Leather Bound ✓

one | petite

one | petite

     The line was nearly out of the door, wrapping around the small bookshop encased between the sweets shop on the left and the tea shop on the right, green colored and white trimmed. It made for a great location, being next to such antique shops that the towns folk had been growing up on. It made for great reviews. And it was just the type of rave the small bookshop needed as it was a new store. But the thing about small towns and old shops was that there wasn't ever any real chance of change, or want for it.

     The skepticism had been pretty harsh, people turning away with a sneaking second glance, a sneer on their face. But those raised eyebrows had been from the much older people with little knitted hats atop their white puffs of hair. All the local teens on the other hand had came by with interest, but mostly just hopeful of new gossip. They hardly picked up a book and just sort of wandered the rough bookshelves, their fingers trailing along the spines of hardcover and a few soft covered books. They hardly even engaged the owner of the store, just spun around on the cluttered floor space, a few of the old books having yet to be organized and shelved. And when they were done they politely kept their opinions to themselves, hiking up their purses and backpacks on their shoulders before leaving, the bell over the door jingling in their wake.

     It had been weeks before one curious adventurer actually picked up a book and asked to buy it, and from there the tourist had become her Father's main customer. Loyal and charming to the bone, with great dimples in his cheeks too - like the bowl shape of a tea cup, filled with so many promises and hand holding. He looked like he had warm hands to hold, all big and rough looking. Writer's hands. It probably helped that he wasn't too harsh on the eyes either, his pupils swimming in a liquid pool of shimmering gold underneath the hazy fluorescence of her father's bookshop, dusty and overcrowded from the acquired collection of books over the years. The shop may have been new, but her Father's love for books wasn't. But whatever it was that her Dad's customer had, the owner's daughter was completely and dedicatedly infatuated.

     There had been a time when she couldn't even look up when the door jingled upon his arrival, too embarrassed that he'd get freaked out by her red, blotchy, cheeks and know that she was pining after him. But he never even approached the big oak counter she hid behind, the green glass lamp that turned brighter and dimmer with just the touch of your hand casting her in shadows. He didn't even notice her, propped up on a stool, head bent in concentration as she focused solely on wishing that he'd just go on with his business and leave her be. But when he did, she couldn't help but feel a small bit disappointed, because why did he have to be such a reclusive person? Why couldn't he take a second and at least mutter a stupid hello to her so she could wonder about him at night, pale faced and pink lipped.

     With his tote bag up on his shoulder, clutched underneath his armpit, he'd walk in, face down until he was over the threshold and the door shuttered closed behind him. And for a second he'd just stand there, eyes tight around the corners, squinting at his navy colored Vans with a floral print pattern, his pant legs folded over once around his ankles, cupping his shoes where the tongue of the shoe stuck up, advertising the company logo.

     And she'd stare at his shoes along with him, eyes slowly traveling over his black skinny jeans and then his simple black cardigan over a light washed, denim colored, long sleeved t-shirt, the cuffs of both cardigan and shirt rolled up around his elbows for free movement of his hands. He was very big on brand named clothing, all from Urban Outfitters or wherever else.

     Amanda only knew about Urban because he even had stringy headphones from there, and one time, he had left them behind, sitting on the table near the far walls as he packed up and left in a rush. She had kept them safe for when he came back the next day. But when she shyly approached his table to hand them over, she couldn't even acknowledge his grunt of thank you, quickly fleeing back to her spot behind the counter. When he left her that day, it had been with curiosity. Who was she?