Dimitri Belikov is twenty-five and it's not that his life feels stagnant… it's just… that.
He feels as though his soul has grown dusty, hidden away on a shelf like all the books around him. He longed to pull himself off the shelf, brush the cover, and start anew. But for what?
By now, stagnancy is his routine.
The bell hanging from the door tinkles for the fifth time that day. He nods his head up, unseeing, "Welcome to Belikova's."
Silence.
Of course. In this day and age, it was rare that anyone paid any mind to a shopkeeper. It was all about cell phones and making the interaction as short and painless as possible. He gets it, really.
When his family had first opened the bookshop, fresh to the country in his last year of high school, he was crippled by his own anxieties. Having never spoken English outside of his language class back in Russia, working in the store had offered him the respite to bridge that gap.
He had started stocking shelves, answering any odd question that may come up from patrons, but usually just reveling in the quiet comfort. Once he was confident, he graduated to working the register. From then on, it was his time to grow up.
Truly, the real secret to his success was the books.
He had started off reading his classic favorites, side by side with the Russian copies he had brought with him from home. Any time he stumbled over a word, he had his own version to rifle through, comparing each sentence as best as he could. Yes, each copy had its own variations from language to language, but it helped him get the gist of it.
War and Peace. Anna Karenina. He could bury himself in Tolstoy and almost forget the distance between him and his homeland.
The third book he tried was a local recommendation.
Dimitri hadn't quite known how to fit in when his family first arrived in Missoula, Montana. It was still a decently small town, though the University had built it up over the years, and he suspected the only reason they were so well-received was because of Olena's warm, generous way of making everyone feel like they were part of the family.
While stocking the shelves one morning, Dimitri had been approached by a man who looked as though he probably felt more at home on his ranch than in the clean bookshop.
"Excuse me, kid," he asked in the pseudo-southern drawl of Montana, interrupting Dimitri in the cookbook section. "Could you help me find a book?"
Dimitri stood, brushing his hands off on his pant legs. "Yes, sir. What genre are you looking for?"
"You must be one of Olena's children," the man proposed. "The accent is a dead giveaway, and there seems to be quite a few of you running around."
"Yes, sir," Dimitri repeated.
"And manners to match. I was looking for a western. One of Louis L'Amour's books."
"That wouldn't happen to be a best seller would it?" Dimitri asked as he led the man out of the cooking and self-improvement aisle.
"No," he chuckled. "L'Amour would've been dead when you were just a young boy."
Dimitri nodded in understanding, steering left, further into the store where they kept their tiny western section nestled between supernatural and adult fiction.
"Which book are you looking for specifically?" he asked the man.
"Hondo. It's his best. You ever read one of his novels?"
"No, sir. I've mostly just been reading Russian novels." He found the spot on the shelf where one copy of Hando was placed and handed it over.
"With everything that's available to you here?" The man sounded incredulous, turning the book over in his hand. "Can I give you a recommendation, son?"
Dimitri tried not to flinch at the nickname. His own father had never earned the right.
"I suppose, sir."
The man reached onto the shelf, perusing the titles before plucking a book off and handing it to Dimitri.
"Last of the Breed by Louis L'Amour," he explained. "I figure it's a perfect starting place. It's set in Russia."
Dimitri laughed and the two of them soon parted ways.
He'd finished the book and moved on to another from the author by the end of the week.
Even now, old western books are his favorite, with language simple enough to calm his exhaustion after a long day and awaken his soul with some adventure. He has no doubt that, after a day as slow today, he'd be curling up with one after work.
A voice interrupts his thoughts.
"Excuse me?"
When Dimitri lifts his head, he's awestruck. His throat dries up, much like it had when he was new to the country, too fearful to test the language on his tongue so casually.
Wide, chocolate brown eyes are staring into his. Long, dark hair spilled over her shoulder in thick waves. Skin tanned from the lingering summer sun.
She is beautiful. Striking. Lovely.
He scrapes the words together, "How can I help you?"
"Do you guys have any copies of A Gentleman in Moscow?"
One of his eyebrows quirks upwards unconsciously at the question. "Good choice," he quips. Smooth, Dimitri. "Not that I'm biased."
"Oh," she laughs. "Are you Russian?"
"Yeah," he replies, shifting towards the computer at his checkout station. "Let me just look and see where it's hiding."
"So… Is it actually good or are you just biased?"
A small smile quirks his mouth upwards. He grabs a piece of paper so he can write the book's location down for her. "It's actually good, I promise. Towles…" he pauses, looking for the right words. "Towles has a way of writing characters. It's just- you won't want to put it down."
"So you say," she responds, rolling her eyes. "But I can't tell you the last time I was able to finish a book without falling asleep."
He hands her the paper with the book's location written down. She thanks him quietly, spinning around and looking ahead through the shop. Abruptly, she turns back towards him.
"Look, this is my first time here and, obviously, I'm useless in a bookshop. Would you mind showing me the way?"
Dimitri glances around the front of the shop, taking in the two customers reading in chairs and his sister tending to the coffee station. Nothing would fall apart if he stepped away for a few minutes.
He motions for her to follow him. "So tell me," he probes, desperate to speak more. "If you don't like to read, what brings you into a bookshop, looking for a book?"
She sighs, exasperated. "I'm studying at the University of Montana and my best friend INSISTED that we take this Freshmen literature gen ed. We're studying political prisoners, both in memoirs and fiction."
"That sounds really interesting," he comments, turning the corner into the aisle the book is located in. "I think my class dealt with American fiction, but yours seems more interesting somehow."
The girl perks up next to him, "You go to UM?"
"Uh, I did. Graduated a few years back. I studied Business with minors in English and Translation, though that last one was kind of cheating."
Her laugh is golden, like the sun rays that tanned her skin. He wants to bathe in it. Let it breathe life back into his dusty soul.
Instead, he stops short at a shelf, producing the book in question. "Did you need two copies?"
"Oh no. Lissa already had her books ready to go for the semester. We tried sharing the first book but I could tell she was annoyed with me, no matter how many times she insisted it was fine."
He passes the book into her hands. They look soft in the palms but he can see flat calluses built up on her fingers. Interesting.
"What do you study there," he asks, continuing back the way they'd come and leading her towards the front of the store.
"I'm undecided right now," she chews on her lip thoughtfully, as if the question troubles her. "Although, I've always loved biology and animal behavior."
Considering this, he turns down another aisle, beckoning her to follow him as she peers at him, confused. When he stops again, they are in front of the naturalist section of the store, one of their larger sections considering the booming outdoor culture in Montana. They had everything from Peterson guides on plant and animal identification to hiking maps and fishing books.
He sees her gaze at the section with admiration before pulling out a small guidebook on rock climbing in Montana. That explains the calluses.
"Get me out of here. Before I try and buy up everything."
Dimitri laughs, offering to take the books to the register for her if she wants another second to look at the section.
No, she insists. She'll be back.
She's just turned to leave after Dimitri rings her up when she abruptly turns back to him, much like she had when he'd first given her directions to the book.
"Rose, by the way. My name is Rose."
"Nice to meet you, Rose." He counters, "Dimitri."
"Until next time, Dimitri, " she responds, flipping her hair over her shoulder before walking out.
Until next time, Roza.
Author's Note: This is a four part story! See y'all soon.