Page 13 of Claimed By the Bookstore Alpha
"Much. Though I have to say, you look different too. More..." I searched for the right word. “At ease.”
"It's the home field advantage." He handed me a mug. "And the lack of people trying to sell me things."
I wrapped my hands around the warm ceramic. "The convention was a lot. But you seemed to enjoy parts of it."
"I did." Flynn sounded almost surprised by his own admission. "Mrs. Chancellor was nice. And watching you work that crowd was... educational."
"Educational how?"
He was quiet for a moment, staring into his coffee. “I wish I could connect to people as easily as you do.”
“You do when you’re talking about books."
"Books are different. They don't expect you to be something you're not."
His voice contained a vulnerability that had me wanting to reach across the space between us and comfort him. He needed a hand on his arm at the very least or a hug. Instead, I stayed where I was.
"People don't either, if you give them a chance. Most people, anyway."
Flynn looked up at me, his expression unreadable. "Is that what you think I should do? Give people more chances?"
"I think you should do whatever makes you happy. But you're selling yourself short if you think you're not good with people. You were great with those kids at the reading. And Mrs. Chancellor adores you."
"She buys a lot of books."
I set my coffee mug down on the table and turned to face him. "She lit up when she saw you. That wasn't about books. It was about you."
We sat in silence for a while, the afternoon light shifting across the walls as the sun moved lower. I studied his fingers curved around the mug and the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
"Can I ask you something?" he asked.
"Anything." Was this where he asked if I had a boyfriend? Or if he could kiss me? I didn’t think so but he was full of surprises.
"Why children's books? You could probably write for any age group."
I considered the question, trying to find a way to explain my reasoning. "Because kids still believe in magic. They haven't learned yet that the world is supposed to be ordinary. They don't question whether dragons are real. They just want to know if the dragon is happy."
His eyes were fixed on my face. "And the dragon in your story is happy?”
"He is by the end," I assured him. "Once he learns that sharing stories doesn't mean losing them.”
"Doesn't it, though?" His voice was barely above a whisper. "Connection always comes with risk."
"Everything worthwhile comes with risk. The question is whether the risk is worth what you might gain."
His eyes dropped to my lips for just a second before flicking back up.
"Clark." My name sounded different in his voice.
"Yeah?"
"I'm not... I'm not good at this. At whatever this is."
"You don't have to be good at it." I leaned closer. "You just have to be honest about what you want."
His hand was resting on the couch cushion between us and I reached out and covered it with mine. He trembled but he didn't pull away.
"I want..." His voice trailed away. "There’s so much about me you don’t know."
