Page 6 of Claimed By the Bookstore Alpha
The walk back to my store felt surreal. Had I really just agreed to host a children's reading? My wolf was practically preening with satisfaction, which made no sense. Since when did he care about community outreach?
Since Clark Branigan walked into my life, apparently.
Saturday afternoon arrived faster than I would have liked. I'd spent the morning rearranging the front section of my store, moving the most fragile displays to higher shelves and creating a small clearing near the children's section. It still looked pathetic compared to the library's dedicated space, but it would have to do.
Clark arrived thirty minutes early, carrying a bag of supplies and wearing jeans and a sweater that brought out the green of his eyes. He looked around the store.
"This is perfect.” He made me believe it might be true.
We arranged the few folding chairs I'd borrowed from the coffee shop next door, and he chattered about which story he'd chosen and how he structured his readings. His enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself almost looking forward to what was coming.
That lasted until the children arrived.
Ten kids as promised, but they might as well have been fifty. They tumbled through the door with their bright clothes and excited voices, followed by harried-looking parents who began apologizing for everything their offspring might potentially do.
"Tommy, don't touch anything!" one father called as his son made a beeline for my rare books section.
"Inside voices, sweethearts," another parent reminded his boys who were already examining my science fiction display with sticky fingers.
I watched in horror as my quiet, orderly world transformed into something resembling a zoo.
Clark seemed to take it all in stride. "Okay, everyone, let's gather around for our story! If you find a spot on the floor, we can get started."
The children arranged themselves in a rough circle, and gradually the pandemonium settled into something loud instead of deafening. Clark held up the same dragon book he'd shown me that first day, and immediately had the kids’ attention.
"This is a story about a dragon who was a lot like Mr. Flynn here.” Clark nodded at me. "He loved books more than anything else in the world."
Every small face turned to look at me, and I fought the urge to hide behind my counter.
"Did you know that Mr. Flynn has read almost every book in this store?" Clark continued. "That's like having a superpower."
A little boy raised his hand. "Can you really read all these books?"
"Not all at once," I said and the kids giggled.
"Mr. Flynn is very smart.” Clark spoke with such genuine warmth that my heart did the same flip flopping as the day in the library. "Just like our dragon."
The reading began and I was drawn in despite my reservations. Clark brought the same energy he'd had at the library, making voices for each character and encouraging the children to participate. When the dragon roared, they roared too. And when Clark read about the dragon sharing his stories with people who might love them, his eyes found mine across the room. My insides were warm and gooey like a yummy brownie.
The kids asked questions afterward, just like at the library. But several of them had questions for me.
"Do you have any books about real dragons?" a boy with glasses wanted to know.
"What's your favorite book?" asked another.
"Are you friends with Mr. Clark now?" a third child asked Clark.
I glanced at Clark, who was watching me with an unreadable expression. "We're... getting to know each other."
The children accepted this diplomatic answer and moved on to more pressing concerns, like whether I had any books about dinosaurs. I did. And if they could come back next week. They couldn't, but maybe next month.
Parents corralled their offspring, offering thanks and promises that their children would be more careful next time. Several asked about my regular hours, and one father bought three books on his way out.
"See?" Clark said as the last family left. "That wasn't so bad."
I looked around my store. There were fingerprints on some of the lower shelves, and someone had left a juice box on my poetry section. One of my displays had been knocked slightly askew, and there were goldfish cracker crumbs near the children's books.
It should have bothered me. All of it should have sent my control freak tendencies into overdrive.
