Until I walked into the bookshop, I assumed it was going to be yet another normal day. Order my coffee, read my book, and then head off for my afternoon shift. It was one of those shops that sold books and coffee, trying to entice coffee drinks to buy books and readers to buy coffee.
It wasn't until I started to sit down, latte in my right hand, Interesting Times by Terry Pratchett in my left, that I saw her. She was seated several tables across from me, deeply engrossed in a book. She wore a small white t-shirt with blue horizontal lines, and a pair of cut off jeans. Her hair was mousy brown and shoulder length, slightly obscuring the retro glasses she wore. I was so transfixed by her beauty that I almost missed my seat and spilled coffee over my hand. I felt the blood rush to my face in embarrassment, but luckily she was completely unaware of my clumsiness.
While I drank my coffee, I made a pretence of reading my book, secretly stealing glances over in her direction. She seemed to be reading The Eye of the Storm, by Robert Jordan. I vaguely remember the book as involving a lot of magic, and an epic battle between good and evil.
In my mind I tried to think of an excuse to start talking up a conversation. I loved that series, how are you enjoying it? Oh, really, you enjoyed it so much that you are reading it again? Oh yes, I would like to go back to your place to make out and enjoy some heavy fondling. I shook my head, knowing that the last thing she would want while enjoying a coffee and a good book is someone trying to hit on her. So I contented with merely watching her, and drinking my coffee.
Unfortunately all too soon she was finished reading, and proceeded to leave. As I watched her go I wondered whether she would come back here again, so I could watch her and possibly muster up the courage to speak to her. Yet I knew that I would probably never see her again.
So you could imagine it was a great surprise to me that when I returned to that bookshop later during the week she was there, sitting at the same table. I thanked whatever gods that had orchestrated this, and proceeded to buy my coffee and sit down. Luckily for me this time I found my seat without any trouble or lost coffee. Once again she was sitting there with a coffee and reading the same book. And again, I pretended to read, just so I could sneak glances at her. Then a thought occurred to me. I quickly stood up, left my book and coffee on the table and walked over to the bookshelves. I searched through the shelves, and pick out the book. I took it back to my table, pulled out some scrap paper, wrote on it, then slipped it into the book, with an edge poking out. I then walked over to her table and said, 'I thought you might enjoy this,' and put down the book. I quickly turned around and walked back to my seat. She looked at me inquisitively, and then picked it up. It was The Assassin's Apprentice, by Robin Hobb. I watched her turn it over and read the blurb. Then she noticed the slip of paper sticking out. She pulled it out and carefully read it. It said, 'if you like Robert Jordan, you'll love Robin Hobb. -- Joseph'. She looked up at me again, and gave me the most beautiful smile.
And that's how it all began. Somehow we would always happen to visit the bookshop on the same afternoon, and read our own books. Every once in a while I would drop a book off at her table with a little note, and she would do the same. The notes were never long or complicated. 'I loved Robin Hobb, you should try this.' 'You looked glum today, this might cheer you up.'
Yet over time, we would end up sitting closer and closer together. It was like we were magnets, slowly drawing each other closer. Until one day I decided to sit right next to her on the same table. My heart raced as I sat so close to her, smelling her delicate perfume. At first we just smiled at each other, and continued reading. Yet I could see that she would look over her book at me, just like I was doing to her. So you could imagine the shock experienced when I felt her leg graze against mine. Up until then we had barely spoke, let alone had any physical contact. Yet the slightly touch of her leg sent electricity through my body. I was uncertain - was this an accident or deliberate? My answer soon came when she did it again, touching her leg to mine firmer, and longer, than before. I was quickly becoming uncomfortably hard in my jeans, and prayed that she didn't notice my discomfort. Taking the bull by the horns, I pulled out some paper and a pen and quickly wrote a note which I passed to her. 'Would you like to get out of here and get some fresh air?" She read the note, then turned to me and nodded.
