Cassie plucks one of their two copies from the shelf and blows dust off it as surreptitiously as she can. “Would you prefer hardcover or paperback?
He chews on his lip. “Uh… which one is in better condition?”
“They’re both in excellent condition,” Cassie says, trying not to sound indignant.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend you.” That crooked smile again. “See, the book isn’t for me. It’s for my mother. It’s her birthday.”
“You’re buying your mother a used book for her birthday?”
He ducks down his head. “It’s not what you think. My mother… she likes books to have a story. Like, she wants to imagine who owned it before and what journey it’s been on and…”
She smiles. “That sounds like my grandmother.”
Grandma Bea used to say things like that all the time. Every time she got a new shipment of books, she would lift up each volume, bring it to her nose, and inhale. She said different book brands had different smells—for example, Penguin books smell like vanilla. But then the journey the books would take would give it another unique odor on top of that. Cigarettes, she would say. Or maybe Chanel. She would come up with stories about who owned certain books. Cassie loved listening to those stories as much as she liked reading the books.
Cassie replaces the paperback and plucks the hardcover volume off the shelf. The pages are so worn that they’ve turned yellow. “This book was given to us by a middle-aged woman,” she tells him. “She read it every day in the park while waiting for her married lover to appear. They stole one hour together every day, but he couldn’t leave his wife because she was ill and he was afraid the shock might kill her. He kept telling the woman it would just be a little longer, then they could be together. So the woman met him every day like that for one year… five years… twenty years, until…”
He raises his eyebrows. “Until?”
She smiles. “I don’t know. I just made it at all up. What do you think happens?”
“I think they find a way to be together. A happy ending.”
“But what about the wife? Doesn’t she deserve a happy ending?”
He laughs. He has a nice laugh that shows off a row of white teeth. “This is too much philosophy for two in the afternoon.” He folds his arms across his chest, and she notices what are some very nice biceps protruding from his scrub top. “By the way, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“What is HD?”
Cassie’s mouth drops open. He heard Zoe talking before. Wonderful. “HD?” she says weakly.
“I heard your coworker say it.” His eyes twinkle. “When I was walking over to you. She said, ‘Here comes HD.’”
She is going to kill Zoe. “Um, well… we weren’t talking about you or anything. It stands for… high… definition.”
“High definition what?”
“Television.” Cassie tries to shrug, but only one shoulder gets in on the action. “I was thinking about buying a high definition television. So.”
“Right, of course.” He nods. “I got a high def TV a few years ago. It’s great. The picture is so clear.”
Great, now he’s giving her advice about high definition televisions. As if she could afford that. She’s lucky they haven’t shut off her electricity. But anything is better than admitting they were ogling him from across the store.
“So,” he says, “how much is the book?”
Cassie flips over the hardcover in her hands and reveals the price on the back. Twenty dollars, which seems a bit steep for a used book—no wonder it’s never been sold. Grandma Bea must have priced it. She was very protective of her copies of Wuthering Heights, especially after Grandpa Marv died.