Work Text:
Manning the till serves as a good opportunity to people watch on any given day, but rainy days are Phil’s favourites. They always have a rhythm; the jingling of the shopkeeper’s bell preceding every snap of an umbrella closing, wet boots squeaking on the hardwood floors in unknowing rebellion of the “Please Wipe Your Feet” sign, hushed conversations about whatever new books have just been put on display. The elderly ladies always browse in groups, even if they do not arrive that way, whereas the old men tend to wander on their own, pensively rubbing their chins at every title that catches their eye. The young patrons, most coming from the university, shop with greater haste, usually only spending a few minutes tracking down each title on their lists before checking out. Occasionally, one or two trickle in early in the morning and meander, always with a coffee in hand, running their fingertips along the shelves as if they’re in the montage of a coming of age film.
If his parents were supervising him, they’d tell him off for ogling at the customers, for leaning up against the counter lost in thought, for completely ignoring the unfinished arrangement of bookmarks, fountain pens, and various other trinkets he was supposed to put together by the end of the day.
But it’s already half past 3 and Phil considers the day just about over. He’s already fantasizing about closing up shop once 4 o’clock hits, when that shrill, jangling bell brings him out of his thoughts.
A young gentleman walks in, as tall, dark and handsome as any romance novel love interest. He is shrouded in a black peacoat, sunglasses, and a mop of overgrown brown curls shielding the top half of his face. All Phil can make out is a round nose poking out from beneath the tinted shades and a streak of stubble across his upper lip so desperately trying to resemble an actual mustache. Phil almost convinces himself this man just stepped out of a pulp fiction paperback when the lanky fellow suddenly bangs his head on the doorframe and crumbles forward, muttering fuckin’ hell under his breath just loud enough for Phil to hear.
Instinctively, Phil runs up to him.
“Sir? Are you alright?”
The young man looks up at him with a nervous smile and slowly pulls his sunglasses off. Phil just about gasps at the bright chestnut eyes that are revealed before him. He follows those eyes as the man stands back up, up and up and up until he is standing just a few inches taller than Phil, who now understands why that doorframe got in this man’s way.
“I’m fine, thanks,” he mumbles and awkwardly turns his back to Phil, putting his hands in his pockets and walking to the nearest bookshelves with a hunched posture that makes him seem so much smaller than he is.
“Is there anything I can help you find?” Phil takes a few long strides and reaches out a hand, accidentally letting it hover over the customer’s shoulder.
“Unless you have any books about fixing my marriage then probably not.”
Marriage . He didn’t pin him as the married type, though perhaps given his snarky comment, Phil’s judgement is fair. His eyes flit to the man’s left hand, currently twiddling those dark-rimmed sunglasses around with slender fingers, fingers that are totally bare.
Before Phil can speculate further, he’s interrupted by a sharp cough.
“Oh, right, uh... well, we’ve got self-help right back here?” Phil says softly, gesturing to the back wall.
The man lets out a chuckle at that. His stoic expression cracks around the edges of his mouth, one corner rising up into a smirk and dimpling his cheeks as a result.
“Nah, mate, I’m just looking for something to read to my daughter. Preferably not…” The man glances over his shoulder and reaches back to grab a bright red hardback off the shelf. “ Getting Lucky: How to Win the Love Lotto but who knows, three year-olds are into a lot of weird shit these days.”
Daughter? He has a young face but Phil supposes the man could be old enough to have a young child, given the stress lines on his face and a few rogue grey hairs popping out of his mess of brown curls. But Phil’s still not used to the idea of people his age, or even a little younger as this man seems to be, being married, settled down, and raising kids. He’s always pushed those notions off to some hazy ‘future’ without realising other people have actually been able to obtain what seems so unreachable to Phil.
He shakes his head out of that fog when he remembers he’s still on the clock, at least for another hour. There will be time for pondering his future when he cleans up after closing, he supposes.
“Um… oh!” Phil snaps his eyes back up to look at the man in front of him once he remembers what he was even asking. “Yes, your daughter? Well, what kind of books does she read?”
The young father snorts and shakes his head with an endearing grin.
“You don’t have kids, do you?”
“What gives you that impression?” Phil’s reply is sarcastic, though he genuinely does wonder if his perpetual single-ness is that obvious.
“Well, if you did, you’d know most toddlers aren’t Matilda Wormwood. I need something with pictures? I dunno, something we can read together to distract her from the whole ‘your mum cheated on me and we’re getting divorced and I don’t know who is going to take care of you’ thing...and I am realizing I’m saying all of this to a total stranger. Uh… hi, I’m Dan, I should be off to find those books before I embarrass myself any further in front of the cute bookstore guy.”
The man, Dan apparently, freezes the moment those last few words leave his mouth. His jaw clenches, his eyes get wide and round, and Phil is almost convinced he’s about to bolt.
He’s in a state of shock himself but decides it best to pretend this man is still a total stranger, just a rather mortified looking customer.
“Would Where the Wild Things Are do the trick?”
…
Customers continue to shuffle in and out of the shop but Phil can’t truly be bothered to pay attention. He goes through the motions of ringing up those who found what they were looking for and offering help to those who haven’t, but his eyes never stray from the gangly guy puttering about the children’s section for very long.
If he didn’t know Dan’s intentions were good, Phil would definitely find the whole thing a bit creepy. The black coat and sunglasses really aren’t helping Dan’s image either. But knowing the context and seeing this poor man, a bumbling father a little out of his depth and probably deeply sexually repressed, trying his best to make his daughter happy, makes Phil feel surprisingly sentimental. He’s reminded of when his little niece had been born a few years ago, just before Christmas, and he had to scramble to find a teddy for her to celebrate both occasions. His bachelorhood had never been more obvious than when the department store clerk asked him if he wanted a gift receipt and he immediately asked her how a baby would be able to return it.
Phil feels a strange longing in his chest at that odd memory. Being an employee of his parents for going on five years tends to remind him that he hasn’t truly been able to fly the nest like his brother has. But he also knows Dan has something to do with these sudden feelings too. Phil feels a little more than sentimental about the awkward young father and he’s at a loss on how to process it. He can’t remember the last time a customer came in who Phil found genuinely fit and he’s not sure if he’s ever been properly flirted with in the shop before, aside from the old ladies who like to tell him that he’ll find the perfect girl someday. Phil never felt inclined to open that can of worms.
But maybe those little old ladies were on to something. It must have been coincidence that brought Dan into his orbit, or maybe something closer to serendipity. And Phil was never one to dismiss any messages from the universe. But now it is time to take fate into his own hands.
He glances over his shoulder to make sure Dan is still occupied. Phil grins at the sight of the gentle giant puzzling over Dr. Seuss and Paddington Bear, reading the books with a furrowed brow like they are complicated philosophical texts. This guy’s got to be some kind of lawyer , Phil thinks. There’s no other profession that employs people with such scrutinizing facial expressions.
While Dan’s still busy waffling between talking cats and magical teddies and the till has quieted down enough for Phil not to get scolded for turning away, he leaves the register and heads through the doorway to the stockroom in the back. He reaches up, standing on his tiptoes, to grab the box of receipt paper at the top of the precarious shelf in the back of the room. He makes a mental note to remind his small, borderline elderly mother about that whole situation.
He unfurls a roll and rips off just enough to get the job done then grabs a pen from the shelf below and scrawls what he hopes is something legible on the glossy white paper. Phil heads back to the doorway but stops himself before he can fully enter the store.
This is stupid. This is so stupid and he’s going to hate you if he doesn’t already and you should just leave the customers alone, Phil, because they’re definitely not interested .
The thoughts buzz inside his skull like his brain has become a wasp’s nest in the time it’s taken him to get what he needed from the stockroom. He feels the buzzing sensation down through his arms and legs, shooting pins and needles through his feet and leaving his hands trembling in a cold sweat. He’s been out of the game for a while but he’s pretty sure no guy’s ever made him feel like this before.
Phil takes a deep breath and steps through the doorway. Even if he is making a fool of himself, he’d at least prefer to rip the plaster off as soon as possible. He steps toward the counter, totally unable to look up from the floor in fear of who might be waiting there for him.
“I’m sorry if I made any assumptions about you.”
He flinches at that posh voice, somehow already so familiar. Phil lifts his head up slowly to be confronted with its source. Dan looks back at him with soulful eyes and gives him a half-smile, obviously trying to hide the anxiety Phil can tell lies behind those eyes, the same buzzing anticipation that’s in his own head too.
“I just… uh… thanks for your help with the books and I’ll give you some money… for the books, I mean. Then you’ll never have to see me again which is probably for the best and—”
“Dan.” Phil interjects. Dan looks up from the spot on the front counter he had been fixated on during the entirety of his speech. “Here’s your receipt. Make sure to hold on to it in case your daughter’s ready for something more advanced. May I suggest Melville?”
Dan cracks a grin at that. He tucks the stack of picture books under his arm and almost fully turns his back to Phil before stumbling back again.
“Wait, I didn’t even pay for these…?”
“It’s on me,” Phil says with his best attempt at a wink. Dan puts those dimples on display one last time before heading to the exit. Well, Phil’s pretty sure they make another appearance when Dan finally realizes what’s on the receipt.