Hi everyone! This was originally posted as part of my one-shot collection, but I decided to expand it into its own three-part story. The original prompt was: AU - Mileven meeting at a bookstore. Setting is still the '80s, but Mike & El are in their mid-20s. Enjoy!


Mike slammed the stack of books down on the counter, coughing as a cloud of dust swirled up in their wake. He glanced at the attendant, a guy about his age named Dan, who he'd gotten to know pretty well over the three years he'd been coming to the used bookstore. Dan leaned across the counter and looked down at the box by Mike's feet with a weary expression.

"This just the first batch?" he asked, gesturing to the books in front of him. Mike nodded. "You're lucky you're a regular, Mike. You know it's usually a 10-book maximum drop-off per visit."

Mike had started coming to Maple Street Books to write; it was always quiet, with just a few tables and mismatched chairs scattered between the creaky wooden stacks. He found he got his best work done there, surrounded by hundreds of novels, textbooks, essay collections and more, each with a storied history that preceded his own.

Mike sighed, lifting a few more books from his box. "I know, and I really appreciate it. I'm procrastinating today."

The truth was, procrastination was a generous term: he had full on writer's block, the worst it had been since the final stages of his first novel. Now that he was approaching the end of his second, he wondered if it was going to become a pattern for the rest of his career.

It would've been fine if he wasn't putting so much pressure on himself this time around. His first book, a science fiction tale about small-town kids caught in the wrath of a supernatural being from a nearby government lab, had done pretty well for its limited release. The publishing house, at least, had thought it successful enough to offer Mike another book deal. Riding the high of having actually been published in the first place, he'd accepted it immediately.

But the plot he'd woven in the past few months was much more complex, and darker in a way that had been more emotionally taxing than he could've ever expected. Plus, at the encouragement (read: strong suggestion) of his agent, he'd thrown in a romantic sub-plot, which was turning out to be the thing giving him the most trouble. Probably because of your nonexistent love life, he'd thought more than once, dejected. Either way, Mike was banking on this novel to be the one to push him into the big – or at least bigger – leagues; something that might allow him to quit his monotonous lab tech job and focus on writing full time.

That was the dream. But right now, the reality was that he needed to get out of the house and go somewhere comfortable and familiar, where he could hopefully shake off the writer's block – and if he couldn't get anything on the page, he could at least support the store by giving back in the form of donated literature.

He pulled out a couple more books, heaving them onto the counter. He paused afterwards, catching his breath for a moment. God, I really need to start going to the gym. He was about to dip back into the box when he noticed a woman standing next to him. She must've sidled up slowly, because her presence nearly startled him. He watched as she tilted her head to the side and frowned, reading the titles on the spines of the books Mike had just plunked down.

"Excuse me, are these for sale?"

She propped her forearm on the counter, raising an expectant eyebrow at Dan, who had his back turned, having already begun organizing the books Mike had given him.

"Oh, uh, no. Well, not yet – he's just dropping them off," he said, twisting around to point at Mike.

The woman turned to follow Dan's gaze and when her eyes landed on Mike, he fought the urge to flinch for a second time. She was utterly beautiful.

She was about a foot shorter than him, and he had to tilt his head down to look into her soft hazel eyes. Her friendly smile was framed by short brown hair, and Mike looked in what was probably an embarrassing stupor as she reached to tuck a honey-hued strand of it behind her ear.

She was dressed in a large faded jean jacket and an olive-green turtleneck that made the hazel in her eyes glint in a way that rendered Mike speechless. He watched the woman's expression change to one of confusion and he blushed deeply, realizing he'd let the expectant silence go on far too long.

"I… well – you – do you want one?"

It was far from the suave sentence he'd been forming in his head, but something about her mere presence made him return to middle school-level shyness. Not that I've ever been good at talking to pretty girls, Mike thought fleetingly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dan frown. "I thought you were donating these, Mike."

Crap.

"Well, I mean – I technically haven't given these ones over yet," he said, scooping the most recent stack of books back toward him.

"Mike, that's not how – "

"Which one were you looking at?" Mike piped up quickly, trying to calm his breathing.

The woman reached toward where his arm was resting, accidentally brushing the top of his hand, and he felt himself shudder. Keep it together, you wasteoid.

"This one," she said, lifting up his copy of The Shining.

"Oh, nice! You can totally have it – I have another one at home. My sister gave it to me for Christmas, even though I already had one. Which totally wasn't her fault, she didn't realize – I mean I'm a huge Stephen King fan so I alwayspre-order his new novels, so there's no way she would've known. But oh, man, The Shining! Unbelievable. Definitely one of his best so far, I mean if you know him at all, you know that – "

Something in Mike's brain urged him to come to a screeching halt when he saw the amused half smile the woman was now wearing. He cleared his throat, flushing a deep crimson. For God's sake, what the hell is wrong with me?

"So it's good, then?" she asked, and Mike wasn't sure if she was poking fun at him.

"More than good. It's amazing. Scary, at times, but the writing, it's – it's so intricate, and… beautiful," he trailed off, hoping it wasn't obvious that he clearlywasn't talking about King's words with that description.

She only smiled, turning the book over to read the back cover. Desperate not to let the moment pass, Mike reached for another book from his stack.

"But before you read that, maybe you should start with this one," he said, handing her his copy of King's Carrie – another accidental repeat Christmas gift.

She met his eyes again. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, it's his first novel, and honestly – "

"Sorry, Mike?" Dan cut in, sounding exasperated. "I'm going to help the next customer, okay? I'll just leave these here."

Mike only nodded, sure that Dan could tell he was already flustered.

The woman looked up at him again. "I mean, if you were going to donate these, I can pay for them. I wouldn't want to – "

"No, no please," Mike interrupted, waving his hand in an effort to seem nonchalant. "I want you to have them."

There was a hint of curiosity in her smile this time, like she was trying to figure out what his generosity was for. "Well, if you're offering… are there any others you'd recommend?"

The request put Mike at ease. If there was one thing he could talk about with full confidence, it was literature.

They stood at the counter for the next twenty minutes, Mike rifling through the box of books he'd brought and giving what he hoped were riveting plot summaries for the ones he thought she'd be interested in. And the woman – who eventually introduced herself as El – spurred him on, asking thoughtful questions, listening intently and even laughing at some of his lame jokes.

Finally, after Mike had piled about six books in her arms, El insisted it was enough, that she wouldn't be able to carry any more in the basket on her bike. Mike took that as a chance to offer to help bring them out with her; the idea of their conversation coming to an end was nothing short of devastating, even though they'd only just met.

They walked out of the store together, Mike following El to the side of the building, where a turquoise bike with a large wicker basket was resting against the wall.

"How often do you come here, by the way? I've never seen you before," Mike said as she packed the books into the basket.

"I've only been a few times," El replied. "But I really like it. It's a great place. Kind of… inspiring."

"Do you write?" Mike asked.

"Me? Oh gosh, no… I'm not very good with words. But I love reading."

"It doesn't seem like it."

"What, that I love reading? I basically just stole a bunch of books from you," she said, laughing.

"Oh – no, I mean it doesn't seem like you're not good with words. You're very… well spoken," Mike said, cringing at how awkward the compliment sounded.

He noticed El blush a little. "Oh… thank you."

There was a pause as she grabbed her bike off the wall and steadied it. His heart racing, Mike plucked up the courage to say the words he'd been painstakingly forming in his head since they left the store.

"So, um, assuming you're going to start reading one of those books right away, I'm already curious to know what you think," he said, clearing his throat. El eyes were warm, alight with something, and he took it as a cue to keep going. "So I was thinking maybe… we could meet here next week, and you could give me your review – or reviews, if there's more than one."

Mike readied himself for the sting of rejection he'd become sadly accustomed to over the years, but without missing a beat, she replied, "I'd love that."

"Really?" Mike blurted before he could think.

She laughed a little as he tried to regain composure. "Yes, really."

"How about in the afternoon… around 2?"

"It's a date."

Unable to help it, Mike broke into a full-on grin. A date. A date! But before he could think of something not completelyembarassingto say, El reached up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. It was only a split second; her soft lips on his skin, her silky brown hair tickling his jaw, her small hand placed gingerly on his elbow.

"See you Sunday, Mike Wheeler," she said, stepping back.

Mike was frozen in place, the simple action having left him dumbfounded. By the time he snapped out of it, El had climbed onto her bike and was starting to pedal away.

"Wait!" he called, and she whipped around. "How did you know my last name?"

She paused, placing her feet on the ground. Despite the distance between them, he could see she was smirking to herself. "I recognized you, from your author photo at the back of The Lab. I told you, I love reading. Especially sci-fi."

And before Mike could process her words, she was off, pedaling into the fading evening light.

He could hardly believe it. She knew who he was, had read his book, and, by the sounds of it, enjoyed it. A girl like El had liked his book – and he was going to meet up with her again, at the place he'd written most of it. Hit with a certain burst of energy, he started for home, smiling to himself and shaking his head every so often. A thought he never imagined he'd have sincerely came to him after a while: Thank you, writer's block. He didn't have the end of his novel yet, but he had a date. A date with El, he thought, and in spite of himself he broke into another grin.