False Start

A soft sigh blew across Caitlin's rouge lips. Of course, people were flooding in, leaving trails of water that dropped from the very tip of their umbrellas, and muddy shoe prints from careless teenagers that never bother to stop to wipe their feet. The fast-falling rain made the dimly lit bookstore somewhat warm, and inviting. Of course, the people that entered in moments like these were never there for the books, and yet still, they search the aisles aimlessly as to not seem rude, and as if to not show they'd simply entered for the purpose she knew all too well they had; to escape the weather.

It seemed bad weather was the only time the little store was busy, and loud. Some would think she'd be thankful, but noisy chatter, and squeaky feet were merely a hindrance, distracting her from putting pen to paper, and jotting down words she'd often wrongly call writing, and toss into the trash can that same evening before she left. Instead she sat behind the cash register, gnawing on her pen, and waiting for someone, anyone, to actually buy a book - or at least pretend to look interested in one.

A shadow cast across the floor, the gnawing stopped, and she placed her pen down. She peered over the brown frames of her glasses, that of which were oval, and too large for her face. A tall man, huddled in the doorway, protecting himself from the rain. Something drew her to him, it could have been his stance, the fact that he braved the cold, still sheltering without adding to the traffic inside the shop. Or, perhaps, that he didn't enter, and instead selfishly blocked the only way in or out, simply to stay dry.

"Caitlin, dear, please tell that man to either come inside, or go away, you don't want a reputation of loitering, do you?" A shrill voice came, followed by stubby legs carrying a chubby woman she unfortunately called her mother: Rosalie Todd.

Caitlin rolled her eyes. When her late grandmother (on her father's side of course) left her the beloved bookshop to her favourite granddaughter, she'd expected something awfully different to this. She'd hoped to keep the elegance, and essence of her grandmother - also named Caitlin - in the shop. Visions of children curled in the corner, with sizeable mugs of hot chocolate, topped with marshmallows, losing themselves in the thick pages of hopes and dreams, just like she had as a child.

She did not, however, imagine her mother would invite herself to co-manage the little shop, insisting that Caitlin was too young, and didn't have what it took to run a business. How hypocritical: Her mother spends years scolding her, telling her to lift her head from the books, and now she co-owns the damn business.

"Caitlin! Are you listening?" Rosalie approached the desk, the slight wrinkles below her eyes bunching as she became irritated.

"Yes, mother." Caitlin took a deep breath, and slipped from her chair.

It took him a while to notice it. Perhaps it had been the young child in pigtails who dropped her ice cream and Gibbs felt compelled to buy her another. She had caramel eyes, and a face full of freckles. Or maybe it was the crimson rose that floated from the bucket and landed at his feet as he passed the grand re-opening of a newly refurbished florist, "Infinity Flowers."

A drop of rain tumbled, and dropped from his nose. The earth vibrated, the sky rumbling once again and opening, so that the busy streets became hectic, with people hailing cabs, and searching for shelter; many unprepared for the sudden shift in weather. With cold bones, he shivered. Goosebumps rose the hairs on his arms, despite being covered in a long black coat, with his hands buried as far inside his pockets as they could possible go.

He found refuge from the beating down rain, the roar of voices, splashing feet, and elbows bumping together, outside a dimly lit bookshop, under a little roof, with chipped paint that covered the large, black door with a square window. He watched as the rose that had previously hit the top of his boot, was snapped beneath the bottom of a dozen others. His chest ached every so slightly and the bell on the door behind him chimed, dragging him from his daze.

"Excuse me, Sir." A soft voice spoke nervously from behind him.

He turned toward the sweet voice. The girl was young, just twenty-something, he guessed, with ridiculously over-sized glasses, and a small, welcoming smile that attracted his eyes to her lips.

"You're blocking the entrance, but you're more than welcome to come in." Her smile was sheepish, and filled with instant apologies the moment the thought sprung to mind that she herself, was being rude.

His eyes narrowed, and twitched. Her pale skin against her darkened eyes ignited warmth inside him and for once, he was speechless without wanting to be. He turned again, and with his back toward her stepped out into the rain, passed the pressed, damp rose, and through the oncoming crowd.

Caitlin's head tilted to the side, her face quizzical as she watched him walk away. He seemed to blur into the foggy mass of people, power walking in suits, some clutching umbrellas, some braving the unavoidable rain, a picture so black and white, she wasn't sure whether or not the salt and pepper haired man had been real, or a mere mystery.

She scrunched her nose, her brow furrowing with it as she looked out toward the grey streets, bewildered. With a shrug, she used her knuckle to adjust her glasses, swung around, and pushed the door open.

The bell chimed again.