Nissa sat behind the sales counter reading her book. She checked her watch, looked out the store window, then resumed reading about traveling thru Thailand. It was a quiet afternoon in 'Second Glance'. Then again, most summer mornings, afternoons, and evenings it was quiet in the used bookstore. Once in a while a university student would come in looking to exchange their worn text books for other worn text books or an elderly matron would wander in looking for tawdry romance paperbacks that the store practically sold at 50 cents to the kilo.
Other than those sporadic visits, Nissa only slid off her comfy stool occasionally during her shifts to rearrange stock on the shelves or to turn the "Back in 15 Minutes" sign around in the door window.
Certainly for a third year university student on summer break there were more active and engaging places to work at, but she did appreciate the easy, relaxing pace of the small store. Never one for hanging out at those crowded chain coffee shops, nor did she have the chops to sell clothes to fashionistas or A.D.D teenagers at those high strung boutique stores, the laid back intimacy of the small side-street bookstore suited her.
The bookstore was the current iteration of the three-quarter century unit located in the mid-town of the city. Once a small grocery, then a cafe, then an art gallery, and so on, it now sold books, used but with still stories to tell. Who knew how many layers of paint were underneath the current rich, forest green veneer? For current fixtures, two-sided dark-wood shelves were lined up in a row like soldiers from the front all the way to the back of the long but narrow space, each with one of their sides pressed up against the wall opposite to the sales counter creating short, enclosed aisles. Low wattage ceiling lights cast a haunting glow over the books at night. During the day, Nissa preferred the hazy shimmer of white light that filtered through the store from the large storefront window.
The only things that remained untouched, it seemed, was the solid wood floor. It had been waxed and refinished throughout the years but it continued to showcase its defiantly elegant natural wood grain. The lazy creaking noises that ebbed from the floorboards as people walked across them or shifted their feet as they read amongst the shelves was somewhat of a pleasing sound to Nissa. It was also a challenge for her since, as a dance student, the floors reminded her to stay light and graceful on her feet. It added to the serene ambiance of the place.
The young storekeeper's attire and style matched the store, simple, relaxed, classical. She preferred a natural, clean look forgoing much make-up for just a light kiss of blush on her high, cafe au lait cheeks. Her shimmering midnight black hair was kept silky straight and either swept altogether to the front over one shoulder or all back behind her neck, its cascading length stretching down to the small curve of her back. A wheat brown, soft cotton skirt covered her slender legs to her ankles which were covered by white heel socks and simple, black slipper shoes. She accessorized an off the discount shelf white T-shirt with a light silk scarf wrapped lightly once around her smooth, caramel cream neck.
Comfortable and rarely disturbed, Nissa had ample time to indulge in her love of reading -- another boon for working in a bookstore. Summer time meant she could ditch the mind-numbing text books for some suspense, some enriching classics, some thought-provoking existentialism, and even some crotch clutching titillation, at least once in a while to keep the body stimulated as well as the mind. Currently it was a 4-year old travel guide to Thailand in her hands. Eventually, after graduation perhaps, she would visit the homeland of her parents for the first time.
It was nearly 2:30 in the afternoon of this particularly non-descript Thursday. A sultry voiced French crooner sang his brooding songs of regret, temptation and love through the speakers of the small CD player beneath the counter. Yet, Nissa could hear the ticking of the pendulum clock off to the side over his singing. She flipped through the pages of her book, becoming increasingly detached from the words and pictures, checking the clock with increasing frequency. Her legs crossed, she bounced one over the other, an crinkling vibe of anticipation creeping between her gut and her toes.
The fine line of her thin dark brows pinched together. He should have been here by now.
Almost simultaneous to that thought, the little brass bells above the door tinkled like chattering fairies. For a moment, the sounds of the streets filtered in, only to be dulled as the door fell shut once more. Nissa sat up in her seat, facing away from the door for a moment. She inhaled, relaxed her face then spun her stool seat around.
And there he was, at first a silhouetted figure with the halo of bright summer light sweeping behind him from the outside. As her slender, almond eyes focused, the handsomely symmetric, bold angled, dark figure of a man came into view. An easy, deceptively courteous closed smile slipped onto his full brown lips. The narrowed look in his marine green, crescent eyes was that more inviting.
Nissa swept here hair behind her neck, smiled and nodded, with a subtle, slow blink of her long lashes. "Good afternoon," she said politely.
"Ms.Nissa," the man answered, nodding in turn, "Comment ça va?"
"Bien, merci," she replied, grinning. That was about all the French she knew but that brief exchange already represented about 25% of what their few conversations had encompassed.
His name was Leandro. In the two months since he had first entered the shop, that was one of the few significant bits of information she had gotten from him other than physical and surface characteristics. Oh, but those were attractive characteristics to be sure. That smooth as smoke voice laced with that rich French accent tickled at her ear. The clothes he wore were refined, fashionable and fit his running trim frame as if everything from his jackets to his leather shoes had been personally tailored. Perfect combinations of a rounded, wide nose, full pink lips, high cheekbones, squared off jaw and dimpled chin were all pulled together by those eyes, electric and provocative, that magnetically sucked in anything in its viewing path.
Finally there was his scent which implanted in Nissa's head the vivid image of ocean waves crashing relentlessly and dying upon jagged rocks. This engaging musk was the enhancing sauce splashed upon his rich, roasted chestnut and mocha dark skin.
This was a creature built for seduction. Or so Nissa's burgeoning imagination had created.
She placed her book on the table and folded her hands on her lap, legs remaining crossed. Quietly she watched as Leandro walked slowly through the store, deliberate tilts and turns of his head up-and-down, side-to-side, always as if it were the first time in Second Glance. There was a certain appreciation in his examinations as he scanned the books, the shelves, the store itself. That appreciation only seemed to intensify when his eyes crossed paths with Nissa. He would never stare though, never burn his glare into her. His looks were purposeful yet were only glances. Enough for her to skip a beat or two.
He moved his leather portfolio briefcase from one hand to the other as he stopped in front of a display of books by a shelf in front of the counter and picked up a hardcover. Nissa pushed herself upright in her seat to look over his shoulder, trying to see what he selected. However, Leandro just put it down and proceeded to stroll to the back of the store. He knew what he wanted.
The first time Leandro had entered the store, he had asked where the art and photography books were kept. It was the only time he had ever asked Nissa for help. Instead of simply telling him which aisle to go to, Nissa had felt strangely compelled to come out from behind the counter and walk him to the back shelves. As she walked in front, leading him down the narrow corridor, she wanted to look back and see if he was watching her, appreciating her as he did the store. The books he sought were almost at the very back, an area dimly lit, beyond the reach of the natural light from the windows.
Arriving at the row of shelves, she gestured towards the books. "Are you an artist? A photographer?" she had asked, feeling atypically curious about a customer.
