Sara's Diary

August 22nd

Dear Diary,

I saw him again.

This time I was at work and did not have the luxury of attempting to impress the stranger with my looks. Or at least with what I was wearing.

You see, for the past three months I've been helping out Mr Avery in his bookstore. For a book worm like me, this was equivalent to shoving a fat kid in a candy store. Stocking new books, updating the vintage shelf, rotating the books in the window and manning the til were my usual tasks. After a few weeks Mr Avery would leave me with the shop keys as he felt confident enough that I could open and close without his aid. When the shop was quiet I would sought after my favourite novels and read them throughout the day, returning them to their place when I was done.

As the summer days went by the heat intensified with it making it damn near impossible to function in the eclectic store that somehow derived energy from the books to warm it up.

Today started like any other in the bookstore. It was a Wednesday so I had to get there a little before 9 so I could open up. By 1 I had a total of 12 customers visit the store, only 6 making a purchase. By this time the mud brown t-shirt, with 'Avery's Bookstore' scrawled across the chest in sunshine yellow, was clinging to the dampness forming on my back. I pinched my top repeatedly, wafting air onto my skin but the heat did not relieve. Within the next hour I was forced to scrunch my hair up into a nest of curls to allow the back of my neck to breathe.

Another half hour went by and I was nose deep into a classic when, the quiet broke into a tinkle ushering in with it a gush of warm air.

A small girl, with chestnut hair, round brown eyes and fluttery, long lashes skipped in, floating straight to the end of the store where the children's books were stacked.

The tinkle caught my attention again. He paced quickly past me, propped up against the counter, and straight to the young girl. I sat up realising who he was consciously brushing stray strands of curls away from my face, shifted by the second gush of air. I tugged on the end of my top wishing that it grew more appealing in an instant. I dusted at the imaginary lint on my trousers tidying it's appearance before I moved from behind the counter towards him.

Protocol would call for this action whether you did or did not bump into the customer previously discarding of your cherry gelato. I'm unsure if protocol would call for the slight feeling of nervousness in the pit of my stomach, though.

I reel off my usual customer greeting, tailoring it for a younger audience and question whether my assistance is needed, keeping my eyes focused on the little girl with chestnut hair. I feel his hazel eyes boring into my right cheek, too bad I couldn't make out his expression from my peripheral vision.

The dark haired girl answers first telling me about her newfound obsession of Roald Dahl novels before asking if we stocked any. I laugh lightly and nod, pointing to the small selection on the bottom shelf. Crouching down I read out the titles we supply hoping for one to peak her interest - surprisingly she claims an interest in all.

It's now his turn to break his silence, donning a parental stance he offers the girl an ultimatum of  3 book choices. She protests for a small period before humming and tapping her index finger on her fair chin whilst her eyes darted across the spines of the books. I finally stand to face him with a weak smile.

He recognises me instantly recalling the event that ended with a cherry stained dress. I nod in agreement admitting my role, his pink mouth presses into a single dimpled smile. Another wave of heat hits my neck.

Is it strange for him to remember me when the moment was so fleeting yet feeling like an eternity. But then was it strange for me to remember the depth of the dimple in his cheek when it spread into a grin. Or the hint of gold speckles in each of his eyes. Or the definition of muscle that bulged from each of his arms.

He offers his hand and name. I shake it and give mine back. Repeating the monosyllabic name in my head so I never forget. He repeats my name outloud, comparing it to my physical beauty - the bass of his voice makes it sound better.

The young girl tugs on his pant leg pulling us out of our trance. She waves the 3 books to him showing her capability to follow instructions. He introduces the girl as, Maddie his baby sister. She grins up at me with a toothy smile though some were missing and states her age proudly whilst shaking my hand.

At the til, he makes small talk whilst digging his hands into the pits of his front denim pockets.

I learn that his family had just moved here from a neighbouring city - for his dad's work. I learn that he will be enrolling into the college I went to. I then learn that he could possibly be in the same class as me as he chose to study Fine Art too.

His sister pulls on his pants again urging him to end the conversation so they could go for ice cream, like he promised.

He looks to her and back at me. I smile in return understanding the pester power of a younger sibling. I say my goodbye and he says his.

The door tinkles as brother and sister walk out into the humidity. I look down into the classic I was reading, scanning the page for where I left off. But I don't hear the door close though slight it was definitely audible.

Looking up he was still there, standing in the door way holding onto his sister's hand. He was looking at me as if ready to say something but disappears before he does.

I ponder to myself, as I lay here and write in you, what was it he was going to say.

Sara