Simon didn’t notice my inner turmoil. “The shop closes at six, right?”
I nodded. “I’m here for a few more hours. I can meet you later—”
“I can wait.” He indicated the laptop bag on the table. “I’ve got some work I can get done.”
“If you’re sure . . .” I pushed back to my feet. “Let me know if you need more coffee, okay?”
As the afternoon went on, I split my time between the coffee counter and the front of the store, helping Chris whenever she needed it. She seemed to need it more than she usually did, teaching me about running the shop. It was interesting, since retail was new to me, but I didn’t get why she wanted me to learn all this now when my time there was coming to an end. When she left around five I went around to the back to close down the coffee counter. I may have stopped at a certain table to run a hand through my favorite pirate’s hair.
“Still here, huh?”
Simon looked up from his laptop and smiled at me. “Where would I go? I’m waiting for you.”
“Not too bored?”
“Not at all. I’ve been busy . . .” He pointed at the screen, and I leaned over to take a look.
“What’s this, online gaming? I didn’t take you for a . . .” I squinted at the spreadsheet he had up. “That’s a terrible game.”
He laughed, ending with a cluck of his tongue. “It is. Planning ahead for the school year. I’ve been meaning to catch up on some paperwork. I may as well do it here.” He reached for me, catching my hand in his and kissing my knuckles again. “I’m way behind this summer.” He cocked an eyebrow in my direction, that look that made me want to start unbuttoning. “I’ve had other things on my mind these past few weeks, for some reason.”
“Hmm. Can’t imagine what.” I tried to sound innocent, but mostly failed. “I’m closing up soon. We can get some dinner, if you want.”
“I’d love that.” One more kiss and he released my hand. While I cleaned out machines at the coffee counter, I caught my attention wandering back to Simon. Now that summer was ending his teacher persona was coming back; I could see it in the way he carried himself. Captain Blackthorne would be more apt to sprawl in a chair. But Simon’s posture was more rigid; he sat up straight, frowning occasionally at his laptop before jotting something down in a notebook at his side.
“I can’t believe the summer’s almost over.” I almost rolled my eyes at my pathetic attempt at small talk. Maybe I would mention the weather next.
“It went too fast.” But his voice had turned grave, and I peeked over to see him frowning at his laptop.
“What’s the matter?”
“The end of the summer is always a little weird.” He sighed. “Summer’s something I look forward to every year, you know . . . Faire. Being a pirate. But then in September I’m just me again.” He could only hold my gaze for a moment before he glanced off to the side. “You didn’t like that guy much, as I recall.”
“I don’t know.” I couldn’t stop my smile. “He’s kind of grown on me.” He looked back at me, and this time our gazes held. He smiled back, a small curve of his lips, but it was enough.
This kind of talk made me nervous. I wanted to ask him what he wanted from me. From us. Should we talk about whether this thing between us had a future? But then the bell over the front door chimed, and I had to get back to work. I hadn’t expected a late-afternoon rush on a Tuesday of all days, but before I knew it I could close up for the night. I threw the bolt on the front door and flipped the Closed sign over. I needed to count down the cash drawer, but I also needed to see Simon. I’d left him alone much longer than I’d wanted to.
Flipping off half of the overhead lights as I went, I called his name as I reached that side of the shop. “Excuse me, sir, but we’re closing . . .” My voice trailed off when I registered his table was empty. His laptop was still open but had gone dark, so he’d been away for a few minutes at least. His pen was tossed down on the open notebook, half a page filled with ridiculously neat block writing. One glance at the page, and I knew where he was.
Our classics section was small but well stocked with the basics. I found what I was looking for there in the semidarkness of the stacks. Simon leaned against the bookcase, elbow braced on a shelf, a slim volume open in his hands. I cleared my throat, and he looked up almost guiltily.
“Sorry, I got distracted. Closing up, though, right? I noticed it got darker in here.”
“Picked up on that, huh?” I walked over to check out the book he was holding. It was hard to read upside down in the dim light. “What’s that?”
“Shakespeare.” He handed me the book. “I do a short unit on Shakespeare with my AP kids at the beginning of the year, and I was deciding which sonnet to talk about.”
“Oooh, the sonnets. They don’t get enough love.” No wonder the volume was so thin. A Complete Works, on the other hand, could qualify as a murder weapon. I flipped through the pages before coming back to the page he was reading. “Sonnet 29? You like this one?”
“I do.” An arm slid around my waist as he pulled me closer. He nestled me into him, my back against his chest. “It feels apropos for this summer.”
“Really?” I tilted the book a little to catch more of the light, and read out loud, my voice a quiet murmur:
“When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate . . .”
“You have a good voice for Shakespeare.” Simon’s mouth was right next to my ear, and I turned a little to look at him over my shoulder.
“English major, remember? I’ve always loved the way Shakespeare sounds.” I turned back to the book as he brushed a kiss on my temple. “So this is about you? Sounds like you had a shitty summer so far.”
“I wasn’t in a very good mood at the start of it, if you recall.” He fiddled with a lock of my hair, one of several that had escaped from its clip during the day.
I did recall. He’d been in a pretty bad place. Lots of people had commented on it to me, but had I been the only one who had actually talked to him about it? Did the rest of this town take him for granted? “Yeah, but ‘bootless cries’? ‘Curse my fate’? Seems a little melodramatic.”
“I’m a dramatic guy.” I felt his smile against the side of my neck, and I kept reading.
“Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,