Under A Paper Moon |N.H|

7

"Luke!" I call out through the store, keeping my voice in a hushed volume considering there are people floating around the area with open books in their hands. I try to make my voice heard, but still while being aware of my surroundings. I peek my head through different aisles, scanning the area further and having no luck. "Where are you?"

His voice responds, and I can't tell if he's nearby and he's whispering, or if he is further and the low volume is because of the distance.

"Back here," he says.

I follow the sound of his voice, finding him stocking up a shelf at the back of the store. I come up at his side, leaning lightly against the shelf, trying my hardest to balance my weight well to avoid collapsing the shelf until a domino effect forms throughout the store.

He peeks at me out of the corner of his eye before focusing back on the books in front of him, organizing them and placing them carefully in their respected spots based on their author, as well as their genre.

I watch him as he works, finding it fascinating. Although it seems simple, I can't keep myself from falling into a trance as I see the area decorated in novels like it's a dream I have made up when I go to sleep. Everything is perfect in here, I almost can't stand it.

He looks at me again, finding my eyes staring in front of him. He furrows his eyebrows for a moment, a confused smile forming on his lips. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to say hey," I say, standing up straight again at his side. He nods, then reaches below him for a box, grabbing the last three books into his hands before repeating the process he had just finished. "I came here to write a bit. I figured I would see you first though, let you know I was here. Do you ever go home?"

"Nope, I've got a pillow in the break room," he responds quickly, his wit being a well known trait for him.

In all the times I visited my dad when he first moved to New York and he was living with Luke, I can't remember a single time that Luke was ever home. My dad would always say, "Uncle Luke is working. He can't make it for dinner tonight, but if you would like, we can get him food and take it to his work for him."

That was always the arrangement we settled on.

I was always closer with my dad's side of the family. Maybe this was because a lot of them lived on the east coast while we lived in Arizona. I felt like I had to get close with them and work hard to maintain relationships so they weren't lost in translation across the country. But in the end, even with that distance, I always secretly favored my time with them.

My extended family on my mom's side isn't really much to begin with. They are all much older than me, but a lot of them are without kids, and if they do have children, they're not near my age. It was really only ever me and Luna for that reason. Maybe that's the reason we became so close. We were all we had.

"How many people do you have working here?" I ask another question, this time noticing how I have only seen a very selective handful of employees over the years. It's always been just Luke in my eyes.

"Enough," he responds shortly, like he's trying to be assuring. I have always told him he deserved a break or a vacation, but it runs in the family blood to be devoted to your work, I guess. None of us want to take a break even if we really deserve it. "I like being here though, up front. I don't want to be one of those owners that hides away in an office. I want to be involved. It's important for me to do that considering it's my store anyway. I want to know what's going on out here."

His explanation is thorough, almost like he crafted it that way to make sure I don't ask anything else. He means well, and I do too, I just want to make sure he's taking care of himself. "Makes sense. I just wanted to say hi. I'll get out of your hair."