Once Upon a Date - Susan Hatler Page 0,23
smell of old books. Biblos means books, obviously, and ichor is something about blood running through the veins of the gods. Anyway, I read about it once and it stayed with me. That’s what you were noticing, right?”
“Yes . . .” I wondered how this man, who I hadn’t seen for almost a decade, could come back into my life and read my thoughts so well.
The owner of the store came hurrying over and introduced herself as Hilda. She was an older woman with long, gray hair and thick-rimmed glasses. “My dears, you must be freezing. Please, come and sit by the heater to get warm.”
“Thank you,” Brooks said, slipping his arm around me.
“I’m afraid it’s not the ambiance of a fireplace because . . .” She swept her arm around to indicate the thousands of books which would burn in minutes. “But the heater will still warm you up and hopefully go a long way toward drying you off.”
We followed her through a labyrinth of bookshelves until we found ourselves in a quiet corner of the store, right at the back, where an electric heater oscillated slowly back and forth, sending out a gentle wave of heat. Two oxblood leather chesterfield chairs sat in front of the heater, angled so that they were half facing each other, a low mahogany coffee table to the side so as not to block the heat.
This corner of the store was my idea of heaven.
“Let me get you something to warm you, a coffee perhaps, or a hot chocolate? I always keep something in the back . . .” Hilda hurried away before we had a chance to refuse, leaving us standing facing each other.
Brooks grinned. “It’s like—”
“Being back in high school?” I finished, because I’d been thinking the same thing. Some of our happiest times had been spent in bookstores and libraries when we were teenagers, and almost all of our dates had ended up in one or the other.
Sometime during the course of the next two hours, Brooks had migrated to the floor in front of my chair, the way he always had, and was engrossed in Catcher in the Rye, a book he’d read many times in school. I, on the other hand, was curled up in my chair, reading Little Women, delighting (as I always had) in the adventures of Jo, Meg, Beth, and Amy. I absentmindedly played with Brooks’ hair, which had dried in curls around his neck. I was finding out that this man was a hard habit to break.
“I’m very sorry, but I need to close up now.” Hilda’s voice made us both jump, and I was amazed (and a little embarrassed) to see that we had been sitting in this store for more than two hours. It was as it had always been with Brooks, me, and books. We would get lost in each other and the stories we were reading, and time would just fly.
Brooks jumped up from the floor and pulled me gently to my feet. As I yawned and stretched, reluctant to leave the warmth of the heater, I could hear Brooks and Hilda talking and laughing. I slipped my feet back into my blue shoes, and joined them as they stood at the door.
Thanking the woman profusely for her kindness, we stepped outside into the early evening, which was now thankfully dry. I yawned again.
“Bored?” he asked, with a chuckle.
“Not at all.” I shook my head as we strolled down the sidewalk. “In fact, I was so comfortable and relaxed that I could’ve stayed there all night,” I said, noticing his hand had found mine again. I stopped walking and turned to face him. “Thank you.”
He looked down at me, his eyes twinkling. “For what?”
I stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “For the best non-date ever.”
“You’re welcome. And . . .” He handed me a paper bag that I hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding in his other hand. “I hope you will like this memento of our best non-date ever.”
“What did you do?” My heart rate kicked up as I opened the bag. I pulled out the copy of Little Women, which I had been reading. I looked up at him with tears in my eyes. “That’s . . . the most romantic gift I’ve ever received. Thank you.”
He smiled and draped his arm around my shoulders, the way he had done ten years ago. But as we began to walk again, I spotted something that made me stop