Man Reading A Book Novels & Stories

Anything to distract myself long enough to avoid needing to go visit Stace's room. "Can I just get a coffee?" I ask, sitting down at a small bar area, nestling between two unfamiliar people. The server nods, turning away from me, leaving me to lean against the counter, haunted by my thoughts of last night. To my left, a man sits reading, drinking from his own mug of coffee. I examine him from the corner of my eye, curious. "I love that book," I comment, rousing him from his concentration. He looks up at me, seeming wary for a moment, before he smiles tightly. "It was just laying around, thought I would read it."

I restocked a few shelves, polished the counter, and set fresh bookmarks in a small basket near the register. The quiet here was the kind that wrapped around you, measured, steady. Then I noticed him. The man with glasses had returned. Same plain jacket, same quiet steps, as though he belonged to the stillness of this place. Yesterday, his fingers had lingered over a book about unmasking and taming. Today, they closed around Walking Through the Dark. Not a coincidence. He carried it to the reading corner, adjusted his glasses, and began. Truly began, page after page, no hesitation, no pretense. His attention sank into the text, untouched by the world around him.

He sat and he looked at the room. Two people at tables. One with a laptop. One with a book — the actual physical book, the open spine resting at the reading angle, the person's head bent at the concentration. A child in the corner, age perhaps seven, reading what appeared to be a graphic novel, the images large and the text secondary, the child absorbed in the same quality of sustained reading that the fourteen-degree chair had been specified to enable. He looked at the child.

A blurred face appeared in his mind as he began to reminisce… … In a remote courtyard of the Weber residence, the house was lit brightly. The dim, yellow light shone through the cracks and into the room. It shone at a man next to the table. He was a muscular man who had healthy copper-colored skin. He had armor on and a rifle slung over his shoulder. There was an intimidating air about him. He looked like a fierce warrior on the battlefield. The man was seated cross-legged next to the table with a book in his hand. He was reading it quietly.

With every step I took, the soft dress rubbed against my bare thighs, reminding me that I had no underwear on. I looked around the room. Private leather booths lined the walls, separated by thick curtains. People were talking softly in low voices. I walked toward the back corner booth, looking for the broad-shouldered man from the profile picture. Instead, sitting in the darkest corner of the booth, was a man quietly reading a small leather book under a dim light. He wore a neat dark suit. His hair was styled nicely with a little gray at the sides. He wore black glasses on his nose. He looked quiet, smart, and calm—more like a lawyer or a college teacher than a man who wanted total control.

It was a guy, and he flashed me a smile before continuing to read the book he was holding. Smiling, I look down at my paperwork and peek up again, only to find his eyes on me once more.

He didn’t realize someone came in. A tall guy came to the store, leaving a strong aura of a rich kid. His stern face noticed a small guy reading a book near the entrance covering his face with an old book. Leaving him alone as he was, that tall guy went on his own on the innermost bookshelves to find some interesting books. Finally, Ryan completed the book. The last chapter made him sad, but it had a beautiful ending. People should read it again and again. He snapped closed the book, leaving it on the table where he sat. He went to find a new book to read.

“The room changed its breathing.” She waited. He continued reading. Amelia closed the door. The latch clicked softly, and the sound traveled too far through the shelves. The man at the desk lifted one hand. The book before him closed, its cover settling with something like displeasure. Only then did he look at her. He was older than the others.

"He looked fine Nina." "Fine." A pause. "The man walked into my bookstore on a Wednesday morning, stood in the fiction section for four minutes holding a Fitzgerald like it personally owed him something, asked me if you liked working here, and you're telling me he looked fine." Liora pressed her lips together. "He asked about the Fitzgerald specifically?" she said carefully. "He didn't ask about it. He just picked it up." A pause. "The way he held it though Li. Like he didn't know why he was holding it and couldn't put it down. It was giving main character energy and he didn't even know it."

I've got a lot of homework tonight. Joseph stopped her. "Get back here. We're already done. Go do your homework. Feel free to ask me if there's anything you don't understand. I've got nothing better to do anyway." He pulled out a medical textbook, leaned back on the couch, and began reading. The woman watched Joseph, but the more she observed him, the less she understood him. He'd bought medicine for her and was even entertaining her daughter. Now, he sat there reading a thick foreign-language book. He was a strange, mysterious man.