Bookstore Joe where you’re obviously sick but don’t wanna shut down the store?
ooohhh yehhhh these are the viiiiiiibes !!!!!!! thanks for requesting! Wordcount: 4.6K
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Play By The Rules
Joe comes in with a very simple goal.
It’s almost embarrassing how simple it is, really, considering how much effort he’s put into being patient with you over the last few months. More than a few, actually. Since the very second he’s met you, he’s been so patient. But patience doesn’t mean the want goes away. It just means it waits. Sometimes not very quietly.
He just wants to kiss you.
Again.
He wants the kind of kiss that happens accidentally on purpose. A kiss that feels like a mistake he meant to make.
He wants to be sat in one of the armchairs for a while, and then you’ll finally come out from behind the counter with a mug of coffee, and he can pretend he’s just thanking you but will instead quickly curl his fingers around your wrist before you walk away, and then he can tug you in like he’s done that a hundred times before… that’s what he wants.
He wants to find that you’ve been staring at him for a while, and then he’ll close his book in his lap and turn his eyes to you for a moment, and then you’ll just smile at each other, and he’ll get up and you’ll just follow him with your eyes until he rounds the register and joins you behind the counter where he’ll put his hands on your waist, and you’ll easily let him, and then Anne will gag from up on a ladder somewhere before his nose nudges yours…
Fucking hell, he wants it so fucking badly, he can feel it in his bones.
Joe’s practically vibrating and has replayed several hopeful scenarios in his head on the walk over. They’re all different, but all of them have one thing in common.
You.
The way you smile at him.
The way you always look slightly surprised when Joe even shows the slightest bit of affection towards you. The way you always seem happy to invite it in, never pulling away from his advances that always seem to leave you quite flustered.
He smiles to himself at the thought as he opens the door.
But then, he sees you, and his smile falters.
You’re mid-motion, leaning over the counter with a book open in front of you, chin propped on your palm, explaining something to a customer with that easy warmth that makes people trust you immediately. You’re smiling, but it’s… thinner. A little stretched. Like you’re actively holding it in place instead of letting it sit naturally.
Joe clocks it immediately.
You’re very clearly ill.
Joe sees the faint redness around your nose, the way your eyes blink just a fraction slower than usual. He notices he slight hitch in your breath when you laugh softly at something the customer says. Notices how you try to hold a cough back that then sneaks through anyway, quick and contained, like you don’t want to acknowledge it.
Joe’s plan dissolves.
It doesn’t completely disappear. He still wants what he wants but, his plan rearranges itself a little. The want changes from getting to kiss you for his own pleasure to making sure you’re okay and taken care of.
It’s busy enough for you to not have noticed Joe yet, so he makes himself at home the way he always does. Takes his coat off and hangs it over the back of one of the armchairs, then picks up a book from a nearby shelf and sits. The book stays closed in his lap as he watches you, but he’s holding it whilst he’s sat so he’s got an excuse to stay without feeling like he’s hovering.
Whereas you haven’t noticed your regular customer occupying one of the chairs yet, Anne has.
Joe doesn’t notice her until she comes up beside him under the guise of tidying a stack of books and mutters, barely moving her mouth, “She’s doing it again.”
Joe glances up, feels like he misheard a weird insult that he doesn’t understand, but then follows Anne’s eyes, and feels something uncomfortable twist low in his chest.
If Anne can talk to him like he’s a normal person, something’s very clearly wrong. And Anne’s used to a lot. She’s seen you work through a lot. If she’s concerned enough to rope Joe into her worries, the very least he can do is help out.
He’s just... he’s not quite sure how he can help.
He can’t exactly walk over to you when it’s as busy as it is and coax you to come sit in his lap for half an hour. Can’t exactly try to convince you to let him carry you up the stairs to take you to bed for the rest of the day.
You’d never let him.
You’d wave him off with a giggle and a lingering smile, tell him to go sit down if he’s been stood for too long before bringing him a drink he’s never asked for.
Joe watches on and sees how Anne keeps to herself whilst secretly keeping an eye on you as she does her work. He gets it. She’s not really in a position to stand up to you either. You’ve likely already told her a bunch of times that you feel fine.
But you’re darting now.
From one end of the shop to the other.
Up the ladder, back down again.
Ducking into the back room because you’re sure there’s a copy of something somewhere, even though Anne told you last week you reorganised that box already, so you come back out empty-handed.
You’re smiling still, apologising to the customer like it’s your fault, your personal mistake that’s inconveniencing them, and Joe hates that this is probably how you genuinely feel.
Next, Joe watches you lift a box that’s too heavy for you on a good day, let alone right now, and he hears Anne swear under her breath before she rushes over to take it from you. She doesn’t say anything, though. Just grabs it, takes it to where it’s meant to be, and you move to do a different task. Anne learned a long time ago that telling you to slow down has the opposite effect. That if you hear even the slightest hint of concern, you’ll take it as a challenge.
Rest, to you, feels like failure.
It sucks that it shows up in the books like that as well, but it’s just how life works when you run a business.
Joe opens and closes his book loudly to catch Anne’s attention, and then silently mouths, “Has she eaten?” whilst he motions food getting shoved into his face with both his hands as his eyes dart from her to you and back. Anne shakes her head no, then thinks for a moment and mouths, “Not since Monday.”
Joe’s shoulder drop.
It’s Thursday.
The bakery flashes in his mind. He’ll easily go and buy you every pastry they’ve got if that would mean you’d have some, but then he watches Anne slide a wrapped sandwich across the counter and you don’t even glance at it.
There’s a chance that maybe you just don’t notice it. Joe doesn’t think you’ve even noticed him yet. It’s busy, so maybe that’s why.
Customers barely let the door close behind them before asking for help, and then more people follow. It’s the kind of busy that isn’t frantic, but definitely relentless. No real pauses, no clean breaks. You help someone find a book for their mum, then someone else wants something for a nephew whose interests they don’t fully understand, then a man asks for a specific edition of a book you know you don’t have, but you still go check, because your brain refuses to skip steps today.
You can’t slow down.
You know you’ll crash and collapse if you do.
In the quiet of the backroom though, with the pretence of looking for something you can’t find, Joe finds you leaning against a shelf with your eyes closed. You’re rubbing at your arms like you’re cold, and are thinking about maybe making yourself a warm drink, because wouldn’t that be nice? You then think of making Joe one too, if he would’ve been in, and then, as if by magic, he’s suddenly right in front of you.
“Hey.”
It startles you slightly, but everything’s muffled enough to feel eased into existence. Another person appearing right in front of you out of seemingly nowhere doesn’t make you jump, even though it definitely should.
But it’s just Joe.
Joe’s here.
“Hi.” You couldn’t sound more fond of having him in a space he’s technically not allowed to be if you wanted to. Your smile spreads at the sight of him, which is something Joe doesn’t copy.
“You cold?” Joe’s got concern written all over his face, and tries very hard to keep it soft and gentle as he asks, “Are you feeling okay?”
You’re very aware that your immune system is down at the moment. That your body wants all these things from you that you don’t want to give it. You feel like shit and could sleep for a week if you wanted to, would love nothing more but to hold a warm drink and to sit with your back against a radiator. But, there’s a store to run. Books to be sold. So you ignore the question Anne has already asked you a handful of times and instead say, “When did you get in?”
He doesn’t have the heart to tell you he’s been around for the past thirty minutes already.
“Just now.”
“Do you want a drink? I can make you a coffee?” in an attempt to divert and distract, you lift a heavy arm to point behind him at the kitchenette. “Or a cup of tea?”
Joe thinks for a moment. He’d rather have you turn the kettle on than carry a heavy box of books back out to the front, so he smiles, says, “That’d be lovely.” and lets himself get told go to back and have a seat, you’ll only be a minute.
You take longer than a minute, and when you make it back into the store, you realise that the customer who you’d gone into the back for is gone, and Joe is not in his seat.
You place the big mug of hot tea on the counter, and smile at a customer who immediately takes that as in invitation to ask a million questions, and work carries on.
The day feels like it hurdles ahead, and you’re a fair few jumps behind, but at least you are starting to vaguely see the finish line, and that’s what keeps you going.
You don’t notice that Joe hasn’t sat back down. Don’t notice that he’s stopped being decorative.
He’s asking Anne what he can do, silently so you don’t hear, and she gives him blank stares before she’ll point at a shelf that needs sorting. Joe starts taking care of little tasks before you’re even aware of them, quietly and casually. He intercepts boxes, takes stacks of books from your hands with an easy, “Got it,” like he just so happened to be there whilst he was looking for something for himself to read.
Slowly, imperceptibly, the heavy things stop being quite as heavy.
Stacks are already moved before you can get to them.
Paper bags restocked before they run out.
Ladders already put to the sides so they stop being a trip hazard.
At one point, suddenly, the floor’s empty. No customers. No more people that need to be helped. Silence takes over and you find Joe’s mug of tea, still full, but now cold, right where you left it. You half-expect him to materialise in front of you because he’s crossed your mind, just like he did before, but he doesn’t.
He’s not sat in one of the armchairs, not up on one of the ladders.
Did he leave?
Surely not.
He’d have at least said goodbye.
Has he wandered into the back room again… has he– the sound of soft whispers interrupts your train of thought. You step aside poke your head around the corner of a bookshelf to check.
When you look, it’s just Anne who’s straightening a shelf, and Joe is crouched on his haunches, one book balanced on his leg of which he’s reading the back with intense focus like he’s on a very important mission.
Both Anne and Joe look up at you simultaneously.
“Oh sorry, you’re… sorry,” you quickly mutter, because you’d never want to disturb someone who’s reading. That’s against the rules.
“Hey. Everything okay?” Joe asks easily.
You hesitate. The pressure behind your ears pulses.
“Yea,” you say slowly. “I just thought I heard…”
“Radiator,” Anne says flatly. “It clicks.”
You nod, embarrassed with yourself, and you retreat. The mention of the radiator reminds you of the one underneath the windows in the store front. How nice it would be to feel the heat of it on your lower back. When Joe’s tea comes back into view, you decide you can refill it. Give him a nice fresh warm mug-full.
Behind your back, Joe waits until you’ve stepped back behind the counter and then looks at Anne, relieved you didn’t catch them huddled together and whispering about you.
Then, he mouths, “I’ve got an idea.”
Anne just stares at him, unimpressed.
“Do you think you could close early?”
Her mouth twists before she sarcastically hisses, “Sure, I have that kind of power.”
Joe squints at her, entirely unfazed by Anne’s tone. “I think you do. Don’t take no for an answer, and just… be Anne for a second.”
Before Anne can swear at him to his face, Joe’s already gone, so she ends up flipping him off behind his back instead.
Joe goes to sit in his armchair, the book he was reading the back off just now in his hands, and patiently waits.
His earlier plans might have dissolved somewhat, no kisses on the horizon, he thinks. But, his current plan of getting you to sit down for a short moment that maybe stretches into a long moment feels much more important. Kisses can wait.
What if you just sat down and relaxed for a second? And what if he got to make you a nice mug of tea? Give you the sandwich that Anne tried to slide your way earlier? What if you ate that, and then fell asleep for a second? Anne could lock up, and Joe could carry you to bed, no problem. A kiss to the forehead still counts as a kiss, doesn’t it?
When you step out about a minute later with a steaming mug that you’re carrying with both hands, Joe wants to wave you over, but then sees you’re already on the way.
“Lovely, thank you,” he smiles at you with a carefully innocent expression on his face when you place the mug down on the sidetable next to him. “Hey,” Joe stops you. “Whilst I have you here. Quick question.”
The door opens, the bell above it rings, and the customer that steps inside brings in a cold rush of air.
You hunch both shoulder up on reflex. “Um, can it wait?”
“Probably,” he says, smiling wider. “But it’s about this one.”
He holds the book out to you, thumb tucked into a page like he’s already halfway through. You recognise it instantly. It’s a book you remember recommending to him, but you can’t quite recall the conversation or the reasons you’d given.
You take the book from his hands without thinking.
Turn it in your hands.
Read a random sentence half way down the page.
And Joe, without missing a beat, turns toward the rest of the shop and shushes the general area. A customer halfway down an aisle actually pauses mid-step, but Anne quickly informs them not to pay the idiot out front any mind.
“Shh.” Joe frowns at Anne, and she’d have taken massive offence had she not understood what he was doing.
Confused, you turn around to see why Anne is uncharacteristically quiet.
“No, don’t worry, look, it’s um…” Joe sits up a little and redirects your attention to the book in your hands. “Halfway down the page… did you– have you read this yet?”
You have, but it’s been a while.
You should move. You should shut the book and go back to the counter. You should remind him that you don’t have time for this, that you skipped lunch, and there are still boxes half-unpacked, and customers to help, and…
Your eyes snag on a sentence.
Then another.
You glance over the page at Joe who sits patiently, waiting for you to keep reading, and your mouth opens to protest, but then your body betrays you.
You’ve stopped moving, and now suddenly, everything catches up.
Your legs ache. Your shoulders sag. The cold seeps in properly now that adrenaline isn’t holding it back. All of the sudden you become acutely aware of the tightness behind your eyes, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on your spine.
Joe sees it happen.
He holds a hand out, lowers his voice, and gently says, “Come sit.”
“I can’t,” you murmur automatically, but then Anne is there, pushing the other chair into place with her knee.
“Do I need to tell this annoying customer to leave, or…” she pauses, eyes darting between you and Joe, and it takes a second before you realise that you are helping a customer right now. Joe, technically, is just another customer in the store front with a question about a book.
What happens next is a weird blur.
Joe takes his book from your hands, and Anne replaces it with Joe’s tea. You let yourself be guided down, but you only sit in the chair for a second before you’re moving yourself onto the floor. Your back settles against the radiator beneath the window, right between the two armchairs, and the heat seeps into your bones immediately.
“Here,” you see how Anne passes a paperback to Joe to give to you. “She was killing herself over not finishing this yesterday.”
You’re already holding a hand up to take it from him when something else happens. Joe uses the backs of his legs to push his chair back a little as he stands up, and then he moves to sit beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“What, no. We can’t both sit on the floor…”
“Oh this is nice. Toasty.”
“There’s two empty chairs now,” you mumble weakly, nodding at them.
Joe just grins, moves your tea closer, leaves a book in your lap and then gets back into his own. “Shh. I’m reading.”
He leans in close enough that his shoulder presses into yours, solid and warm, his book open on a whole different page. It might as well be upside down, this idiot isn’t reading at all. You want to say something, but then one of his hands slides over your knee, thumb rubbing slow, grounding circles through the fabric of your trousers, and your eyes fall to your lap.
You were reading this yesterday.
Wanted to finish it so badly, but the words had started swimming until the pages looked like they’d been misprinted.
You give Anne a last glance, just to check if she’s getting on okay. She’s behind the register and seems absolutely fine, and so… fine.
Okay.
You can sit and read for a second.
Even if you couldn’t, it’d be really difficult to get up now.
You open your book, find the right page, and try to focus. You manage to read about half a paragraph before the words start dancing and same thing happens again. It’s so annoying. It’s unfair that your favourite thing to do becomes impossible when you’re feeling poorly.
An annoyed huff escapes you.
When you focus your eyes on the shelves on the other side of the room, you’re fine. But when you direct your vision back into the book in your lap, it goes all funny. Maybe it’s just that your eyes feel too heavy. When you look down, they’re not far removed from closing entirely.
Joe notices, but only because he’s pretend-reading and not so secretly watching you. He wants to ask you what the issue is. If he can help. If it’s okay for him to grab your arm and press kisses from your wrist all the way up to your shoulder.
He doesn’t say anything though.
You’re trying to read, and Joe knows the rules.
He reaches over, gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckles brushing your cheek in the process and he watches you close to eyes to the sensation. He does it again just because it looks like you liked it, and God, you feel so warm.
“Have you been like this all day?” he asks softly, words only meant for your ears and no one else’s.
“All week,” you confess, smiling a little guiltily.
“Oh now that’s not good, is it?”
“Yea well,” you shrug, and shift a little so there’s enough layers between your back and the heat of the radiator, making sure it doesn’t burn your skin.
“Here,” Joe shuffles with you, pulls your jumper down at the small of your back and then moves his arm up so it lays across your shoulders.
You’ve never sat like this before with him.
Most of the time, you’re just sort of… staring at him from the other side of the room. Sometimes you’ll get closer and you’ll sit in the armchair opposite him, knees touching and eyes sparkling with joy. Other times he’ll get closer and you’ll bump hips behind the counter. Being closer to Joe was always nice and exciting, but you hadn’t quite understood how much your body had craved to be pulled into his side like this.
It’s nice.
It’s a little weird, you’re on the floor of your store and there’s other people present, but you feel hidden away enough for it to be so, so nice.
Just when you think you can either try reading again or give up entirely and just… stare at words, Joe moves his other hand to turn the book in your lap his way a little. You turn your head to look at him, realising how close you are, noses nearly touching, and then he starts reading out loud from the top of the page.
His voice is low, and you think that even if people sat down in the chairs right in front of you, they wouldn’t be able to hear him.
“Oh, you don’t have to…” you start, but Joe raises his voice a little, just enough to drown you out and shut you up. The hand that curls around your shoulders moves to push your head into his shoulder until it rests there, and then it moves to pull you closer so your side fits perfectly against his. He lets his thumb trace absent shapes along your forearm, all whilst he very steadily keeps reading.
“Joe,” you whisper again. “There’s people.”
“Anne doesn’t count as people.” Joe only barely keeps his chuckles inside of his throat. They almost escape, but he presses a kiss into your hair to hide it.
“Heard that,” Anne says blunty from where she’s stood behind the desk, and all you can do is smile. Let your eyes drift shut. Sag into Joe who just moves so he can support you more.
You could fall asleep here.
You could actually very easily fall asleep right this very second, you think, but then you suddenly jolt as the door pushes open and the bell rings again.
“Don’t,” Anne snaps, already moving. “If you get up, I swear to God– hi, afternoon! How can I help you?”
You sink back instantly, chastened.
The woman who has just wandered in takes in the scene, smiles, and then says she just wants to browse. You watch how Anne nods and steps aside before she gives you a curt nod and gets back into position behind the register.
Joe leans in closer, lips brushing your ear. “She’s been trying to make you sit all day,” he whispers. “You’ve been skipping lunch.”
Your throat tightens. The last thing you’d ever want to do is worry Anne.
“Yea, sorry,” you murmur, not entirely sure who you’re apologising to. You look at the teenager at work in your store for a moment and decide she’s a super star who deserves a raise.
“She does.” Joe says, and you turn your head to face him, confused because you hadn’t realised you’d said that out loud.
You’re close enough to feel Joe’s breath on your lip, and after looking at you for a moment, Joe chances it. Can’t help himself. He leans in just a little and kisses you square on the mouth. It’s only a little peck, his mouth gone before you’ve even properly registered him there. You frown a little at his absence, let your throat release a small little whine, and it’s enough encouragement for Joe to kiss you again, but properly this time. One of his hands disappears into your hair, holds you by the base of your skull, and the other finds your face to touch.
You barely kiss him back.
With your eyes closed and your movement controlled by Joe’s fingers, you’re letting yourself be kissed at most.
It’s lovely.
It’s soft, and gentle, and sweet, and it’s the only thing that’s happening right now on planet earth, you’re sure of it, nothing else going on, just you and Joe on the floor of your bookstore, slowly kissing by the radiator.
When Joe pulls back again, you move with him until you can’t anymore. Your head tips forward, and your forehead touches his chin.
“You’re falling asleep,” Joe laughs through his whisper.
“No ‘m not.”
“Mm. Okay. Let’s read then.” Joe taps the paper gently. “Page eighty-nine.”
You don’t read.
You just listen.
Curl up into Joe’s side, head on his shoulder, his arms around you, and lightly doze to the baritone of his voice. At some point, Joe pulls your legs so they sit over his lap and you’re not sure if you’ve ever felt more comfortable in your life.
Joe keeps reading. Doesn’t pause, doesn’t falter, doesn’t lower his voice when your breathing evens out and your body finally gives in to the weight of the day.
He keeps going while Anne closes up early without comment, she knows the rules, while the lights dim one by one, while the shop settles into that particular hush it only ever reaches after hours.
He keeps reading as you sag further into him, all warmth and trust, your head heavy against his chest. Keeps reading long after your eyes have slipped shut. Long after Anne’s clocked out and gone home.
He’ll read until the radiator’s burned his back pink and his legs have gone numb beneath you. Why wouldn’t he?
He’s got you asleep in his arms.
The shop is quiet.
Everything else can wait.
Joe thinks about the kiss he came in for. About how he got his wish. But then he looks down at you, and realises this is it.
This is why he loves this place so much.
Kisses are merely a bonus.
This is why he keeps coming back.
Again.
And again.
And again.
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