Page 120 of Spotlight
“That’s one of my top five books of all time. Is that the original cover? I’ve never seen it in person before.” I nod toward the book. It’s an old historical romance published more than forty years ago. It’s about a farmer and a schoolteacher set in North Dakota in the early nineteen hundreds. I stumbled upon it in my high school library. It’s the book that made me fall in love with reading romance, or one of them anyway, and ever since, I’ve fallen in love over and over again. That’s one of the many great things about books.
“It was my wife’s favorite. I read it every year around this time. It reminds me of her.” He smiles in a way that transforms his whole face. “She passed away three years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I find myself taking a seat at the counter beside him. “She loved books too?”
“Oh yes. Reading was her sport, that’s what she used to say. She read two or three novels a week, always had one with her anywhere she went.” Another smile tips the corners of his mouth as if he’s picturing it in his head. “It was her idea to start a bookstore once we both retired. Of course, it took longer than planned. I was a history professor with tenure and a cozy office. We thought we’d have plenty of time.”
It’s the saddest thing anyone has ever told me, but beautiful too.
“You opened the store for her?”
“And for me. I like being surrounded by books. They remind me of her.”
That makes sense, but it’s so sad.
“And the window art?”
“A hobby of mine.” He gives me a conspiratorial glance.
“You?”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Why not? They’re beautiful. People walk by just to see it.”
“I draw for me,” he says simply.
The diner door jingles as Flynn walks back inside. I stand from the seat next to Walter.
“Do you want to join us?” I ask him. Maybe Gigi was right and he’s just lonely.
He glances back at Flynn, then shakes his head. “Thanks for the offer. You two enjoy your night out.”
“Okay,” I say, then give him one last smile.
* * *
After dinner, Flynn and I head back out to make the walk to my place. It’s late, but neither of us is tired.
“What are the odds that his late wife and I share the same favorite book?” I ask, a little dumbfounded still.
Flynn chuckles. I’ve probably said the same thing a dozen times.
“I’m not sure, but that would make a great trivia question in your bookstore competition.”
I swat at him playfully and his grin widens. I shake off the weird encounter, at least for now.
“Tell me again what your agent said.”
Now it’s his turn to wear that happy, slightly dumbfounded grin.
“She said, and I quote, ‘If you keep it up, you’re going to have so many offers at the end of the season you’ll have to wade through them.’” He chuckles softly. “Everly has a flair for the dramatic.”
“She’s not wrong though. You played such a great game tonight. Everyone is finally seeing what I knew from the second I met you.”
“What’s that?” he asks.
