The Mystery of Nevermore by C.S. Poe Page B

back to her shop, Good Books.
    When Beth had departed, my new customer immediately reached a hand out. “My name is Duncan Andrews.”
    “Sebastian Snow,” I said, shaking his hand.
    “Are you the owner?”
    “The bills are made out to me.”
    He chuckled. “I love your store. It’s really nice. I came a few days ago. You have a lot of nice books.”
    “Oh, thank you,” I said humbly. “Are you looking for a Christmas present?”
    “Hmm… well, for myself,” Duncan said with a sort of guilty smile.
    “I think I have something from Emily Dickinson,” I said, moving by Duncan to a bookcase farther down the wall.
    He followed close behind. “I find Dickinson’s work quite sad. Do you like her poetry?”
    I paused beside the shelf nearest the front door and turned to look up at him. “Honestly, I’ve never been a huge fan, but I studied her work in college.”
    Duncan’s face seemed to light up. “I majored in American Literature in college!”
    “My dad taught it for a long time,” I said. I looked at the books and leaned close to start scanning the spines. “I’ve come to appreciate the big names as I’ve gotten older,” I continued. “But if I had to pick a poet who wrote about death—”
    “Poe?” Duncan asked.
    I looked sideways. “Er, yes. I’m a much bigger fan of Poe than Dickinson.”
    Duncan flashed another smile and ran a hand through his hair. “His work is really incredible. I think he’s fascinating.”
    “Very mysterious,” I agreed as images of pig hearts and dead cats entered my mind. I grabbed a small book and showed Duncan. “Here it is.”
    He took the offering. “I don’t suppose you have any Poe too?”
    “I don’t,” I answered. “But Good Books next door is sure to have something, albeit nothing antique.”
    Duncan nodded. “Okay. Thank you, Sebastian.”
    “Can I ring you up?” I motioned for him to follow me through the tangle of displays.
    Dean Martin was serenading me over the speakers as we went to the brass register. If I held him tight, he’d be warm all the way home.
    I don’t know, Dean. I’ve sort of got a thing for Frank Sinatra. You won’t tell him if I do hold you, will you?
    “You don’t have any Christmas decorations up,” Duncan pointed out as he handed me back the book to wrap in tissue paper.
    “Oh. Yeah, I guess I never got around to it. But I’ve got the tunes at least.” I glanced up and smiled.
    Duncan looked about to speak before the shop door banged open.
    “Mr. Snow! Mr. Snow, I forgot one letter!” My energetic, lovely little mail lady spoke. If there ever was one USPS employee who took that “through rain and snow” shit seriously, it was my girl, Daphne.
    “Thank you, Daphne,” I said, reaching down to accept the envelope. “You could have dropped it off tomorrow.”
    She shushed me and waved. “Have a good afternoon, sweetheart!”
    Duncan looked at the letter. “Secret admirer?”
    I laughed and set the envelope aside. “Doubtful.”
    “Oh, don’t think that.” Duncan slid his credit card over for payment. “I think you’re pretty… neat.”
    Neat?
    I swiped his card and handed it back. “Oh.”
    Wait.
    God, I’m bad at this.
    “ Oh .” I cleared my throat. “Uh, thanks.”
    Duncan lowered his head slightly, talking to his shoes. “Dinner?”
    “What?”
    “Lunch?” he quickly amended.
    I fumbled with Duncan’s purchase and quickly finished wrapping it. I hadn’t been asked out on a date in a long time. I didn’t even know this guy. Of course, isn’t that really the point of going on a date, to get to know the person?
    He was sort of cute too.
    And the thing with Neil….
    I put the book into a bag and pushed it across the counter. “Can I think about it? I don’t mean to be rude,” I continued. “It’s only—I think I’m at the end of a long-term relationship and maybe should go slow.”
    Duncan looked back up. “You have a boyfriend?”
    I shrugged. “Not so sure these