My American Boy

June, 2010

Not many people really appreciated books anymore. Most people these days didn’t really read books for pleasure, and those that did, read them on their ipods or kindles, or any form of technology that made reading easier. I, personally, would never read an e-book. To me, there was nothing better than holding a book in your hand, feeling the crispness as your turned the pages, inhaling that smell that lingered around books, whether they’re old or new. Most people didn’t understand, most people just wanted an easy life, having everything in the palm of their hand. But they were missing out. I could open any book in my shop and immerse myself in it, feeling totally absorbed, entranced by the ink on the off-white pages. And then there were the second hand books. Most were pretty unusual, but then there were the ones that had inscriptions, or notes in the margins, or phrases underlined. I liked to read through these, and try to think about whatever the previous owner must have been thinking. Books had such history to them and I had no regrets whatsoever about using all my savings to buy this place. Mr Olivier – the previous owner and my former employer – had decided about a year ago that he was getting too old to run and manage a bookstore and I was struggling to stay focused at university. It was perfect. I bought the place from him and he’d sold it to me at a reasonable price, because I’d been working for him since I was 16. He came by occasionally to see how things were, but most of the time he stayed at home with his wife, enjoying his retirement.

My parents, however, weren’t so pleased. They were both academics. My father was a Historian and my mother studied classical literature. People say that I got my love of books from her, but I’m not so sure. She never really paid me much attention when I was growing up – neither of them did, they were much too involved in their research – and left me in the hands of various nannies. But I didn’t care, really, if I’d disappointed them by dropping out of university after only 1 semester. It had been enough time for me to realise it wasn’t for me. I didn’t want to be studying books in such a controlled manner, I just wanted to enjoy books. And running a bookstore and being able to read all the books we had in stock, was the perfect way to do that. The small bell above the doorway alerts me to any customers, so until that bell jingles, I am free to read in the peace and quiet, surrounded by hundreds of novels, biographies, non-fiction. Any book I desire to read, right here in front of me. I couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.

-&-

There are some customers that stick out in my mind. There’s an elderly woman who comes in every Thursday to buy a new book, and she always works through authors. A few months ago, she bought a Jane Austen book every week, and then she started buying Daphne Du Maurier. She’s become such a frequent customer that I can predict what she’s going to buy and get it ready by the till. Then there’s the occasional student that comes into the shop, especially literature students. My shop is in Camden in London and although sales of books are decreasing, I still get enough business to get by.

One Saturday afternoon, just as I was packing up and getting ready to go home and enjoy the 24 hours I had off, the bell over the door jingled. I sighed but put on a welcoming smile and turned towards the customer. “Good afternoon,” I managed to say, even though it felt like I’d stopped breathing. This boy…he was just…gorgeous. He nodded his head in acknowledgement but otherwise didn’t speak. I went behind the till, waiting to serve him if necessary, and kept my gaze on him, following him around the small store. He came to a stop in front of the music books and pulled a couple from the shelf and leafed through them. “Would you like any help?” I asked him after almost 5 minutes.
“I got it,” he smiled before turning back to perusing the books. He was American; his accent unmistakable. I bit my lip nervously and tugged at the bottom of my knit jumper self-consciously. Suddenly, I wanted to run to the back and double check my appearance, but I couldn’t leave the shop floor unattended.

After a few minutes more, he came over to the counter and placed two books (The Big Acoustic Guitar Chord Songbook and The Rifftionary: (Chord Songbook)) on the desk. “You play the guitar?” I asked curiously, scanning the 2 books.
“Yeah,” he smiled, letting his eyes scan up and down my body before coming to rest on my eyes. “You like guitar players?” He had a light smirk on his lips and his eyes were twinkling. I couldn’t quite read him, so I just turned away without answering.
“Is that everything?” I asked, back in my customer service role.
“No, I think I’ll also take your phone number,” he said and this time I definitely read him right. He was so sure of himself, so arrogant, that I formed an instant dislike of him.
“You can’t afford it,” I said, putting his books in a plastic bag, and handing it to him.
“I don’t know…” he said with another smirk. “I can usually afford the things I want.”
“Not this time,” I told him, just wanting this to end now. Sure, from first glance I’d been enchanted by his looks, but his personality was just…not what I had expected. “That’s £15.99.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, leaning on the counter.
“Positive,” I answered immediately, holding my hand out for the money. The boy just smirked again and dug into his pocket for the money before handing it to me. I quickly gave him his change and then handed him the bag.
“I’ll come by to see you again soon, cutie,” he said with a wink before turning and leaving the shop. I stared after him for a second, amazed at the audacity of the boy, before going to the door and locking it. In the time he’d been in the store, it had reached 5.30 and now I could lock up, cash up, and go home.

I had to start over several times while counting. I kept getting distracted by memories of that arrogant American boy.

-&-

As promised, the boy came back. I would have been disappointed if he hadn’t. Luckily, there was no one else in the store when he arrived and stood in front of the counter, placing his hand over my book. “Can I help you?” I asked, putting on a falsely pleasant tone.
“I figured I didn’t come across all that well last time,” he said immediately. “So, maybe you would let me take you out so I could make it up to you.”
“Sure,” I rolled my eyes, but he didn’t catch my sarcasm.
“Really?” he asked with a self-assured smirk.
“No,” I said bluntly, narrowing my eyes at him.
“How come?” he asked and I could see that he was genuinely confused as to why I was rejecting him.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I told him, tugging my book out from under his hands and closing it. “Which means that the only reason you want to go out with me, is coming from down there.” I pointed down at his crotch before walking away to put the book back on the shelf.
“Is that a bad thing?” he asked, following me and then standing beside me as I put the book in the proper place. I chose not to answer that idiotic question and walked back to the counter. “I do know stuff about you, honey,” the boy continued and I raised an eye brow.
“Okay, impress me,” I said, folding my arms over my chest.
“You own a bookstore,” he said and I scoffed slightly. “Your name is Olivier. You like Stephen King novels. You’re close with your parents.”
“Two out of four,” I said, wondering how he knew I liked Stephen King, but deciding against asking.
“You’re bad at maths,” he smirked, leaning on the counter once again.
“Two out of five,” I said.
“What did I get wrong?” he asked, his confident smirk still set in place.
“My name isn’t Olivier,” I told him, “and I’m…not close with my parents.” The boy looked at me for a moment before speaking.
“But you own this place?”
“Yes.”
“The shop is called Olivier’s Books,” he argued and I smiled.
“That was the previous owner,” I told him.
“Your father?” he asked.
“Two out of six,” I said, busying myself by neatening the shelf of books that people had ordered over the phone and were picking up over the coming week.
“Well, what is your name?” he asked, ignoring my comment. I looked up at him for a moment, considering telling him a lie.
“Hanson,” I said honestly.
“Hanson,” the boy repeated back to me with a smile. “I like it.”
“Glad you approve,” I said before grabbing a couple of books from the counter and walking through the shelves and putting them back where they belonged.
“I’m Dean,” he said, following me once again. I just nodded my head once, hoping that my clear lack of interest would make him leave. “See, now I already know loads more about you than when I walked in.”
“Oh yeah,” I said sarcastically, forgetting that he probably wouldn’t understand it. “That’s perfect, I’m all yours now.”
“Are you dating someone?” he asked, ignoring me once again. I froze mid-step, pushing back the all too fresh images in my mind. I hadn’t let myself think about Daniel in a long time – almost a year in fact – and I wasn’t going to let some random boy get to me.
“No,” I said, turning to face him. “I’m at this shop 6 days a week, 10 hours a day. I don’t have time for dating and nor do I have time for entertaining spoilt little rich boys who just want a quick fling.”
“Touch a nerve there, did I?” he asked and I couldn’t take anymore. I dumped the last few books on a nearby shelf and walked over to the door.
“Get out,” I told him. It wasn’t my policy to do this, of course, but I just couldn’t handle it anymore.
“Alright, sugar,” he said with a sly smile. “But you can’t keep me out. Just you wait, you’ll figure out you want me and who knows, by then it might even be too late.”

I slammed the door behind him, breathing hard at the very idea that I would ever want to be with someone like him. I wanted to be with someone nice, not that stupid, arrogant, obnoxious boy.

-&-

July, 2010

“Hey, cutie,” a voice said from in front of me and my head snapped up. And there he was, Dean, grinning that same self-certain grin. “Miss me?” he asked, leaning once again on the counter. It had been over a month since he’d last been here and, though I would never tell him this, I had sort of been hoping he’d come by again. For a moment, I’d thought that he’d gone back to America and was filled with a sense of regret that I’d never experienced before.
“Do you live round here?” I asked instead of answering his question, but I could tell from his smile that he read more into my question anyway.
“Yep,” he smiled. “I have a flat just round the corner. Why? You wanna come over?” I rolled my eyes.
“You haven’t changed,” I said, looking up and smiling as another customer walked into the store.
“Why would I change?” Dean asked, looking genuinely puzzled.
“I don’t know, maybe so you can develop some manners, or shrink that over-inflated ego of yours?” I suggested.
“Ah, but sweetie, you wouldn’t want me any other way,” he grinned and yeah, I had to admit that I’d missed that grin. I rolled my eyes but didn’t say anything as the customer – a teenage girl of about 14 – came to the till to pay.
“Is that everything?” I asked her with my usual smile.
“Yes, thanks,” she smiled, handing me the exact amount of money. I took her money and gave her, her book in a bag along with the receipt.
“There you are, have a nice day,” I smiled.
“Thank you,” she said happily before leaving the store again.
“You love your job,” Dean said from beside me and I realised then that he’d come behind the till.
“What?” I asked, confused. And I blamed my confusion for the fact that I didn’t shoo Dean from behind the counter.
“That’s something else I know about you,” he told me and I sighed. “So are you warming up to me yet?” I looked over at him and couldn’t keep the smile from tugging at my lips. Because, as much as I hated it, yeah, I was warming up to him. His arrogance and self-assurance which I had before found so vile, was luring me in. “You are,” Dean grinned widely, revealing twin dimples in his cheeks.
“I am not,” I said naturally.
“Yes you are, I can see it in your eyes,” he said, his dark brown gaze holding my green one. “You don’t hold the same contempt that you did last month.” I sighed and turned away, trying to hide my eyes from him. It unnerved me that he could read me that easily. And then, suddenly, Dean’s hand was covering mine and I froze. “Go out with me,” he said tenderly and I turned to look at him.
“Is that a question?” I whispered, suddenly finding myself unable to breathe.
“Is that an answer?” he retorted. I had to fight hard to keep my lips from curving slightly.
“Okay,” I breathed.
“Okay?” he asked and I sighed.
“I’ll go out with you,” I confirmed and Dean grinned.
“You won’t regret this, darling,” he said and I bit my lip, wondering if I already did.

-&-

The following evening – a Saturday – just after I finished work, Dean appeared at the shop. “I just closed,” I told him, motioning to the keys in my hand.
“I know,” he smiled. “I’m here to pick you up.” I looked at him for a moment before rolling my eyes. Sure, I’d agreed to go out with him, but that’s as far as things had gone – he hadn’t given me a day, a time, or even his phone number.
“How do you know I don’t have plans,” I asked him stubbornly. Dean just grinned easily and turned me and pointed to his car.
“Jump in,” he said. I hesitated a moment, ready to continuing arguing, but then decided that it would just be simpler to do as he’d said.

He drove us to a little restaurant tucked away down a practically deserted side street in London, but I had to admit that the food was pretty spectacular. “How’d you find this place?” I asked him and he grinned.
“I live opposite,” he said, pointing out of the large front windows at the block of flats opposite.
“I suppose this is all part of your plan?” I asked, looking up from my spaghetti at him. His lips just curved but he didn’t answer. I looked around the restaurant, taking in the bright decorations and the dimmed lights. “How did you know I liked Stephen King?” I asked the question which had been buzzing through my head since he’d given that little bit of information.
“Both times I came into your shop, you were reading a different Stephen King novel,” he shrugged. I stared at him, but didn’t really know what to say. “Tell me about yourself,” Dean said and I turned back to him with a smile.
“I thought you were confident you knew enough,” I said, raising an eye brow.
“I want to know more,” he said and I chuckled before nodding.
“Um, I’m 21, born and raised in London, my parents moved out to the country when I was 19 and went to university, I dropped out of uni after a semester and bought the shop from Mr Olivier when he retired,” I said, quickly summing up my life.
“That’s why you don’t get on with your parents,” he said. It wasn’t really a question; he’d already figured it out.
“Yeah,” I said shortly, looking away from him again. “Dropping out of school is unacceptable to them. Especially to open a shop – they’re kind of snobby, I guess. The working class is below them.” I rolled my eyes but I don’t know whether Dean caught it.
“I can beat you,” he said, surprising me. I looked up at him curiously. “The whole disappointing-child-thing. I can beat you.”
“Okay…” I said, prompting him to continue.
“I dropped out of high school, didn’t even graduate,” he said with a shrug. “My parents are trying to persuade me to go to college, they said they’d even pay and then give me a job in their company so I don’t have to go through all that stress of finding a job straight out of college.”
“What do you want to do?” I asked, gazing at him. He looked up into my eyes and then smiled, a true, genuine smile that transformed his face away from its usual cockiness and arrogance to a real person.
“Music,” he said reverently. “I want to be out there playing it, living it. I don’t want to be stuck in a classroom for God knows how many years. Music is real to me, you know? It speaks to me. Others may not get it, but it’s the truth.”

And just then, sitting in that tiny little restaurant, opposite a boy I hardly even knew, I realised something. Dean thinks of music in the same way I think of books. It’s something you can’t put into words, it’s just something you feel.

“What are you thinking, honey?” Dean asked, jolting me out of my thoughts. I looked at him and shook my head with a shy smile.
“You managed to find something we have in common,” I told him. Dean just smiled that self-confident smile once again. I didn’t know whether he knew what I was talking about or not, but he was clearly pleased with himself anyway.

-&-

August, 2011

It was already starting to get slightly colder in London. The sun wasn’t out so much and there was a definite chill in the air. But everything carried on as normal. “Hi,” a voice said from behind me, and I turned and smiled at the boy standing there.
“Hi,” I smiled. He looked to be about 18 – a year younger than Dean – and he had a piece of paper in his hand.
“Um, I’ve got your application form here,” he said, holding it out to me.
“Oh, great,” I said enthusiastically, taking the form and scanning the name. “I’m still getting applicants in, but I will give you a call as soon as possible.”
“Great, thanks,” he smiled. He looked around the store for a minute before leaving.

I placed his application form under the counter, beneath the till, with the other 2 that had been submitted. I’d decided to hire someone else to help me run the store. I knew I was here too much as it was, and I didn’t want to repeat my mistakes, I was going to learn from them. As it was, I couldn’t spend all that much time with my boyfriend, and I didn’t like that. I was kind of nervous, I didn’t want to ruin things between us by working all the time – things were going so perfectly. “You’re married to that damn shop. No one can ever get close to you because that shop is your number one priority.” The words came zooming back to me and I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Daniel had been right, of course. He’d been right about everything. We’d been together for over a year, but then he’d had enough. I could only push him aside for so long before he got tired of it. But I wasn’t going to let that happen to Dean.

The jingle of the bell alerted me to a new customer and I opened my eyes. “Dean,” I grinned, coming around the counter to greet him.
“You looked like you were thinking hard, baby,” he teased, pecking my lips lightly. I just hummed before turning back to the counter. “Anyway, I’ve got some good news,” Dean said happily, following me behind the counter and taking my hand. “I got a job.” My eyes widened as a grin spread across my face.
“You did!?” I cried, hugging him tightly. “That’s so great!”
“Yeah, and it’s really great,” he smiled excitedly. “Its playing back-up for this singer, who’s pretty amazing. She’s hoping to get signed and everything, so this is the first step.”

A sudden fear hit me that if this singer hit the big time and kept her band, then that would mean Duke would leave… But I quickly pushed the thought to the back of mind. “That’s amazing,” I smiled. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you,” he smiled, giving my hand a tight squeeze.
“I’ve got a surprise for you, too,” I told him with a smile. “I was going to tell you once it was finalised and everything, but I might as well tell you now. I’m hiring someone else to help me in the store. So I’ll be able to have more days off and spend more time with you.”
“Really,” he grinned widely, his eyes twinkling. “Oh, sugar, that’s wonderful!” He gazed down at me for a moment and the smiled tenderly. “We should live together,” he said suddenly and my eyes widened.
“Wh…We’ve only been going out for 2 months…” I argued even though my heart was racing with excitement.
“So?” he asked. “One glance was all it took for me to know that you were who I wanted, who I needed. Really, it’s quite amazing that I waited 2 months before suggesting this.” I chuckled softly and then wrapped my arms around his neck.
“You really want to live with me?” I whispered, gazing into his beautiful brown eyes.
“Well, if you’re going to be having more time off, I want to be able to spend every second of it with you,” he said. I stared up at him for a long, drawn out moment and then grinned.
“You’re not joking, are you? You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack,” he grinned.
“Then yes,” I said happily. “I want to wake up with you in the morning and fall asleep with you at night.” I gazed up into his eyes and he smiled gently, tracing his thumb down my jaw.
“’The very first moment I beheld him, my heart was irrevocably gone,’” he whispered and I blinked.
“Did you just quote Jane Austen to me?” I whispered, my heart swelling with love.
“I think I did,” he grinned, nudging my nose with his.
“You’re such a charmer,” I whispered. “’My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’” Dean grinned and ducked his head to press a kiss to my lips.
“I love you, too,” he whispered against my lips. I grinned into the kiss.

That afternoon was the first time I ever shut the shop early without a good reason. Well, I mean, I had a reason, but I don’t think rushing home to make love to your boyfriend counts as a good one. But I didn’t care. Dean was my number one and the shop was number two, just as it was supposed to be. And I was perfectly happy with that order.