bookstore! Should he talk to her? Pretend not to notice her? Leave? Stay?
The questions flooded his mind in a way that made him dizzy with nervousness. He could see the top of her head making its way through the aisles and toward the back of the store. He wasn’t in the children’s section, but he was close, and at his height, it was hard to hide behind a display. He noticed suddenly that the palms of his hands were soaked, and as much as he tried to rub them on his pants leg, they weren’t about to dry out.
At first she didn’t see him. She was standing nearby at the one bookshelf they had for children’s literature, her finger running along the spines of the books, intent on what she was doing.
Wolfe thought for a moment about slipping out the other way to the front door. Then he thought he should just go up to her and say hello. But instead, he only stood there and stared, and before he knew it, he was caught doing just that.
Her eyes widened as she saw him, and the heart that pounded so heavily just seconds before now barely fluttered. He found himself holding his breath. Realizing how awkward he must look just standing there staring at her, he tried to smile. It perhaps came out more of a grimace, though, because she didn’t smile back.
He swallowed down all the organs that had seemed to push their way up into his throat and said, “Hi there.”
Her mouth hung open and her hand dropped to her side, but she recovered quickly and said. “Oh. Hi.”
Wolfe took a step forward. “So you come here often?” He barely got the question out before biting his own tongue as punishment for how cheesy that sounded.
Her face remained neutral as she said, “No, actually. I try to avoid this place at all costs.” She glanced down at the book he was holding, asif curious, then continued. “Anyway, I’m looking for a rare children’s book.” Her eyes cut to the shelf next to her. “But apparently it’s pretty tough to find any good children’s literature in this place.”
He smiled and nodded. “I thought it was pretty lucky to find Dickens here.” He held up the book. But his hands were so slippery that it fell out of his hand and slapped onto the floor. He stooped down to get it, but lost his balance and hit his head on a rack full of Cliffs Notes, knocking several onto the floor next to him.
He heard her gasp. “Oh! Are you okay?”
He gathered himself and his book and stood up slowly. “Painfully humiliated. But I hear the scar only lasts a few years.”
She looked very concerned, but then she went back to looking at books. Wolfe decided it couldn’t get much worse, so with great courage he stepped forward, causing her to look up.
“What book are you looking for?”
With apprehension she said, “It’s a Frank Baum book.” Her lips pressed together. “I don’t suppose you even know who that is.”
“Of course I do. He wrote
The Wizard of Oz
. Among other things.”
A small smile of satisfaction crossed her lips, but then it faded. “Yes, well, I’m looking for a rare children’s book he wrote called
The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus
.”
“Never heard of it.”
“That’s because it’s rare.”
“Ah.”
She swallowed as if to gather herself and then said, “Well, I shouldn’t waste my time looking here. All this store cares about—” She stopped suddenly and glanced up at him. Her eyes reflected something different than her demeanor, but he couldn’t tell what. “I’m late for work, actually, so I’d better go.”
Wolfe tried not to let his face show disappointment. “Okay. Well, good to see you.”
“Yes,” she replied, then started to walk off. As she passed him she said, “By the way, that’s a great book.” She pointed to the one he was holding.
“I know. I’ve read it five times.”
She stopped. “You’ve read
Great Expectations
five times?”
“Yes. I decided I should actually buy it instead of going to the library and checking it out every
The questions flooded his mind in a way that made him dizzy with nervousness. He could see the top of her head making its way through the aisles and toward the back of the store. He wasn’t in the children’s section, but he was close, and at his height, it was hard to hide behind a display. He noticed suddenly that the palms of his hands were soaked, and as much as he tried to rub them on his pants leg, they weren’t about to dry out.
At first she didn’t see him. She was standing nearby at the one bookshelf they had for children’s literature, her finger running along the spines of the books, intent on what she was doing.
Wolfe thought for a moment about slipping out the other way to the front door. Then he thought he should just go up to her and say hello. But instead, he only stood there and stared, and before he knew it, he was caught doing just that.
Her eyes widened as she saw him, and the heart that pounded so heavily just seconds before now barely fluttered. He found himself holding his breath. Realizing how awkward he must look just standing there staring at her, he tried to smile. It perhaps came out more of a grimace, though, because she didn’t smile back.
He swallowed down all the organs that had seemed to push their way up into his throat and said, “Hi there.”
Her mouth hung open and her hand dropped to her side, but she recovered quickly and said. “Oh. Hi.”
Wolfe took a step forward. “So you come here often?” He barely got the question out before biting his own tongue as punishment for how cheesy that sounded.
Her face remained neutral as she said, “No, actually. I try to avoid this place at all costs.” She glanced down at the book he was holding, asif curious, then continued. “Anyway, I’m looking for a rare children’s book.” Her eyes cut to the shelf next to her. “But apparently it’s pretty tough to find any good children’s literature in this place.”
He smiled and nodded. “I thought it was pretty lucky to find Dickens here.” He held up the book. But his hands were so slippery that it fell out of his hand and slapped onto the floor. He stooped down to get it, but lost his balance and hit his head on a rack full of Cliffs Notes, knocking several onto the floor next to him.
He heard her gasp. “Oh! Are you okay?”
He gathered himself and his book and stood up slowly. “Painfully humiliated. But I hear the scar only lasts a few years.”
She looked very concerned, but then she went back to looking at books. Wolfe decided it couldn’t get much worse, so with great courage he stepped forward, causing her to look up.
“What book are you looking for?”
With apprehension she said, “It’s a Frank Baum book.” Her lips pressed together. “I don’t suppose you even know who that is.”
“Of course I do. He wrote
The Wizard of Oz
. Among other things.”
A small smile of satisfaction crossed her lips, but then it faded. “Yes, well, I’m looking for a rare children’s book he wrote called
The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus
.”
“Never heard of it.”
“That’s because it’s rare.”
“Ah.”
She swallowed as if to gather herself and then said, “Well, I shouldn’t waste my time looking here. All this store cares about—” She stopped suddenly and glanced up at him. Her eyes reflected something different than her demeanor, but he couldn’t tell what. “I’m late for work, actually, so I’d better go.”
Wolfe tried not to let his face show disappointment. “Okay. Well, good to see you.”
“Yes,” she replied, then started to walk off. As she passed him she said, “By the way, that’s a great book.” She pointed to the one he was holding.
“I know. I’ve read it five times.”
She stopped. “You’ve read
Great Expectations
five times?”
“Yes. I decided I should actually buy it instead of going to the library and checking it out every
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