“I promise I didn’t come over here to bother you,” they say, leaning their long torso sideways against the shelf of books. “I’ve been telling my friend I’d read Fun Home for years, and I figured I could finally get to it during my time off for the holidays. It looks like I stole the last copy, though.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” I mumble. “You can have it.”

“That hardly seems fair.” They bite down on the corner of their mouth again. I have no idea what’s funny, but I’m sure it’s me. And possibly the way I’m nervous-sweating. “You were here first.”

“It’s okay. I’ve already read it. Like, ten times, actually. It’s amazing. And sad. And amazing.”

They glance down at the cover, at the abstract green leaves, at the illustration of an unhappy family trapped inside a picture frame, at the words A Family Tragicomic scrawled beneath the title. They slowly shake their head and sweep aside their hair. “I’m not much of a reader, but I heard this book has pictures.”

“Uh, yeah. It’s a graphic novel.”

They flip through the glossy pages. “Oh. Huh. Look at that.”

“You don’t read… like… at all?”

They shake their head, and their hair sways a bit across their forehead. “Not really. There’s too much… sitting involved.”

So much for my bookstore fantasy. It’s only now that I realize, along with leaning against the shelf behind them, they have one leg hooked in front of the other, and they’re shaking their right foot, as if to the beat of an unheard song. “There are audiobooks,” I suggest. “You can listen to those while doing… whatever you do.”

“I bake,” they answer. “For my job. I work in a bakery kitchen. I bake cookies, cakes, pastries—that’s what I do.”

“Oh.” I try to imagine this tall, loud, restless, person piping intricate frosting details on a cupcake, designing shapes in fondant. I picture those long fingers kneading dough…. “You can do that while listening to audiobooks.”

They cock their head to the side. “You’re very concerned about my literacy.”

“Well.” I start windmilling my arms at my sides nervously. “It’s just… books are great. And based on the last five minutes of conversation, you seem also… great. You know, with the general concern about women crying in bookstores. That’s the trait of a great person. And I love uniting two great things whenever possible. So.”

I flail my arms more for good measure. The stranger’s smile breaks free of their teeth, their mouth twisting into a half-moon, pulling the white scar through their lip into a fishhook shape. I feel that fishhook snag on my stomach as if it’s pulling me closer to them.

I do not like that feeling.