Good enough for him. Rasul put the book on his pile. “Any other recs?”
“Of course. Are you looking exclusively for science fiction and fantasy?”
“No, no. Thought-provoking but still fun and in no way pedantic is the mood I’m here for.”
“Hmm.” Rogers tapped a finger against his lips as he perused the shelves. “How about Here and Now and Then? Have you read Chen yet?”
Rasul hadn’t. “What’s it about?”
“Oh, it’s excellent. A time-traveling secret agent struggling to maintain a relationship with his daughter gets stranded in the past for eighteen years, though when his rescue team comes, he finds out it’s only been a few weeks in his proper timeline. And also he can’t remember his family.”
Rasul’s eyebrows rose. “That sounds perfect.”
“From what I know of your tastes, and given what you said you were after, I think it will fit the bill perfectly.”
So the man did know who he was, but he was playing it cool. God, Rasul wanted to live in this bookshop.
He did a quick perusal of the man beside him once again, but nothing lit up. Mr. Rogers chic just didn’t do it for Rasul.
The man missed Rasul’s cruise, too busy wandering to the opposite shelves. “Hmm. Please don’t be offended by my question, but have you read I Capture the Castle?”
Rasul’s heart instantly filled with longing. “Forty-five times, I think, but back when I was young. Put it on the pile. It’s time for a reread.” It would smart a little to have too much in common with James Mortmain, but perhaps that would be good for him.
Good God, was that why Mr. Rogers recommended it?
Before he could figure out how to ask, the bookseller had another volume, this one taken from the manga section Rasul had somehow completely overlooked. “This is a bit off the beaten path, but I honestly think you’d like My Brother’s Husband. I have both volume one and two in stock, but feel free to start with the first one to see if I guessed right or not.”
“You picked up my favorite childhood novel. I trust your judgment. Put both on.”
Rogers nodded. “I’ll keep these at the front desk and wait for you when you’re finished shopping.”
Rasul lingered with the manga, picking up some volumes of series he’d forgotten to finish and starting another pile nearly as big as the one Mr. Rogers had taken away. This was going to get expensive, but he would rather eat ramen than have nothing to read. Plus this entire bookstore felt like church for authors. This was practically writing, shopping here.
He was pondering whether he could afford to buy the entire Fullmetal Alchemist series when a commotion at the front of the store drew his attention. The bell jangled constant peals of warning as the sound of many feet and an eerie chorus of feminine giggles filled the bookstore.
“Oh my God, do you think he’s still here?”
“I’m gonna get my picture with him.”
“I’m gonna make him sign my chest.”
“Sick. Get him to sign your tit and I’ll give you twenty bucks.”
Rasul’s stomach plummeted to his feet as he scanned frantically for an emergency exit. No question but this crew was here for him. The next thing he heard froze him cold, however.
“Don’t forget to tag Adina so we get the shout-out.”
No way. No way, this couldn’t be happening, not when Elizabeth had just handed him his ass.
Before he could spiral into a deeper wave of panic, Mr. Rogers appeared. He no longer looked like a demure children’s show host, however. His lips were in a thin line, and it was clear someone was about to get an earful.
Rogers nodded curtly to the front of the store. “My apologies, Mr. Youssef. It seems some young people in Copper Point don’t know how to behave. With your permission, I’ll help you leave the store undetected.”
Though Rasul nodded in relief, he also cast a sad glance of longing at his books.
Rogers swept them up at once. “I’ll get your books for you. Come, follow me up these back stairs. The first-floor rear door is alarmed, but I live above the shop and have my own entrance.” Rogers was already unlocking an unassuming green door with a sign reading PRIVATE, KEEP OUT. The door also had a small cat door at the bottom.
Once Rogers had the door open, he ushered Rasul ahead of him. “Up the stairs and to the right. I’ll take you out through the kitchen and get you to your car.”
“I don’t have a car—” Rasul broke off and swore as he tripped over something on the stairs. It yowled. A black cat swiped at his leg, then darted up the stairs and into the shadows.
Rogers sighed. “Moriarty likes to hide on the top stair. I swear one day he’ll be the death of me.”
He named his cat Moriarty. Rasul considered reevaluating his rescuer’s hotness potential once again, but then he remembered the sweater. Nope.
Rogers led Rasul into the kitchen, sat him down, and pulled up his pant leg with the no-nonsense composure of a kindergarten teacher. “I’m so sorry, he drew blood. He’s had all his shots, though. Let me get you some disinfectant.” He hurried away before Rasul could say anything, then returned with a tidy plastic box full of first-aid supplies, which he set down beside Rasul. “I’m going to run downstairs quick and sort things out. Please make yourself at home. There are glasses in the cupboard, as well as mugs for tea. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Without waiting for Rasul to say a word, Rogers was gone.
After staring for several seconds at the place where the bookseller had disappeared, Rasul fished through the first-aid kit, put some alcohol on a pad, and cleaned the cut with a soft hiss. After he put a bandage on the cut, he collected his garbage and stood to search for a trash can.
The apartment was the complete opposite of Rasul’s. It overflowed with things in a way that made Rasul feel comforted and safe while also being absolutely neat and clean. As he wandered from room to room, he saw the whole place was much like the main body of the bookstore, old but well-maintained and in several aspects modernized. The kitchen had a pokey feel to it, but the appliances were all sleek and modern, the countertops granite. The living room creaked as Rasul crossed it, and the overstuffed sofa came complete with a knitted afghan right out of the 1970s, but a small television mounted on the wall was the latest brand and connected to a Blu-ray player. The bathroom was the best, full of old white tile with an actual iron claw-foot tub, but also an impressive rainfall shower and a modern sink. It was as clean as the rest of the apartment, not so much as a hair on the floor.
He hurried back to the kitchen, where the black cat had taken up the observation point on the top of the fridge and growled at him when he came too close. He didn’t want to get caught snooping when Rogers returned, but it was taking forever, so he took the man up on his offer and made himself some tea—a loose-leaf Earl Grey. He’d just finished steeping it and was having a sip when the door from the first floor opened and smart footsteps double-timed up the stairs.
Rogers wiped the residual look of murder off his face, but he was still stern as he entered the kitchen. “My apologies for taking so long. It seems my part-timer alerted her friends that you were here, and those friends told their friends, and the end result was a swarm of sixteen-year-olds. A friend of mine came over to mind the shop for a few minutes, and another is en route to escort you home.” He passed a sturdy polyurethane bag with MOORE BOOKS printed on the front and overflowing with books. “Please accept your selected titles gratis as an expression of my apology.”