Help

Once upon a time a clumsy man dropped one of the many books he, foolish with optimism, was carrying, and when he bent his legs to try to retrieve it, two books, and then the rest of them, cascaded to the cobblestones. “Gosh darn,” said he, and, kneeling, began to restack them.

“Here,” said a voice. He looked up and saw a woman about his age, with one of the books that had slid afield. Her eyes were round and brown. Her hair was diaphanous.

When he took the book out of her hand she turned to retrieve the ones that were still left on the stones, but instead of handing them to him, she cradled them in her arms, schoolgirl style. “Where to?” she said, lightly, honey in her voice.

He did a head gesture, indicating direction, and said, “I’m parked a few rows up. Thanks so much for helping me.”

At his car, he carefully put his books on the hood, fished his car keys from his pocket, and opened the passenger-side door. She handed him the books she had, patting the one on top and saying, “I think you will love this one.” When she smiled at him he was awestruck. Without a word they had told each other that though she could use a ride, and he would love to give her one, it was not the right time.

But when he closed the door on the passenger side with the books in a neat pile on the seat, she handed him a business card that had the name of the bookstore where he’d bought the books, her name, the word M A N A G E R, and a phone number and e-mail address.

“Thanks for buying some of my books,” she said, a hint of laughter in her voice. “See you soon.” And she walked briskly away.