Maz steps out of the staff room first, her baggy cardigan getting in the way as she tries to put on her coat.
Don’t mention the mirror.
Eli follows three seconds after her, jacket on, head down, and makes a beeline for the display table.
Normal. I can do normal. Ish.
Ron stands in front of the till, his back resting against the counter, eyes on the rain outside, rolling a coin across his fingers, each flip in time with each tap of Meg’s nails on the entrance doorframe. With his apron nowhere in sight, his shirt looks far too neat to have ever been hidden beneath anything that needed tying.
“Closing time.” Meg’s voice fills the space at a volume more appropriate for a crowd of hundreds rather than for just the four of them in the bookshop.
Eli busies himself with the ‘Staff Picks’ stacks. He pushes a paperback square, and another goes with it as the empty spaces between the books start to line up.
He pauses to adjust his jacket, as if moving his chest may have sent it askew, but it hasn’t, since even his breath, if there was any to begin with, has gone silent.
I’ll align the gaps up top, level the centre ones, set apart the… What am I getting this ready for? Does it matter? They obviously need to be reordered, and at the very least the fact that they aren’t reflective is a plus.
Meg watches him continue to arrange three more books before she slaps the light switch with a loud sigh. As they sputter off, row by row, the dimness in the shop remains pretty much the same, keeping only the glow of the streetlamps through the shopfront panes streaked with rain.
Maz, still across the shop by the staff room door, locked in a stalemate with her coat sleeve, lifts her eyes.
Feeble fluorescents’ feeble gesture, which, still, is not your problem. It’s also much better than thinking about what just happened.
Meg slings her bag over her shoulder.
“Oh, come on, Eli, you can do that tomorrow or any other day, I’m not that picky. Chop chop, then, pub’s calling.”
She tosses her ponytail back.
“Unless… any one of you managed to get a hot date lined up that beats cheap booze and worse decisions?” She casts a look around the shop, aimed too high to stumble upon any of the faces.
“Didn’t think so.”
Eli slides the last book into place as the words tumble out before he can sort them.
“Wouldn’t miss watching you lose at darts, Meg.”
Meg throws him a look.
“I don’t lose. That said, if you pick a good tune, I could let you win agai–” She clamps her mouth shut.
Eli’s smile twitches to make an appearance, only to fade. It recovers with the tug of his jacket.
‘Again’? Ha. Obviously, I’ve not gone out of my mind. I’ll add that to the bunch of things I’ve forgotten. Moving… Yeah, no. “What do you mean by ‘again’?” He puts the word in air quotes.
Meg clears her throat and turns, in a snap, to Maz.
“You fancy your odds?”
Behind Meg, Eli tilts his head, his brows drawing together.
Maz shapes her face with a grin that stretches in a slant on one side and wiggles with nerves on the other.
Smile. Say something she expects. She doesn’t need to know you just spent ten minutes staring at reflections doing strange things. Or wondering about mysterious comments.
“I don’t play the games where rules happen to twist mid-throw.”
Meg tips her chin down and returns the smile with the version she paints on.
“Oh, rules never stay put, you see. Players always give them a little nudge.” She begins marching the length of the shop towards Maz, boots thumping on the creaking and warped wood floor.
Ron’s fingers carry on rolling the coin as he watches everyone not even attempting to find their way to the door.
“Rules or no rules. The Archive’s always got a tab open.” His other hand swipes the keys off the counter and into his grip.
“The owner’s a soft touch for a good story and a hopeless cause for collecting debts.”
Meg steps nearer to Maz, close enough to make her look up until their gazes meet.
“Though some debts don’t get paid with a simple coin, and stories get vengeful when you break your word.” Meg lowers her voice.
“Careful whose name you put in the margins.”
Maz holds the stare.
Did she accidentally swallow a riddle book? Leave it at ‘Meg’s just being Meg’, you’re fine, you’re always fine.
“Well, sometimes the footnotes are the parts that change everything.”
Meg’s eyes try to map Maz’s face.
Maz yanks at her trapped sleeve.
“Read some Pratchett.”
Meg barks a short laugh that becomes a quiet giggle before zipping up her coat in a single sweep.
“Come on, then. Nobody wants the weather to think we’ve forgotten about it.” She turns towards the entrance.
Ron pockets his coin and pulls on his jacket, heading for the door. When he reaches it, he pinches the edge of the ‘Closed’ sign and flips it over. He holds it there for a second and steps back.
“At this rate, we should be so lucky if the pub grants us an exit.”
Meg pulls the door open and stomps out, the bell above giving its last one-way puff for the day.
Ron catches it by the latch, without letting it swing to its nearly closed state, and steps outside but keeps a hand flat against the glass to hold the way open. He doesn’t react as the raindrops needle his face.
Eli moves from the display table to join Maz by the entrance.
Maz’s fingers touch the cold doorframe, and she notices her reflection in the glass out of the corner of her eye, making her stop and look away into the street.
Don’t check if it’s moving strangely and keep on walking. That’s all you have to do.
Eli steps in, focused on her skewed mess of a coat. The sleeve, gathered and bunched inwards, keeps her arm stuck in a fabric dead end that drags the collar down. They look up at each other. He starts working the sleeve, and she makes a noise that could be mistaken for a chuckle.
As he reaches to untangle the twisted cuff, his hand finds hers and guides it through the cuff. A sudden prickle of static runs between their fingers and startles them both.
Her hand at last meets the air.
What? That was stronger than ever.
His chest rises slightly with a breath as he keeps hold of her sleeve in a grip so gentle that it could slide off if either of them moved at all. His next inhale scrapes its way in with a rasp.
Ah, this again. Okay, not great, and I sure wasn’t running, let alone too fast, but, yeah, keep breathing, I guess.
The pattering against the windows grows louder than a usual drizzle should manage while his fingers thread through hers. He slips into a breath pattern that could argue with the rain about which sounds more ordinary.
She squeezes his hand and buries her mouth in the collar of her coat to cough.
His heart is racing. Yours too? That wasn’t there earlier. It was just his pulse by the mirror, pretty sure, or maybe you didn’t notice–
Her heartbeat jumps, making itself known, in her fingertips.
Well, you notice it now, not when you really needed to count. Perfect timing, stupid body.
Both nod to Ron in thanks and step outside hand in hand.
Ron closes the door, pulling with all his weight over the last sliver until the latch clicks into place, sending a shudder through its pane and both display windows on either side.
Eli’s eyes lock onto the pavement to avoid looking at their jittering reflections in the glass as they pass.
“Let’s learn about this clearly new pub. Again.”
Advance chapters available on Patreon now! https://www.patreon.com/TolaLone