"I apologize for my conspiracy ramble. I'm not used to anyone being in my nook."
I raised a brow; "It's quite all right. I'm not one to make my presence known right away." He grinned. "This marvelous collection is yours?"
He nodded and looked at his shelves, "Yes, though I rarely sell any of them. It's more like a storage shed for the ones that wont fit at home."
He took off his he helmet to reveal dark brown, almost black, hair. He ran a gloved hand through it that made it stand in every direction. He walked toward me while taking off his gloves. He extended his hand and said, "My names Michael. I haven't seen you around here before." He looked at my journal; "You're a writer."
I smiled and shook his strong, callused, hand, "Jane, I'm on an adventure, and I try."
As Michael chuckled, his deep green eyes glinted as if he knew something. It was an odd moment, and from that point on, I felt as though I had known him my entire life.
"Feel free to look at whatever you like. I need to wash this stink off me."
I thanked him as he disappeared into the back. I picked up an old copy of "Faust" and began flipping though it. I couldn't concentrate. All I think of were those eyes. I sighed and put the book back. I tried to reason with myself, to think logically. He had to be at the very least, 20 years my elder. Nevertheless, my emotions took over and I became infatuated. It happened before I realized it.
Michael wandered from the back wearing blue jeans and an old comfortable T-shirt. He smiled and said, "I'm going to make some tea. Would you care to join me?"
I hesitated for a moment then said, "I would love to." I still don't know what it was about him that made it so easy to just be myself. Michael was so easy to talk to, by the time I was done with my first cup of tea, I had told him about my entire adventure. I glanced at the clock. Three hours had gone by since we sat down.
"I took up your whole afternoon. I'm sorry."
He grinned, "Don't worry about it. I enjoy listening to new people with new adventures."
He was about to say something else when in through the door came a boy about 9 or 10 years old. He saw us sitting on the couches near the front register and hurried over.
He looked at me with an intense glare through the blonde shaggy hair that fell over his eyes then turned to Michael.
"Michael, I need your help." The boy clutched a piece of paper in his hands and looked almost worried. "We got our assignments that we're supposed to do over spring break and I got stuck with a book report on a book I've never even heard of by some dead guy."