Fifteen Minutes In A Bookstore

He suggested we peruse the bookstore as we were wont to do while waiting to go to the restaurant to meet friends for dinner. As we made our way toward his favorite section, I was playing a game where I make eye contact with passersby and smile at them to see if they will smile back. I have a high percentage return and I love to see people smile. It’s a bigger win when the smile goes all the way to their eyes.

We walked to a table boasting classics for the bargain basement price of only $7.98. I was intrigued by the colorful, gaudy covers and the pages with their shiny gold edging when he moved so close to me I could drink in the light scent of his cologne. I was immediately transported to a more intimate memory of us that made my cheeks flush momentarily. It was subtle but with the addition of my sly smile and sideways glance he caught my thought and gave me a knowing and seductive look. I intentionally moved away from him for fear my hands would betray our public surroundings.

We only had a few minutes to spend in this place. I revere bookstores and libraries with the passion of a priest for his religion. Pages turning crisply beneath my fingers give me a buzz akin to my evening glass of chardonnay. The thrill I experience at being drawn into a story with a deft description of a scene shaped by an author. I would just as soon sit right down in the middle of the aisle with my legs curled under me and keep turning pages. Propriety keeps me from doing so as I move along to the next genre and study the titles.
 

I’ve made my final selection and am unfairly annoyed at the single register that is open to serve more than its share of guests. The man at the counter is engaged in a conversation with the clerk who quite effectively describes the location of a particular magazine of interest to the patron. I’m stunned and impressed at the precise level of detail though secretly judgmental that the clerk is rather nerdy to know such a fact so readily. The elderly woman directly in front of me comments on the rack of Monopoly games to our right in a way that lets me know she is also employed by the bookstore. It must make her feel good to voice her affiliation with the store as she seems to want those of us within hearing range to know it is indeed “her store.” I glance at him and we share our silent amusement at the absurdity of her crowing.

When I’ve finally paid for my purchase and am making my way out the door I catch the inviting scent of fresh brewed coffee wafting from the little shop situated in the back of the store. I make a note to myself that I will be coming back to this place and soon. Fifteen minutes is not long enough where literature and coffee await me. And as he takes my hand to hurry me along to our dinner date I smile to myself that I had those moments with him in this place that captivates me as little else can. The man who would have happily watched me sit in the aisle and read endlessly if I had spontaneously decided to do just that.