Chapter Six

Hannah

“So was The Cemetery of Forgotten Books really a magical place or was that just how Daniel perceived it? Or I guess how the reader perceived it?”

I’m sitting on the stool that Ben hauled out from some dusty backroom and set next to the counter. He’s working his way through a huge stack of used books, looking them up online, determining their value, and pricing them. The blue glow of the computer reflects in his glasses, obscuring his eyes. Just like the first time I saw him.

We’ve been talking about the book I read last week, The Shadow of the Wind, while he works. Except all this talk about books he loves was too much temptation for Ben, so this week, he reread The Shadow of the Wind with me, which has been fun in a whole new way. The book is magical and romantic, and of the books he’s chosen for me, this is the first love story. Does that mean something? I want it to.

And yet, watching Ben as he painstakingly prices books, it wouldn’t seem so. He’s had ample opportunity to take this beyond friendship, and I’ve made myself available. We text all through the day and talk on the phone almost every night, but it hasn’t gone any further. Jasmine says give it time, but I’m impatient.

“That’s the great thing about books,” Ben says. “As opposed to movies or, God forbid, real life— The only thing that matters is how the reader perceives it.”

Prometheus Books is chilly most of the time, but today the ancient radiators have kicked on with a vengeance, and it’s really warm inside. Ben has shed his usual hoodie, and he’s in just a gray T-shirt. He’s as lean as I suspected, and all spare, smooth muscles and elegantly angled bones. Nothing about Ben is wasted space, and I can’t take my eyes off him.

I admire his forearms as he types. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the writer writes it, and while that’s happening, the writer is the god of that universe. But then the book goes out into the world, and it belongs to the readers. Whatever the writer intended, there’s only what the reader perceives.” Ben swivels on his stool to face me, and the shock of his fiery, dark eyes makes my heart skip a beat. “Every reader perceives it differently because we all bring our own experiences and our own realities to the table. Doesn’t that blow your mind?”

Whoa. I’d never really thought of reading that way.

Ben pushes his glasses up his nose and pivots back to the computer. “Maybe that’s just me.”

“No, I get it. I do.” I touch his arm. His skin is warm and smooth, and you’d think he’d be pale from being inside all the time, but he’s not. His arms have just a hint of gold. I could stare at them for the rest of my life. Focus, Hannah. “And that’s really cool,” I finally force out. “My experience reading this book is different from yours.”

Ben smiles at me over his shoulder, and my knees go weak. “Exactly.”

God, he’s gorgeous.

“So you didn’t answer my question: the Cemetery of Forgotten Books. Real or imagined? He wrote about it like it was real, but how could a place like that really exist?”

“I totally answered your question.”

“You did not.”

He sighs dramatically. “For me, the Cemetery of Forgotten Books is painfully, excruciatingly real, because I so desperately want it to be a real place. A repository filled with used books so that they’re never forgotten— Can you imagine? But maybe for you it’s a metaphor. Maybe the narrator was young and impressionable, and it was just a room with a lot of old books in it. In the world of the novel, both can be true.”

“Ohhhh. Okay.”

“So… What do you think? Real or not real?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“I want to know if you believe in magic, Hannah. Or is science the master of us all?”

I’m staring at him, his wide, lopsided smile, smooth skin, and hair in revolt, and yes, I so believe in magic, because only magic can explain the way he makes me feel.

I smile and shake my head, which isn’t much of an answer. He chuckles and turns back to his computer screen. I run my fingertip along the edge of my book. The dust jacket is torn along the spine and taped back together. Inside the front cover, someone has written an inscription.

To Margaret, In fond remembrance of Stuttgart. Love, Michael.

What happened in Stuttgart? Why was this book for sale in a used bookstore? Why did Margaret, whoever she is, give it away? One of the great things about used books is they carry their own stories beyond the ones told in the pages.

“Ben, do you want to take a break?” Adele says. She materializes at odd times and with no warning.

Ben looks amused and puzzled, too. “Um, sure. I suppose I could use a break. Hannah, want to get a drink with me?”

Like I’m going to say no to that. Or anything else he suggests. “Sure.”

I follow him out of the store to a coffee place across the street from Prometheus. He perks up as soon as we get inside. Maybe Adele was right about him needing a break.

“It was more than just the Cemetery of Lost Books that seemed magical,” I say, continuing our conversation from the store. He looks at me and blinks in confusion.

“The Shadow of the Wind. The whole thing felt a little magical, don’t you think? Spain, the town they lived in, the way he wrote it, it all felt a bit like a dark fairy tale.”

“Oh, right.” He nods and looks toward the front of the line again. “His writing is very lyrical. Evocative.”

“It makes me want to go there. Have you ever been?”

“Where?”

“Spain.”

He shakes his head. “France on a school trip in high school, but that’s all. You?”

“I haven’t been anywhere.”

We’re up next, and the counter girl smiles broadly at Ben. “Hey, Ben! Taking a break?”

He shrugs and smiles back. “I need a pick-me-up.”

I bet he knows everybody in these shops along Clark Street. It’s nice, like a little neighborhood.

The barista smiles at me, too. She’s pretty, tall, with long, dark hair, high cheekbones, and blue eyes so pale they look like ice. There’s something smart and sophisticated about her. She looks out of place behind the register in a coffee shop, like she should be in a boardroom instead.

Ben motions to me. “This is Hannah.”

“Hey, I’m Alex. What can I get for you guys today?”

Her smile is infectious. I like her, even though her beauty is a little intimidating. “Hot chocolate,” I say. “My favorite.”

“That sounds good. Me, too.” He looks at Alex. “You know, for a change.”

Alex smiles at us. “Okay, two hot chocolates. Gimme a sec.”

When she turns away to make our order, Ben and I shift down the counter and out of the way.

“You must come here all the time, huh?”

He glances across the counter. “Yeah, it’s close and I’m friends with most of the people that work here. Alex comes into the store a lot.”

She does? Everything suddenly feels awkward— Is he friends with everyone or mostly Alex? “She seems nice.”

“She is.”

Alex comes back a minute later with our drinks and rings us up. “Careful,” she cautions. “They’re really hot.”

“You working all day today?” he asks her.

“Closing tonight.” She rolls her eyes. “On a Saturday. No worse fate.”

“Do you have plans after?”

I frown. It almost sounds like they’re more than see-each-other-at-work friends. Is there something going on between them?

“Dinner with friends. I’ll get there late, but it’s better than nothing.”

Ben nods. “Sounds fun. Well, I’d better get back. See you around.”

“See you. Nice to meet you, Hannah. See you around, too, I guess?”

She’s smiling like my hanging around with Ben is the best thing ever, so maybe I’m off base. Maybe they really are just friends. “Sure.”

Back at Prometheus, we talk a little more about The Shadow of the Wind while Ben takes forever picking out another book for me. He convinces himself three times and changes his mind three times. Finally, he settles on one and passes it to me. I reach for my wallet, but he stops me.

“Forget it. It’s a loan. I know you’ll be back with it.”

“I will. For sure. Are there any big moments when I should text you in this one?”

“Nah, we’ll just talk about it as you go.”

I love his casual mention of our frequent phone calls, his assumption that they’ll continue. A few customers have come in while we were talking. Adele is handling one, but another lady is wandering around, and even I can tell she can’t find what she’s looking for.

I should clear out and let Ben do his job. But we’ve had such a great afternoon, and this feels like it’s growing into something more. He hasn’t made a move, but maybe I need to drop a hint? God, I wish Jasmine was here. She’s so much better at this.

“What are you up to tonight?”

Ben shrugs. “Hanging out with John at home, I guess.”

I pause— I left the opportunity open for him, is he going to take it?

Ask me what I’m up to. Ask me to hang out with you.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he shuffles a stack of books out of the way of the register and adjusts his glasses, smiling at me awkwardly. I fight the swell of disappointment prickling my eyes and making my stomach feel heavy as I slip my new book into my bag.

“Maybe I’ll call you if I start this tonight,” I say.

“Yeah, you should. That’d be great.”

I hesitate for another second, just in case, but no. He’s not going to ask. “Okay, talk to you soon.”

“Yep. See you, Hannah.” He waves, then turns away. “Ma’am? If you’re looking for something specific, I might be able to help you find it.”

That’s my cue, and I ignore my sinking stomach as I head home. I should probably study for chem. I have another test coming up soon, a chance to redeem myself a little bit. But I probably won’t. I think I’m starting a new book instead.