3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Emily

I huff, leaning back with my hands on my hips as I look down at the boxes of new books that were just brought in.

The entire stock room is full of it. Stocking and taking inventory is one of the best and worst parts of my job—it's just as exciting as it is stressful. As I peek through the door, there's not a single person at the front of the house, so I tie my hair in a claw clip and get to work.

I hum to myself as I quickly go through one box, double-checking my clipboard when I hear the ring for service bell go off on the counter. I jolt but quickly put down my stuff, maneuvering myself over the piles of books and boxes. "Just a second!"

The bell rings once more, then twice, then three times until the person continuously rings it like crazy. I groan, barely stopping myself from landing a pile. "I hear you, buddy! Don't got to ring it anymore!"

The ringing becomes more persistent, and I finally push open the door of the back room, a scowl on my face. "I said, I heard you. You didn't have to ring it all that much."

I sigh, blowing a strand of hair out of my face. I look up at the customer, feeling a quiet sense of dread. He looks appalled as his eyes stare me down. Ah, shit. Does he think I'm super rude now?

"Um," the man says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hello."

"Hi. Welcome. How can I help you?" I reply, perfunctory and professional. His gaze is scrutinizing in all of its blue-eyedness. I can't help but frown a little, taking a step back. "Do you have something in mind? You're free to look around if you'd like."

He takes in a breath, running a hand through his blond hair. "You don't happen to be... Emily Thompson, are you?"

I lower my head and shrug, arms open. "The one and only. How can I help you?"

"Do you not remember me?" he questions, laughing lightly. The stranger steps closer, to which I step back, even if there's a whole table between us.

"Do you have an online order with us? I'm going to need to see the reference num—"

He waves a hand, slightly frantic. "No! No. It's not that. I'm Jack."

I stare back at him blankly. I don't remember any Jack's. To be fair, I've been a bit cooped up, staying within my circles, so who knows where I could've met this guy. My patience is running that side of thin when I say, "Doesn't ring a bell. Ah, well, you rang that one." I point to the shop bell.

"Jack Davis." he tries once more, looking a bit embarrassed as he points to himself.

I lean my hands on the counter and tilt my head down as I scour my brain. Now that he says his full name, it does sound kind of familiar. Looking back up at him, I scan his face to see if I can recognize him.

After a moment, it hits me. I exhale a light laugh, shaking my head. "Wow. Hello. It's been a while."

"It really has," he murmurs, looking down at me. "I haven't seen you since you were attached to your brother's hip."

I straighten my back, lifting my chin. Absently, I reply. "Yes, well."

Jack Davis.

My brother's best friend.

He looks good. I won't sugarcoat it. No more is the lanky boy who was shorter than the rest of the boys in his class. The Jack that stands before me today is tall, and his build is heavy, athletic, and thick. His jawline is more defined, and he has a speckling of facial hair that makes him look rugged.

Huh.

If I remember correctly, they met in middle school. Sat next to each other during lunch and never strayed further since.

It was common for me to hang out with them, being younger than my brother and all. I would tag along whenever they played video games or went to the park. We were never truly close, more like playmates by default. And as we all started to grow up, I naturally spent less and less time with him and my brother.

It went from spending every weekend watching over their shoulder to saying hi whenever he came by to visit, to never seeing him again. Things change, but the polite albeit awkward boy I once knew changed drastically .

As they moved into their early twenties, my brother, more often than not, had to pick him up from parties when he was too drunk.

Or we'd find out that the bandage around his knuckles wasn't from a hockey accident but from getting into fights.

Sometimes, I'd hear through the grapevine of school hallways and gossipy neighbors that Jack Davis was found holding hands with a different girl every week.

An old friend of a friend got their heart broken by him when he kept on calling her the wrong name during their first date .

He's still a good person . My brother would remind me in private after my mom had a heated talk with him, one that I could only half hear. He's just different now. He's growing. He's changing .

All of these things. I chose to believe. I didn't care that much about him then, as young as I was, but I agreed simply because I trusted my brother. His conscience has always been a strong point and hasn't led him astray yet.

The shift of impressions only changed right before my brother left our town a couple of years ago.

"And take care of mom." Nathan hooks his thumb over his shoulder, not even facing me as he zips up his backpack.

"What do you think I've been doing for the past few years?" I lean my head back, arms crossed as I laugh. "Also, stop acting like we'll never see you again."

He softens, walking closer. "I know, but I worry about you two. You know that. Especially about you."

"Not exactly six years old anymore, dude." My mouth scrunches up. "I'll handle myself."

"Yes, but that's exactly it. It doesn't matter; you're permanently six years old in my head." One of Nathan's hands ruffles my hair while the other pokes me in the ribs. I yelp, scowling, to which he only responds with more poking. "Update me often and make sure to eat . Enough cup noodles because you're too busy working."

I hum noncommittally, nodding. "It's not forever. Clearing out Stephanie's old store is just taking it out of me. Mom will feed me anyway, no matter how good I'm eating."

He chuckles, but it sounds sad. I suck my cheeks in, trying not to cry. "I'm going to miss you, kid."

"Yeah," I whisper back, nodding softly. "I'll miss you too."

"Don't get into any funny business now that I'm gone." Nathan turns away. I know he's trying to hide his emotions, but it's heartwarming to see, even for a little bit. "Model citizen and all that."

I roll my eyes playfully, groaning. I shuffle in place to rid myself of the sad feeling. "Yes. I get it already. It's not like I'm joining a gang."

He pauses, a faint look taking over his face. Nathan chews the inside of his cheek. "Do me a favor and be careful about people like Jack, okay?"

I look up, perplexed. That wasn't what I was expecting at all. "Jack? Okay. I thought he was your friend."

"He is," he rectifies, putting a hand up. "I'm just saying, you know how he acts now." Reckless. Abrasive. Uncaring. It's pretty much known by everyone in town that he's a problem . "Stay away from people like him."

"Okay." I don't know what else there is to say. "I will."

"I'll see you soon."

"What can I get for you?" I repeat, not caring for pleasantries much longer. I swipe a stray hair behind my ear.

He turns toward the array of bookshelves, looking so out of place that it's almost funny. "Book for mom. It's her birthday soon."

"Oh!" I nod excitedly, vaguely remembering her. Okay. Back to something I'm confident in. "Do you have a book in mind? We've got a pretty wide selection. What does she like?"

"I'm not sure."

"Oh."

This town is small, and we haven't seen each other in years , but for some reason, I'm not surprised at all. With what I've heard and seen from him, I wouldn't expect other people's preferences to be something he's aware of.

So yeah, there are not a lot of expectations, and he still manages to go lower.

I raise my eyebrows in exasperation, sighing. Under my breath, I whisper. "Typical."

I hear him suck in a breath, but I pay no mind to it, instead walking toward the shelves with an arm extended. "I'll give you a hand. We'll find something she'll like, one way or another."

Jack awkwardly shuffles and follows, looking around the space with wide eyes. "This is impressive."

"Thank you," I dismiss easily, even if a genuine smile makes its way to my face. "So. Fiction or nonfiction?"

"You pick."

My eye twitches, repeating his words earlier. "You're not sure?"

"You're the expert, right?" He drawls, sounding and looking as condescending as can be. Jack spreads his arms wide, gesturing to the space before dropping his hands, palms smacking on his thighs.

I turn away from him, gritting my teeth and briskly walking toward one of the sections. I need to get him out of here now . I take a few deep breaths, hoping to at least leave this interaction with a sale.

His feet quickly follow behind me. I don't turn to look at him, my blood simmering. Looking around, I grab a new copy of a book and walk around him. I'm not even sure he's going to want this book, but he probably doesn't even know better.

I place the book down softly on the counter despite the hatred in my gut. He looks down expectantly at it, almost warily. I would laugh if I didn't want him gone. " The Secret History . Donna Tartt. Mystery. Psychological Thriller. Still a bit heartwarming. A good pick for something new."

Jack makes a quiet noise, running a finger down the book cover. He looks around before turning to one of the display tables by the front. He picks up a dessert book of some famous TV personality and paces it next to my pick.

"Just the dessert book, then?"

"No. I'll take both."

I nod without a word, ringing them up and grabbing the proper packaging. "Would you like me to wrap them up?"

"Yeah, please," he says, grabbing his wallet as he eyes the cash register's screen.

I do my work more methodically than I have in a hot minute. Most times—even with more introverted customers—I do my job with a smile, but I can't manage it today. He isn't the rudest customer on my list, but I can't stand him.

Jack stands in front of me in silence as I wrap the gifts in a small coating of bubble wrap before placing them in a gift box. Just as I'm tying up the boy, I hear him whistle lowly.

Peeking through my lashes, I see him take in the store, his hands in his pockets. He nods, looking vaguely impressed. "So... this is what you've been doing, huh?"

"Yep." Belatedly, I ask, "You?"

He points to himself. "Hockey."

"Oh. Still on that?" My reply comes, sounding as uninterested as I feel. The only memory I have of him and hockey is him breaking the stick during a particularly tough game, followed by a variation of rumors of what kind of fight he'd gotten into with the opposing team.

I look up just in time to see his jaw clench. "Yes."

I hum, pushing the now perfectly wrapped gift toward him. I wasn't even trying to be mean, but it's out there now. "Good luck with that."

"It's much more interesting than books, I'm sure." he sputters out through gritted teeth. "At least we get some excitement and stimulation from it."

I roll my eyes. "If you think you don't get excitement and stimulation from books, then I don't know what to say to you. I think it's also a testament to what kind of books you read, assuming you even read."

"It doesn't even hold a candle to sports." Jack exhales hard, an almost laugh. "This shit is easy. You've got it easy."

It's not the first time somebody tried to denounce what I do to bring themselves up, so I shut the conversation down. These people don't understand, and I'll only stress myself out trying to reason with them.

"I guarantee you, it is not." I pointedly say, cutting him off before he even dares to open his mouth again. "Thank you for your purchase. Come again soon."

He sighs, softer than before. "Look—"

" Goodbye , Jack."

The muscle in his jaw shows, his eyes darkening. Jack pokes his tongue through his cheek, visibly trying to not say anything. This is so rude. I know I shouldn't ever be this rude to a paying customer, but I have no patience right now.

He can leave for all I care. He's everything my brother warned me about and more.

Jack grabs the gift box in his hands, takes one last lingering look at me, then turns his heel and leaves.

I exhale once the door shuts behind him, shaking my head. That wasn't on my bingo card this month. I peek through the half-open door of the backroom, seeing the mess that sits on the floor.

I feel a migraine coming on.