"What's your favorite word?" he asked, making you knit your eyebrows together, blinking at him as your mind tried to come up with an answer.
"I suppose it's vellichor."
"Vellichor: the strange wistfulness of used bookstores," he muttered making you...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
You woke up the next morning around 9 am, absentmindedly walking into your kitchen and reaching for the coffee pot. As the warm liquid touched your lips, you smiled, thinking about the man you would be seeing later.
You changed into a pair of jeans and a turtleneck, perfect for the snowy weather outside. You finished it off with some boots, throwing on your favorite necklace and a scarf before grabbing your keys and exiting your home.
You arrived at the coffee shop 20 minutes later, having it be walking distance from your place. You walked inside as your watch's dial hit 11:57 am. You didn't think he'd be here, given that statistically at your age, men often were late. But, you stood corrected as your eyes met his, him sitting in the corner booth with a book in hand.
"Hello, Mr. Carton," you joked, sitting down across from him.
"Sydney Carton?" He asked, closing the book and looking at you in confusion. His hair was slightly askew, but it looked good. He was wearing a gray sweater vest on a pale blue shirt with a gray tie. His eyes were brighter than they had been yesterday, but also deeper somehow.
"He's my favorite," you defended, looking away as you realized you were staring at him.
"Not a Darnay fan?"
"I may be a hopeless romantic for thinking this, but he deserved Lucie."
"How so?"
"Sydney is different from Darnay in that he doesn't want Lucie's hand in marriage. Instead, his only wish is to make her happy, whatever the sacrifice, even if he should get nothing in return," you explained, a silence setting between the two of you as his eyes glazed over your face, his tongue poking out of his lips ever so slightly.
"Interesting take. I got you a coffee," he said, breaking the silence and handing you a steaming cup that looked like the perfect color. You took a sip, sighing happily.
"How did you get my order perfect?"
"I saw it on your to-go cup yesterday," he muttered, making you raise an eyebrow.
"Perceptive!" you commented, making a light blush appear on his cheeks. You laughed, trying to dissipate the tension you had inadvertently created. For the next hour you discussed more of your favorite novels. Towards the end you were trying to convince him why Macbeth was the superior Shakespearean play.
"You cannot be serious," he said, shaking his head.
"Macbeth is the best, hands down. It's thrilling, keeping you on the edge of your seat. Besides, the fact that saying the name can curse a theater production adds to the supernatural."
"You believe in the supernatural?" he asked, waving his hands.**
"Oh god no, I'm a woman of science. But, it is interesting," you defended, eliciting a small chuckle from the man. "So, what is your favorite?"
"Hamlet. It's clearly the winner. 75% of all polls place it as the best work of the English playwright."
You giggled at his words, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. "Alright, using statistics is the way to my heart, I suppose I'll give you this one," you relinquished.
He smiled, messing with his watch aimlessly. "What's your favorite word?" he asked, making you knit your eyebrows together, blinking at him as your mind tried to come up with an answer.
"I suppose it's vellichor."
"Vellichor: the strange wistfulness of used bookstores," he muttered making you bite your lip. Not many people knew the word. "Good choice," he commented.
"And yours?" you inquired, locking eyes with his.
"Querencia," he replied. "The place where one's strength is drawn from; where one feels at home," he began.
"the place where you are your most authentic self," you finished. "That's another rare word I don't hear much, you must be a real bibliophile."
"It helps that I can read 20,000 words a minute," he said under his breath.
"That's amazing. So, am I going to get your name or are we going to need to go on another date before?"
"Uh, sorry, I'm Spencer."
"I'm Y/N," you replied with a grin. "So Spencer, I'm going to assume you work in academia?"
"Among other things. I often guest lecture at Georgetown."
"Interesting. I teach English Literature at American."
"PhD in English?" he asked.
"English and Psychology," you corrected. "You?"
"Chemistry, Mathematics, and Engineering," he said, making you raise your eyebrow.
"A STEM major with this much knowledge of the humanities? I truly am impressed," you teased, standing up.
He blushed again, his hands fidgeting as he copied your movements. You reached for the door. He appeared to be thinking of doing the same as your hands touched on the doorknob, a small static going through your body.
"Sorry," you both said immediately, smiling at each other. "You go first," he said, holding the door.
"Chivalrous and smart? Well, Spencer, I am amazed."
The man blushed again. It seemed that the pink flush was almost a permanent resident on his face. "Uh, can I see you again?," he asked awkwardly. You nodded, pulling out your phone.
"Here, put your number in. I'd love to discuss more novels with you." He took the phone, typing his number in, handing it back to you. "Expect to hear from me soon," you said happily, waving before walking away, your eyes fixed on your phone.
