Flash Fiction

Bookstore

"I see you, you know."

A blink, then the rushed sound of a book being shoved back into place. "What?"

"You know what. You should go introduce yourself."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The shrug is almost audible. "I mean, I'm just saying. Not everything you try has to end in disaster, you know."

"My track record begs to differ."

"Not true. Just do it, okay? You'll thank me later."

"I'm sure. Look, I wasn't staring – " A slight pause, then a resigned sigh. "Okay, fine. But it was only because of the book, not – what're you doing? No, don't lean like that – "_

"Ow. What the hell?"

"What was that? That was so obvious!"

"Will you relax, it's not like anyone noticed. The Giver, huh? If you're not gonna jump on that, I will – ha. See? You are interested. And not just because of the book."

"I'm not – I mean, okay, the – the jeans. They're nice."

"Only because of those sexy, sexy legs – "

There was a muffled thump, then the crash and the subsequent hissed curse words that meant someone had knocked over one of the stacks of books.

"Oh my god."

"Shut up and help me with these, you moron. And after that you're gonna go over there and saysomething. You have to talk to people more. Start conversations."

"I started a conversation with you a year ago and look where that got me."

"You know what, I'm gonna forgive that, because you're blushing just looking in that direction right now and it's the cutest thing I've ever seen – ow. Jesus, it's not my fault." The last of the dropped books slid back into place with a finality that felt like doom. "Okay. That's the last one, now move your butt."

"But – but I'm –"

"I swear to God, if you flake out on this one too and I have to deal with you whining about it for the rest of today I'm going to kill you myself. You want to do it. Go."

"What if I screw up?"

"Your plan to avoid screwing up a potential relationship is not to let it start?"

"Um."

"Exactly. See, maybe if you listened to me more you wouldn't be having so many problems. Now, there's someone in your favorite bookstore, reading the book you're practically in a relationship with, who's cute and has great legs – fine, God, great jeans. And this shirt looks great on you, I mean, the odds are pretty strong in your favor. Plus I'll be right here even if it does all go to hell, so what else could you want? Go for it."

The last words are whispered, with a quick push to the shoulder, and then that's it. Uncertain steps that seem both too fast and too slow (carpeting underfoot that's actually a really nice shade of blue, come to think of it), and the eyes (also a really nice shade of blue. Hell. Not to mention those glasses.) that are so focused on Lois Lowry that they still haven't looked up (still time, there's still time just turn and run) –

Until they do. Have, that is. Looked up, a little inquiringly, the book lowering enough to see over but not enough that it's actually been put down (that makes sense, but it's also kinda sorta really intimidating. And attractive. For some reason). "Um, yeah?"

This was a terrible idea. How is interrupting somebody while they're reading a good way to pick them up?

A quick inhale. "Hey."

A blink, and then a tentative smile. "Hey."

"I just. I saw the book, and – The Giver is kind of my favorite book, so – "

The smile is widening. Yes. Thank God.

"Really? I really like it too. Especially the setting, it kind of fascinates me."

Oh my god, oh my god. "I know, I loved it too! Especially near the end, at that reveal about how 'Elsewhere' is just killing people, it makes the whole thing so sinister so fa – what?"

"It's...I just. I hadn't reached that part yet."

Damn it.

"I – oh my god. I'm so sorry – I thought you were rereading it, I didn't know – "

"No, no." Glasses pushed back into place. "It's fine."

It isn't fine. A toddler could tell that it isn't anywhere near fine –

The book is back up again.

An instinctive step back, and another – and then a pause, a deep breath. "I really am sorry." Quickly, quickly, don't make eye contact for too long. "I'll – I'll make it up to you."

It would be so much easier to leave, just get out already – except the book goes down again, the (perfect) blue eyes are watching with a mixture of annoyance and wariness and skepticism. "How?"

Oh boy. Okay. "Hold on." There's a shuffling sound, the rustle of pages, hands moving through the shelves. "Have you read this one?"

"The Shadow Thieves. Uh, no."

"Great. Hold on to that. Oh, and this – hey, what about A Thousand Splendid Suns?"

"Not yet – "

"Here. And – actually, you know what, there's a really good shelf over in the back where people like to stash all the good stuff, we should just go there. Come on..."

As it turns out, talking about books is easy, even to people with brown eyes and great legs, especially when they cared, too. Really easy, actually. Unexpectedly easy.

When the afternoon finally ends, it's with smiles. Names. Phone numbers. A last apology for the spoiler.

And also one text that had been sent almost two hours before –

I told you it would be fine. Next time don't hesitate so much.

***

A/N: This was my attempt at not specifying any gender while also keeping it in third person, which is why it might come off a little stilted in places. Also, in case anyone was wondering, I personally was imagining all three characters to be female, but like I said, I wanted to see if i could make it go any way.