Chapter 4 #2
I assume, under normal circumstances, something as mundane as inventory wouldn’t feel intimate.
But when you’re alone in the basement with an intriguing and attractive mothman, it’s different.
We’re standing side by side in front of a foldable utility table with several boxes on it, each holding a hand scanner, ready to tackle as much as we can.
“I know I said I was okay with the basement as long as it was well lit, but I might be reconsidering that,” I tell him.
It’s less warm-and-cozy storeroom and more along the lines of two-bare-bulbs-and some-tables.
It’s not dank, which would be bad for the merchandise, but it’s not a place I want to hang out, either.
With its concrete walls and general lack of furniture, the most flattering way to describe it is basic and uninviting.
“Just stay focused on the books. The faster we get everything entered into the system, the sooner we’re done.
And if that fails, remember that I’m sort of bioluminescent, so you won’t end up in the dark, even if the power goes out. Which it won’t.”
I look up in surprise. “Wait, you are?”
He flutters his wings. “Kinda? I don’t generate my own light, but I absorb the light I’m in and glow in the dark a little. Like a low-powered solar garden lamp.”
I laugh at the comparison. “That’s weirdly reassuring.
” I cut open the box of books in front of me and start scanning them into our system.
I pull out a gorgeous, leather-bound book of fairy tales, complete with an embossed cover and gilt edges.
“Wow, this is beautiful. I love fairy tales. When I was a kid, I would beg my dad to invent them for me as bedtime stories. The creepier, the better.”
“Really?” He looks bemused. “You don’t strike me as the creepy fae type. Personally, I liked the sweet ones.”
“Like what?”
“The Ugly Duckling was always my favorite.”
I giggle. “Seriously? That’s hard to imagine.”
He frowns in mock indignation. “Hey, I have range.”
“Sure. It’s just…fluffy ducks?”
“And a swan.” He shrugs. “What can I say? I guess I liked the theme of transformation. Metamorphosis.”
“Ah,” I say, as understanding dawns. “Makes sense for a mothman. I guess I just assumed you’d been into something, I dunno, more highbrow.”
“As a kid?” He raises his brows.
I set down my scanner and look at him. “Well, yeah. You give off a serious vibe sometimes. I could see you as a studious little mothboy who only wanted to read classic literature or something.”
He bursts out laughing. It’s loud, like a true guffaw. I’ve never seen him so amused. “First of all, The Ugly Duckling is a classic. It’s not weird that I liked it. Second, I was a normal kid, for the most part. I definitely wasn’t sitting around with textbooks and first editions of Dickens.”
“Nope. Don’t believe you. I narrow my eyes. “I think I’m gonna need proof. A photo album or sworn statement from a parent,” I tease.
His smile fades. “That might be tough. I don’t really have any family.”
I stand up straighter, and turn slightly as my cheeks heat, hoping he can’t see my embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“No, it’s okay,” he says gently. “You’ve seen moths in the wild, right? A caterpillar forms a cocoon somewhere and then eventually emerges and flies away to begin a new life.”
“Sure.”
“Well, it’s not so different for people like me. We’re a pretty solitary species and we aren’t raised by our parents. Typically, we find a temporary community of other mothfolk to learn survival basics. And then when we’re old enough, we go out on our own.”
He takes my chin and gently turns my head, watching me closely.
I know he can see the sadness on my face.
My mental image of him as a studious learner has been transformed into something akin to Oliver Twist. “Hey, don’t look so sad.
I didn’t have some tragic childhood. That was normal for me. It’s…nature.”
I nod, my chin still in his hand. “I understand. But it’s hard to get the image of little Spenser, all alone but for a battered copy of The Ugly Duckling, out of my head.”
He chuckles. “Believe it or not, I didn’t carry around books as a kid. My interest developed somewhat later. I was much more likely to be wrestling with other boys in the mud.” He releases my face. “Anyway, enough about all that. What was your favorite fairy tale that your dad invented?”
I think for a moment. “There was one that was really freaky. I don’t remember all the details, but it had to do with a girl who was locked in a tower with no escape.
She had been swapped with a changeling of sorts, except instead of a fairy, the changeling was her own shadow.
It was a twisted, dark version of her, and the only way she could get free of the tower was to trap her shadow in her place.
But she couldn’t figure out how, because the tower was pitch black, without any lamps or windows or candles. ”
Spenser’s red eyes widen just a tad. “What a lovely bedtime story,” he says drily. “How did it end?”
I shrug. “Can’t remember. Maybe it never did? Could be I fell asleep before Dad ever got to the end.”
“You should finish it someday. Maybe give it a happy ending.”
“I don’t see how I could. Unless the girl learns to love being alone in the dark.”
“Hey, she might. Maybe she’s not actually alone. Maybe there’s a darkness monster in the tower who loves her and they live happily ever after.” He resumes scanning his stack, and I follow his lead, trying to hide my grin. Leave it to him to find the silver lining in a story designed to be awful.
We work in companionable silence for a moment, and I realize it’s the perfect time to bring up an idea I’ve been toying with. I’ve been hesitant to say anything, because I don’t know if it’s a good idea or a bad one. But there’s only one way to find out.
I take a deep breath. Now’s my chance to be brave, and if he shoots me down, at least no one but the two of us will know. “Hey, there’s something I’ve been wanting to run by you. I’ve been waiting for a good time to mention it.”
Spenser looks up from his scanner. “What’s that?”
“I know I’m still the new kid on the block, but I wondered how you would feel about me starting and running a book club in the store?
You know, selecting a title, ordering extra copies for the club members to buy, serving some baked goods.
I’m thinking the club could meet once a month, maybe on Tuesday nights, since we’re both usually working and so is Coby.
The two of you could cover the customers while I run the club. Thoughts?” It all spills out in a rush.
I know for a fact—thanks to Agnes—that the store has never tinkered with a book club before. So if he objects, it won’t be on the grounds that it’s failed in the past.
He shoots me a sidelong glance as he scans his own pile. “Why?”
I blink in confusion. Didn’t I just explain it? “What do you mean?”
“Tell me why you want to do this. Like you said, you’re new here. I know you’re ambitious, but I’m curious about your reasoning.”
Okay, then. He is not sounding enthusiastic. I shrug and focus on my scanning. “I dunno. I just thought it was a good idea.”
“Juliet.” He steps closer and places his hand over mine, forcing me to stop scanning and look at him. “Talk to me. I’m not saying no. I’m asking why.”
I take another deep breath. If I want to do this, I guess I have to be vulnerable.
“I don’t know very many people in Harmony Glen yet.
You and the rest of the staff are awesome, and obviously so are Maggie and Gabe, but I’d like to build a bigger…
I don’t know, community here. I could use some friends.
I like baking and I like books, so it seems like a good fit.
Plus, it could be good for sales, not to mention help other people who need a bigger friend group.
I don’t really see a downside to it, honestly.
Think of it as an opportunity for Moonbeam Books to bring people together. ”
He purses his lips, thinking, and absently strokes his thumb along the edge of my hand, sending pleasant little sparks of electricity along my skin. I fight the urge to shiver. Or, you know, drape myself over him for maximum contact.
Finally, he nods. “Those are solid points. Let’s give it a shot. Put together a list of books that I need to order and we can do it on a trial basis—say, three months? If it’s successful, we’ll go from there.”
He moves his hand to resume scanning, but doesn’t step back to his previous spot, instead staying so close to me that our arms occasionally brush. The tiny sparks that I felt earlier erupt into something bigger, like fireworks under my skin.
I’ve liked Spenser since I met him, but I’m worried that I might be starting to like him. And nothing spells trouble like a crush on your boss.
Our scanners beep in unison, signaling that we need to start the next batch, and he shoots me a grin. It’s warm and friendly, and oh, no, a little bit sexy.
Yep. I’m definitely in trouble.