Chapter Two

Alex is an early riser and always has been, he thinks. He's so rarely at peace with himself, even when there"s no reason to keep up a fight, and maybe that"s the first thing to rouse him each morning. But also, there"s something about the quiet of those early hours that lures him out of bed for a few tender moments, a gentleness that carries him into a difficult world, and even he has to let a few battles go while everything around him is still waking up.

Once he"s out of bed on Sunday, Alex takes a longer shower than usual, treating himself to an extra daydream or two because it's the first morning he hasn't dreaded in a while. Most other days remind him that little family routines have been traded for solitude he never asked for and doesn't particularly want, but he can sit with that now—or stand, he supposes—and let the scalding water course over him while he thinks about the book and the written messages and what Hoodie might be able to tell him about where any of it came from.

Who might have written those notes, and whether E might have known about them at all.

Alex throws on jeans and a hoodie of his own, and he actually does something with his hair this time, then he grabs the book from his nightstand and jogs downstairs with more energy than he should have before his regular two cups of coffee. Once he's surrounded by the scent of freshly ground beans and a hint of the cinnamon he adds as a treat, he makes himself a quick egg and cheese sandwich, the closest thing he's had to a real breakfast in a while, his stomach growling at the very thought of being treated right. As he eats on his back patio, he looks down at his mug and wonders for just a moment whether he should make some coffee for Hoodie, too—whether maybe that might be the kind of thing one neighbor would do for another. He's terrible at this actually, unsure about how to show up in these random social situations, so much of his life narrowed to work and family and the day-to-day built around those a long time ago.

Maybe bringing coffee would be weird. Alex doesn't even know if Hoodie will be at the house. Inside or out.

He's hopeful, mostly because it seems like garage sales are often a two-day event around here, and even if Hoodie doesn't have one planned, he may still need to take care of whatever he's been taking care of at a house that isn't his. Then again, he hadn't seemed like a morning person, and Alex showing up so early may be stupid.

Alex rolls his eyes as he finishes his breakfast and stares across his backyard. He has a lot of dumb questions about things that don't matter, but there's something at the far back of his mind wondering when he'll start asking all the harder questions about the things that do. He knows Cass has always stopped short of asking them herself, and he's curious about whether there's any time left to force her to scream something out loud. She's never been the cowardly one, and if Alex won't reduce all of their problems to a couple of very simple words, he thinks someone should.

Suddenly close to being frustrated again, by his own inaction as much as anything else, he walks back into his house and locks the rest outside.

It's still early, but there's no reason he can't go out now, Alex perfectly content to walk around for a while if there's no sign of Hoodie yet, or ever. The fog remains as heavy and as welcome as always, and Alex tucks one hand into his pocket and holds the novel in the other as he begins to walk. It's hard not to hurry, even if he shouldn't be in a rush for anything today, so he focuses on the fresh air and the dew on the grass and he takes as many deep breaths as he can. It"s only when he turns the corner a few streets down, and sees a garage door open, that all the calm gets a little caught in his chest, Hoodie in the middle of setting up a table in the driveway.

Alex"s grip on the book tightens.

"I have to say, only the very best customers come back on day two," Hoodie says when Alex is close enough to hear. He hasn"t fully turned away from the table though, and Alex can't figure out how long ago Hoodie had spotted him, the question leaving his cheeks to grow warmer than the cool morning should allow. "Although if you're here to return something, I have to say it'll knock you down a few spots."

"No, I'm—I mean, maybe, but not exactly—not like that," Alex stumbles, curious when he looks toward the street and back to Elijah again. "Did that guy come back to return the bedroom furniture?"

Hoodie's head falls back as he laughs, and Alex is treated to the sight of an easy joy he envies from a few feet away. "No, but if you're worried he has a chance of catching up to you, you're welcome to help me get all this stuff set up. I'm running a little behind this morning."

"Late night?" Alex asks, finding a shelf inside the garage, right next to the same black lab mix he'd seen yesterday, and putting the book there to keep it safe before he crouches and lets the dog check him out. Alex wants to know his name, but hasn't even found a way to ask for Hoodie's yet, so he scratches behind the dog's ears, then stands to pull another folding table out and snap the legs into place.

"Yeah, actually. I'm a bartender, so—"

"Occupational hazard."

"Exactly," Hoodie says. "You look very awake, though. Probably not a bartender."

"Nah, just a boring newspaper columnist. Though I guess we both listen to a lot of other people's stories, huh?"

"And some are far better than others," Hoodie jokes. Then he nods to the collection of small kitchen appliances Alex is arranging. "And thank you for helping me with this, but you don't actually have to. I was just giving you a hard time."

"Hey, no, I don't mind. And I—I'm Alex, by the way. Alex Ramos. I mean, I guess introductions aren't required garage sale etiquette, but now that I seem to be a regular here—"

"Oh, shit, sorry. Yeah, hi—" Hoodie says, wiping his hands on his jeans before he reaches out for a handshake. "Guess you take me out from behind the bar and I forget how to talk to people. I'm—"

A shout comes from across the driveway, a woman there far too excited about a couple of the coats she's found on the rack, and she's waving at Hoodie for some help, distracting them both. Hoodie's mouth is still open like he's about to laugh or apologize, and Alex just shoos him away.

"No, go, I'll get the rest of the stuff set up for you. Looks like you might be able to get an extra buck or two out of her if you turn on some charm."

Hoodie starts backing toward her. "Hey, I have plenty of charm all the time."

Alex thinks he's probably right, though whether he tends bar because he's charming or whether he's charming because he tends bar is anyone's guess. He turns around and busies himself with the little left for him to do, noting that the vinyls are nowhere to be found, which means they were either sold yesterday, or Hoodie had taken his advice. When Alex is done, he leans up against the side of the house, and Hoodie helps Coat Lady and a couple of other early arrivals. It"s another few seconds before the dog wanders out and sits next to Alex, calmly curious and content where he can watch whatever's happening, both of them straightening a little when Hoodie returns.

"Welcome back," Alex says. "She tip you well?"

"They usually do," Hoodie replies with a wink. "But yeah—sorry, I'm Elijah Caplinger. Or Eli, I guess."

"You guess?"

"I—I don't know why I said Elijah. Most people call me Eli."

"Okay, sure," Alex says, nodding slowly. "But what do you prefer?"

There's a long pause and a head tilt that probably serve as enough of an answer, but Alex waits anyway, eternally patient with everyone but himself. And maybe sometimes that patience becomes stubbornness or a martyrdom he never sees coming, but for now it's easy to keep his stare soft until Hoodie—or Eli or Elijah—speaks up and saves them both the trouble of wondering why Alex needs to know anything more about a stranger's name.

"Elijah, actually. I prefer Elijah, but it's—I don't even know why I introduced myself that way. It's been a while since anyone called me that."

"Well, Elijah, thank you for accidentally telling me the truth."

"Another occupational hazard for both of us, maybe," Elijah huffs. "Too much honesty."

"I don't know. Sometimes it's just the right amount," Alex argues.

"Sometimes," Elijah agrees. "And I assume Alex is short for something that you don't like?"

"I don't hate it, really, but yeah, it's short for Alexander. Much to my grandmother's eternal disappointment, I'm not an Alejandro, though it's never stopped her from calling me that when she's mad."

"Does that happen often?"

"More in the past several months than the rest of my life combined, I think."

Elijah's face twists into a laugh and a frown all at once. "Interesting. Here I was convinced that you're the kind of guy who's never done anything wrong."

It's a joke and not—hence the laugh and frown, Alex supposes—and he brushes all of it off with a shrug. "Jury's still out on whether returning to a stranger's garage sale was the right thing to do."

"Mmmm, maybe that means it's time for you to tell me why you came back. I assume you don't actually want a refund on the book?"

"Ha, no, I don't. But I—can I ask you a few other questions first? I know that sounds weird, but I promise I'll explain after."

Elijah's eyes narrow, though he doesn't look all that bothered. "Is this gonna be off the record?"

"Off the—" Alex chokes a little and shakes his head. "No. I mean, yes, off the record. I'm not—this is personal, not a—I'm not writing about you or anything."

"Hmmm, wait a second. You seem surprised by the very thought of that, and I don't know whether I should be offended. Random garage sale dude who doesn't own a record player isn't enough of a story for you?"

"Random garage sale dude with a dog, even," Alex says, nodding down at the dog who got bored with their conversation and dropped back down to sleep. "Maybe I'll reconsider. Pets can be a hell of a hook."

There's another wave from someone looking for help, so Elijah just chuckles and walks away, Alex left to wonder if he's being ridiculous about everything. He bought books at a garage sale, and sure, there are some interesting notes written onto some of the pages, but those messages are so old and may have nothing to do with Elijah, and either way, not everyone is going to be as caught up in someone else's love story as Alex is amid the loneliness of his upcoming divorce. He can't imagine Elijah will be mean about it—the guy seems easygoing and like the most he'll do is poke a little fun at Alex for swooning over a few inked words. Still, maybe it was a mistake to show up here, and maybe there's enough of a distraction right now that Alex can just grab his book and leave without it being a bigger deal than that.

He slips into the garage to pull the book down from the shelf, and only glances over to where Elijah is closing on the sale of a TV that Alex is surprised made it to day two. Then he spares a smile for the sleeping dog, makes his way down the driveway, and turns up the sidewalk to retrace his steps back home.

"Hey, no, Alex, wait," Elijah calls from behind him a few seconds later. "What happened?"

Alex sighs and turns where he is, Elijah already several feet away from his own garage sale, his hood falling back from his head for the first time since they met. The sun is finally pushing past the morning clouds, and it helps make Elijah's blond curls brighter, and Alex sort of wonders how many people reach for those curls without permission. He's seen it so many times with his daughter, strangers drawn to natural curls and just wanting to touch, forgetting that they belong to someone else and aren't there for their damn pleasure. And on the one hand, he has no doubt Elijah can stand up for himself, tall and broad and halfway between rock climber and surfer, but he wonders if he does, the Eli conversation enough to suggest there's rarely a fight for what Elijah wants.

"No, it's nothing," he tells him, stepping a few feet closer so Elijah doesn't have to leave the house any further behind. "I think maybe I was just making something out of nothing. My imagination or whatever. It's probably pretty dumb."

Elijah doesn't move from where he's standing, not for several seconds, but he slides his hands into his hoodie pocket and watches Alex for a while, like maybe he has a whole lot of questions of his own. Eventually he nods.

"I hear a lot of pretty dumb things every night at work, and I'm almost positive that whatever you came back here for isn't one of them." He looks over his shoulder to make sure nobody needs him, then he shrugs back at Alex. "And I'm obviously not gonna make a scene and drag you back, but I'd kinda like to tell you anything you want to know if it means you'd be willing to stick around."

Alex looks behind him, like anyone might need him too, but there's only a quiet street reminding him of his even quieter house.

"Anything I want to know, huh?"

Elijah shrugs again. "Guess we'll find out."

And something about that is already sending Alex down an interesting road, his chest tight with an awareness that Elijah might give too much of himself too easily, when that's something Alex has never been good at. It'll leave them with an uncomfortable imbalance of trust, questions certain to go one way and not the other, unless Alex makes it clear that he can offer a bit of himself too. Regardless of whether it comes naturally to him, he thinks it might be something he'll need to work on soon.

"Okay, I—you're gonna be busy all morning, but I can stay and help if you want, and we can talk in between?"

Elijah's smile is too much for such a small offer, but when he turns around to get back to the garage sale, Alex follows and finds a second folding chair to put behind the card table, the dog coming over to lie next to him and resting just out of reach if he's hoping to be scratched again. The book is in front of Alex now, and he resists the temptation to look for more messages before they have time to talk about it, so he watches Elijah straighten up some of the displays while he greets newcomers, everything getting a little busier as the neighborhood begins to wake up.

"His name's Poe," Elijah says when he returns to the table and gestures to the dog at their feet.

"As in Edgar Allan?"

"Exactly. Figured you might appreciate that given your little book haul yesterday."

"Black dog. Raven might've been a more obvious choice, but Poe is a perfect step sideways. He yours?"

"He is now. Was my grandpa's until he passed away two years ago."

That helps pull at least one blurry mystery into focus. "Sorry to hear about your grandpa. Was this his house?"

"Yep. My brother and his family lived here for a while after he died, but then Austin got a job up in the Bay Area and they moved away, and I've sort of been tasked with getting the house cleaned out and ready to sell."

"You said yesterday that you wished you lived here. Why don't you?"

"Kind of a big place for just Poe and me," Elijah says, and Alex doesn't argue that the dog already puts Elijah a step ahead of where he's at. "There are a lot of memories of hanging out here when I was a kid. Holiday dinners and long summer days and random weekend sleepovers and just—I don't know. All the good grandparent things, I guess? But I'm not sure I could justify the cost of moving in alone."

"So, you're single then?"

"That's what you took away from all of that?"

"That wasn't the point you were trying to make?" Alex chuckles, feeling entirely clumsy even when Elijah doesn't seem to mind. "Seriously though, I can't tell whether that's the kind of thing you'd want to broadcast or desperately hide when you're pulling in all those tips from behind the bar."

"Hide, usually. My track record with relationships isn't fantastic. Lots of tries, lots of failures."

"Ah, well, I just have one big try and one big failure, but it's still probably enough misery to keep yours company," Alex offers, more easily than he might have expected.

"Divorced?"

"About to be."

"And you mentioned your daughter yesterday," Elijah says. "Guess that makes everything more complicated?"

"Eh, I'm not sure any of it has been complicated for us. Or at least not the way you're thinking," Alex admits. "Cassidy and I were best friends for a long time, and that hasn't really changed. I just think it got to a point where that was all we were, and she needs more than that. She deserves more."

"And you don't?"

Alex raises an eyebrow. "Don't what?"

"Deserve more," Elijah answers. "I mean, I'm sure marrying your best friend is incredible, but there should be more than friendship, right? You don't think you deserve that as much as she does?"

It's not ideal—or maybe it's perfect timing, actually—but there's a man who wants all the shoes and coats still available, so Elijah jumps up to get a couple of bags for him, while Alex thinks about how best to answer him without unloading his entire life story. He looks down at Poe, who is steadfastly ignoring him, and he flattens his palm against the cover of the book, like there is any real help to be had there.

If there is, Alex hasn't absorbed it by the time Elijah falls back into the chair next to him.

"I think I was comfortable with her, or I guess I know I was, and it might have been enough for me to stay that way forever. What I want or need or deserve aren't really things I've considered one way or the other, but being with her didn't hurt and being alone does, so that's kind of where I'm at."

That's more than Alex has ever said about the divorce, and he's tempted to ask Elijah to pour him an early morning shot as a way to excuse his honesty, so unfamiliar with sharing his shit with anyone, much less this guy he's barely met. He doesn"t feel as terrible about it as he thinks he should, though, and after another second or two, Alex presses his lips together instead, and he watches as Elijah opens and closes his mouth at least twice before any words make it out.

They're an interesting pair.

"Your daughter's doing okay?" Elijah asks eventually.

"Elena. Yeah, she's—we've tried to be as honest with her as possible. And I hope it's been good for her that there hasn't been a lot of fighting. Just her dad being too stunned to do anything but surrender."

"Surrender isn't always a bad thing, Alex."

"No?"

"Or maybe I'm too good at it—at letting go. Giving up. Walking away." Elijah shakes his head, rising again to go help someone else. "Maybe I need to learn how to hold on to something."

He's only gone for a minute, and Alex is talking before he gets all the way back.

"Okay, so you're a bartender with wonderful memories of this house, but you won't stay here because you're a relationship disaster and it's too big for you, the dog, and whatever your grandpa left behind."

"And you're the newly single father who hangs out at garage sales, probably mostly to spend quality time with the aforementioned dog, though carting an old book back and forth suggests there may be at least one other reason," Elijah retorts, an already familiar grin on his face. "You ready to tell me what's up?"

"Did the books belong to your grandpa?"

"As far as I know, yeah. I mean, he was a huge reader and I remember those bookshelves being full my whole life. My brother and his family brought some of this other stuff with them when they moved in, but I don't think any of the books were theirs."

"Okay, I—I'm probably just caught up because of whatever other shit's going on in my head, but—" Alex pulls the book toward him and takes a deep breath before he opens it. "There are some handwritten messages in here, and I thought they were interesting. Like a secret love kind of thing."

To his credit, Elijah already looks more interested than Alex thought he would be. "Secret love notes? And you think they were written by my grandparents?"

"Maybe," Alex says. "Did either of their names start with E?"

"No, but let me see the handwriting." Alex ignores the bookmark still tucked where he'd left off last night and flips to the first message, then helps Elijah move on to the second and third. Elijah just shakes his head. "No, it doesn't look familiar. Are there responses from E?"

"Nope, that was the weird thing. I was wondering if maybe they used it as more of a diary. You know, just a way for this person to confess their feelings somewhere."

There's a pause as Elijah considers that, but then he frowns and points to the page. "But then this wouldn't really make sense: because it's one more reason to see you, and these books are the only thing we can give each other. If they gave each other books, E would have had to see the messages, right?"

"Yeah, okay, that does sound more like the books were a way to pass the messages back and forth, but then where's the other half?"

"Well, it says ‘books,' not ‘book,' so there's probably at least one more. Maybe E has it."

"And reading through all these notes will only give half of the story, if that."

"Unless you can find something in the other books you bought," Elijah points out. "Did you look through them yet?"

"No. Hell, I didn't even read all the messages in this one. I started to think I was being kind of weird or creepy about it."

"You're very weird, but not all that creepy. And I think you should definitely check the other books."

Alex snorts. "Wow, thanks for the reassurance."

"Hey, no, it's good," Elijah promises, the tip of his tongue there to tease Alex when it pokes out from between his lips. "I love books and I love history and I don't mind a good love story despite my own inability to live one, so maybe I'm weird too. You gonna read through the rest of this one now?"

"Mmmm, no, I think I want to see if I can find the other half first. Then I can read them back and forth, the way they were written."

Somebody calls out with a quick question, and after Elijah answers, he pulls out his phone. "What's your number?"

"My number?"

"Um, or not. I just—" he starts. "To the neighborhood's certain dismay, I'm not gonna be doing garage sales here every morning, so if you find something else and feel like sharing some of your weirdness—you know, with me or Poe—"

"Yeah, no, sorry, I—of course. Sure," Alex stammers, giving him his phone number just seconds before he hears the chirp of an incoming text.

"Now you've got mine. Fingers crossed you find something good."

"Because then I'll have a reason to text you back?"

"Eh, I don't know. I'm sure you could find a reason either way," Elijah says. "I think you've got enough of your own story to tell."