help his mother won out. Running the floor was easier if you were already working there, anyway. He began weekend shifts at Sally’s, organising and stocking the shelves while customers browsed. The repetitive nature of the task was oddly therapeutic, coupled with the hushed atmosphere of the bookstore. Customers were mostly polite and respectful, and he grew interested in talking to them about what they were reading and why. The rhythm was good for his overactive brain. He was not one to romanticise bookstores or libraries, but spending hours handling books and answering questions about them stoked a fondness in his heart for these quiet companions, and the passion they brought out in people.
It was how, over a few months, Percy became familiar with Sally’s catalogue, graduating from inventory keeping to front-of-house. Sally realised he had a knack for engaging customers — not a retail service attitude, but a genuine attempt at connection. She had other part-timers with her, but always stationed Percy on the main floor, to make use of his charm. She liked watching him work his magic, which was simply a lack of pretense — and lots of good humour.
The day was like any other in the slow transition from summer to fall. A new semester was starting and the bookstore was gearing up for the school year. Cafes would be filled, lounges and reading nooks occupied by students from the area.
Percy was stocking bestsellers by the entrance, lining spines snug against one another. He wrinkled his nose at the abundance of white men writing crime fiction. The doorbell tinkled as a new customer walked in.
“Welcome!” Percy said, turning partially to acknowledge the newcomer.
He was about to turn back to his task, on autopilot, when he stopped.
The customer looked around the bookstore with a small expression of awe, grey eyes sharp like a blade. Blonde hair fell around her face in pretty curls. Her cheeks were tinted rose from the waning warmth outside.
Percy swallowed and turned to face the shelf. James Patterson stared back at him in accusation.
“Hi,” a voice chirped to his right.
Percy jumped, still coming out of his fog. He looked at the newcomer — for it was she who spoke — and tried not to be too disarmed by her stare.
“May I ask if you have any Ursula K. Le Guin available in-store?”
“Um,” Percy began. He remembered vaguely what his job was. “Yes, we do. Should be in the sci-fi section upstairs. Let me know if you have trouble finding it.”
The newcomer smiled. “Great, thank you so much.”
She hurried away, leaving a faint scent of citrus behind.
Percy stared blankly ahead, the books in his palm forgotten. An image of grey eyes danced in the back of his mind. Then he shook himself and resumed his work. He wasn’t usually this distracted on the job. He could still feel the remnants of his pounding heart.
Fifteen minutes later, Percy was rearranging shelves in the romance section. This was a popular genre, often the most tampered with judging from the worn covers of the books at the front. The pink, blue, and purple colour scheme made them stand out visually. He was elbow-deep in the hollows when a presence beside him caused him to look up.
“Hi again,” the newcomer said, shifting a little with unease. Her grey eyes glittered and she was holding a copy of The Earthsea Quartet.
Percy smiled. “You found it! Is there anything else you need?”
“I was wondering… if you had The Left Hand of Darkness? I couldn’t find it on the shelf.”
Percy’s brow furrowed. “I might have to check that for you.” He stood up from the lower shelves and faced her properly for the first time. “If you’re okay to wait here, I can pop in the back real quick.”
The newcomer smiled and nodded.
Percy left, the skip of his heart propelling his feet towards the backrooms.
ANNABETH
It wasn’t Annabeth’s fault the bookstore assistant was cute.
She had come into Sally’s hoping to get some new books for the semester. When it opened at the start of her junior year, she’d visited a couple of times, usually on breaks and weekends. She liked the bookstore because it resembled an old library, all darkwood shelves and warm lighting. The interior never ceased to impress her, especially when she had been gone for a while. She hadn’t paid much attention to the part-timers on duty, but it seemed like a pretty sweet gig, at least for retail. She had been a sales assistant before and knew the fatigue of interfacing with customers, selling items neither of them really cared about.
So when she walked in and was greeted by green eyes and floppy hair, a dimpled cheek, her guard went up. His hospitality was sweet, if not a little amusing. She wondered if he really cared about his job like that.
When he stood up to meet her, Annabeth caught a whiff of the ocean — salty air, a hint of metal. She didn’t find this strange, though the beach was at least a 2-hour drive away.
Waiting for him caused her to fidget, and she started regretting asking him for help. She could have just come back another time, gone to another bookstore. She didn’t need the book that badly.
Just then, Percy — she’d read his name tag — appeared from behind the cashier, waving a copy of The Left Hand of Darkness. His grin did not quell Annabeth’s nerves.
He walked up to her and handed her the book. It had a frayed corner and smelled of wood shavings. There was some distance between them, but she could see his dimple and dark lashes.
“Would you like to pay for those?” he asked, gesturing to Annabeth’s books.
She seemed to come back to herself. “Oh, yes, please.”
Humour flickered in his eyes. Annabeth had to suppress the urge to run. They headed to the counter, which stood empty.
Percy rang up her order and asked, casually, “Only Le Guin this time?”
Annabeth blanched. “Yeah, I’m trying to save money.”
“Do you come here often?”
“Um, I wouldn’t say so. The campus library has most of what we need, so I only come here to buy books I want to own, or annotate.”
There’s that smile again. “You’re a fan of Le Guin?”
Annabeth watched as Percy took out a bag and started packing her books.
“I’ve been a fan of her work since I was a teenager. I struggle with reading, but learned to love it by spending time with her essays, then her poems and fiction.”
Annabeth had no idea why she was telling him this. For a moment, she panicked, the fear of rejection seizing her throat. She didn’t dare meet Percy’s eyes.
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that. I’m dyslexic, so I struggle with reading, too. Totally cool that she taught you to love books.”
Annabeth’s heart stuttered, then started up again, as she looked up at him. His gaze was sincere.
“Here,” he pushed Annabeth’s purchase across the counter. “Thanks so much for coming.”
Annabeth hovered, for some reason thinking he wasn’t finished. His gaze fell, hesitant.
“May I…” Percy murmured. Green eyes on hers. “May I know your name?”
Annabeth let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She burst into a shy laugh.
“I’m Annabeth.”
“I’m — ”
“Percy,” she interrupted, nodding at his name tag.
He looked down and blushed. “Nice to meet you.”
Annabeth mirrored his smile. “It’s a pleasure.”
As she turned to leave, Percy added, “Hope to see you again.”
She nearly tripped on her way out.
That summer, the bookstore had been especially busy receiving tourists and patrons from out-of-town.
The girl who had her blonde hair in a braid liked to sit in the armchair by the window, next to the History and Architecture sections. It was easy to get lost in the blur of people coming and going, but she happened to be reading while the boy, son of the bookstore owner, was working the floor. Twice they found each other’s orbit, and on the third, he noticed her. It was a kind of gravity, perhaps, or a kind of intuition. Circumstance as much as coincidence. We tend to notice the people who stay. Her brow creased in concentration, one leg folded under the other. A pencil was tucked behind her ear, companion to the highlighter she used to mark up her book.
The third time, he almost asked what she was reading, but he didn’t want to break her focus. The third time, a shimmer of dark hair and green eyes in her periphery.
He wondered when she would return.
She wondered if summer would ever spell beginnings and not endings.