Her brown hair was up in a messy bun and a strand kept falling in front of her eyes. She adjusted the glasses on her nose. And her eyes did not leave the page in front of her. Her pen scribbled across the page at a rapid speed. How could anyone think that fast? Needless to say that she did not notice me watching her from behind the overly stocked bookshelf that ran parallel to the cash register.
I felt like a little kid hiding under the bed, watching something that I should not be watching. But I could not look away from her intensity and obvious obliviousness about how beautiful she looked to me. Or to any of the other people who wended their way through the serpentine stacks.
Just then a bell rang, probably from the door, and a tall, blond man snuck up to her like he knew her. Of course she would not be unattached. I watched as he crept to her unsuspecting form, and my heart fell when instead of scared or annoyed her reaction was joyful. She squealed with delight and leapt at him. He spun her around. He began talking animatedly while she covered the notebook she had been writing in only moments before.
I turned back to the shelves and half-heartedly continued looking through the disorganized collection of literary classics, although I left with nothing. A rare occurrence. I could not even bring myself to look at the desk as I walked out of the store. But I did wonder if she even noticed my exit.
BPOV
The best part about my job at Oceanside Books was the fact that it was only trafficked by people with a genuine love of books, meaning that they did not need much assistance from me. I was more than happy to help when asked, but I was definitely excited to have time to actually work on some writing of my own. It had always been my dream to write something that mattered, whether it would be poetry or prose. Today I was unusually inspired, and I wrote until I was interrupted by the best friend a girl could have. Jasper Whitlock.
Despite my attention to my work, I felt him coming as soon as he opened the door. We have always had this almost psychic connection, from infancy to adulthood. His mother and my father had been best friends throughout high school, even getting married, having children, and divorced all around the same time, and so we were always together. In grade school, they had the brilliant idea to move us across the country to Maine. His father was an abusive bastard, and my father had helped his best friend get out of a nasty situation.
Back to the present, where Jasper is telling me about this new CD that he had bought, something about the greatest rock band ever. While he continued on his spiel, I slid my notebook closed. Did I mention that he was not allowed to read my work?
"Can you pay attention here, Bella? I am talking about the most important band to come into existence since the Beatles. You've got to hear this."
I laughed. He was always so serious about some things, but his excitement was infectious, like I did not even have a choice. I became so caught up in the conversation that I almost did not notice him leave. Messy bronze hair and sad eyes. I had noticed him enter the store earlier, but had lost track of him once the muse struck. It seemed strange that he had come in and had left empty-handed.
"Earth to Bella." Jasper stood, waving his hands in front of my face. Looks like I was having another one of my internal monologue moments.
"Sorry, Jazz. That Incubus reference has got to be getting old. Seriously."
"Maybe, friend, but it always gets your attention when you're in Bella-land. I was just asking if you wanted me to grab you a sandwich before I headed to work."
"Yeah. The usual, if you please. And tell them definitely no mayo this time. Last time there was a dab of it on my bread, and I almost hurled."
"Hello classy, intelligent girl." He laughed, shaking his head.
"Yeah, I know. That's what my college education got me. A way with overly informative phrases. Hurry up with the sandwich, dear." I patted his head just like his grandmother did every holiday. And that was how we were. Nothing had ever cropped up between us in the way of romance. I think we were the only ones who thought that was entirely normal (except our parents), especially considering the vast amount of time we spent together over the years.
Chuckling, I sat back down behind the cash register, letting my thoughts wander to the man with the bronze hair and what could possibly have changed his demeanor between walking into the store and leaving so abruptly.