An hour slipped away, not in a slow drag of minutes, but in a swift, startling current.
The musty scent of old paper and binding glue, usually the dominant aroma of the shop, was now underscored by the faint, clean scent of his cologne.
The world outside the tall, dusty windows seemed to fade into a blur.
Marissa found herself laughing at a dry witticism of his, the sound surprisingly free and easy in her own ears.
She was, against all her initial reserve, thoroughly enjoying his company.
It was with a genuine pang of disappointment that she saw him glance at his watch.
"I've monopolized your afternoon," he said, a note of genuine regret in his voice. "I need to get going."
"Oh," was all she could muster, the word laden with an unspoken wish for him to stay.
He took a step back, but his gaze held hers, anchoring her to the spot.
"I'm in here every Wednesday afternoon," he said, the statement delivered not as a casual remark, but as a deliberate piece of intelligence.
