A Novel Romance? || Toris & Liesel

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He hummed softly, running his fingers along the glossy spines with a sense of nostalgia. He walked through the aisles at a careful pace and slipped away into the section at the back. It was where they stowed the obscure literature, foreign authors, and texts translated into different languages. They just so happened to have the unfortunate coincidence of being shelved next to the romance novels. He couldn't decide whether it was poor planning or a stroke of genius but if he ever needed an excuse then he could always claim that he was looking for a title in another language.

Pausing, he plucked a book from the shelf and smoothed down a corner where the cover was peeling away. He always looked for worn books first. Worn books were the ones people loved the most. They carried their own piece of history and were the stories people curled up with to read over and over again. He licked his thumb and flipped through the frayed pages, skimming the coffee stained text. The writing was a tad florid, but the characters were sweet and likable and uh...

...Like an astronomer, he charted the expanse of her features with the tips of his calloused fingers... He trailed his way down, whispering sweet nothings into heated skin... Sweat beaded from their pores, glistening like stars made of dew in the wavering light...

A blush warmed his cheeks. Footsteps rounded the corner and he snapped the book shut. He glanced over his shoulder and tucked the novel discreetly under his arm. No one would ever have to know. Well, except for the librarian of course. His nerves told him to keep an eye on the stranger, but he brushed them off. He continued browsing, faintly aware of her presence. His knuckles grazed against the back of her hand and he froze. Well, if this wasn't awkward. They both reached for the same novel. He caught her eyes and then glanced toward the book. ...Oh, whoops. He was still holding onto it. He snatched his hand away and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Oh-- Sorry.” he stammered, “I, uh, didn't mean to--You, uhm, like this author?”

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The woman's ability with work with words was an incredible feat not yet surpassed by mortal men. She was a goddess of writing, the queen of her genre. There was simply no one who could compare with her incredible skill and creativity, which combined the usually shameless industry of written erotica with mysteries and adventures of the highest caliber. Everything Liesel loved in a novel she could find in the works of Sierra Elinsen, if that was her real name. The writing was, at times, a little cheesy and cliche, but Liesel was never one to complain about such things when the stories were so engrossing she scarcely could comprehend the books even had problems in the first place. A large section of the aisle was dedicated to her books, a sum of at least sixty-six unique stories, each book supplying at least four copies of itself. Despite the content, Sierra could boast that her books were popular with a number of groups and ages - assuming they were of legal age, of course.

Liesel hadn't quite yet made it through all of the books yet. Some she loved so much she would simply reread them without progressing through any of the various trilogies and quartets. As her finger glided along the pristine spines of each novel, she saw one she had never actually read before, the cover gleaming a brilliant gold with white filigree branching through the subtle cracks and crags that made up the design. There was a single copy she reached for, and her knuckles brushed briefly against the hand of another. Damn it, someone else wanted it! She was taller than him, and he looked a little underweight, even. Maybe she was so large and intimidating that he couldn't bear to stand up against her, because he took his hand immediately and started fidgeting about as if he were suddenly afraid.

“I, uh, didn't mean to--You, uhm, like this author?”

He stammered nervously. Liesel wasn't aware she was so intimidating. Eyes lidded someone she frowned at him and adjusted the pile of books in her arms. "Well, obviously. I wouldn't be here if I didn't. They only have one copy?"

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Her eyes lidded and she pulled her lips into a slight scowl. She shuffled her books and held them tightly against her chest.

"Well, obviously. I wouldn't be here if I didn't. They only have one copy?"

Goosebumps rose on the nape of his neck and he fought off the urge to shiver. She did not particularly seem like she was in the mood to chat. A scene played out in his mind that involved a fight escalating into an elaborate hostage crisis that resulted in his untimely and incredibly gruesome demise over that one particular book. ...She hopefully wasn't crazy, but he never could really tell and he was not about to take any chances. He gave his best preemptive I-am-sorry-I-did-not-mean-to-offend-you-so-please-don't-stab-me smile and straightened up a bit, getting a better look at her. She was rather... pretty in a handsome sort of way? She was modestly dressed and her blonde hair was pulled into a loose, unruly bun. He looked away, flushing a bit pink, and tucked his hair behind his ear. Ah-- he hadn't meant to gawk at her.

“Oh, uhm, sorry. You can have that book then... I guess I'll just find something else to read.”

He pursed his lips, shifted the book under his arm, and went back to browsing – or at least pretended to. He picked apart every action piece by piece, fretting and mulling over it. He hadn't said anything (particularly...?) offensive this time, but he probably came off as rude or did something to bother her. He wouldn't put it against her if she thought that he was some sort of creep.

...Maybe they had gotten off on the wrong foot?

“...You know, romance novels aren't as bad as people make them out to be.” He said offhandedly, running his finger along a spine. He glanced at her and plucked another book from the shelf. “I mean, the writing can be a bit cheesy, but that's part of the charm to them, right?“

Then he took one look at his selection – and very nearly turned bright red.

The cover was laden with innuendo and featured a scantily clad woman bound in leather.
Of all the titles he had to accidentally pick, it had to be this one?

He gently cleared his throat and carefully concealed it behind the other book.

“S-So, uhm, what else do you like to read?”

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It wasn’t as if Liesel particularly hated this man, or could be pushed toward hatred by his presence. That sort of behavior and emotion was saved for people who truly deserved it, and the only fault of Toris was that he happened to stumble upon Liesel in a ritual of secrecy. She was not used to ever being caught in the act of checking out or buying questionable books. The only one who even vaguely knew her interests was the librarian, who actually chatted about which books were better than others, clearly having indulged in one or two of them herself.

Toris, however, was a stranger. Liesel immediately realized that chances were high she’d never meet this man again, and her hostility was utterly unfounded, and if they did bump into each other again he’d only remember a terrifying, scowling woman and understandably shuffle away to avoid her. The potential for the future was a rather undesirable prospect. She sighed heavily, and her grip on her books slackened slightly. “That was rude,” she began, “I apologize. You can have that book, though. I’m just rereading.”

He was getting flustered at her. That was new. Cute, but new. It made her a little giddy inside to see someone act so silly and adorable, especially in regards to her. The smile she displayed this was small, as if she attempted to restrict it.

“...You know, romance novels aren't as bad as people make them out to be.” He stammered to change the subject when she noticed his behavior and grabbed a book from the shelf to admire it. She briefly saw which one he picked and had to hold back a snort. That wasn’t the type of romance he was trying to compliment. “I mean, the writing can be a bit cheesy, but that's part of the charm to them, right?“

“Of course, that’s one of the reasons I like them—but ah, that one… Well, it applies. There’s some stupid dialogue in that one too.” And whips. Lots of those. She suspected the author might have a fetish for something.

“S-So, uhm, what else do you like to read?” He stammered again. What was he so afraid of? She had no weapons.

“A friend of mine’s been pestering me to get into Game of Thrones, so…” She held up a paperback version of A Song of Ice and Fire, which was bent and scratched in several places, having been checked out loads of times and read lovingly by fans.