I’d heard the same rumor, but I didn’t have the heart to tell the kid it wasn’t true. “The paperback hasn’t been released yet.” “I heard on Reddit that Wilder Welles hid a bunch of copies throughout the city.” He stared up at me with a superior look on his face. Sighing, I leaned an elbow on the counter and shook my head. “Do you have this in paperback?” A pimply teen pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and set down a copy of The Street Vendor’s Son, blocking my view of the yellow sweater guy. I wouldn’t have ever considered my parents the cautious type, they’d allowed me to cook my own pancakes at the age of six, but apparently climbing a ladder had been too perilous for anyone under the age of ten. Hell, I’d worked here ever since my folks had deemed it safe for me to climb the ladders on the stacks.

I’d been working at The End, my parents’ bookshop, long enough I’d learned how to read people. I wanted to ask him if he needed any help, but something in the way he held himself, eyes down, shoulders tight, told me he didn’t want to be bothered. Handsome with a short, trimmed beard, and a strong profile. And from my first glance, I thought he had a nice face. His long legs folded neatly beneath his trim waist, his broad back facing me, I most certainly checked out his ass. A shock of dark brown hair fell over his brow as he dipped his head, kneeling to get a closer look at something on one of the lower shelves. The yellow, not quite yellow, more mustard than canary, stood out against the muted colors of the book spines stacked against each other on the shelf.

It was noon when he walked into the bookstore wearing a yellow sweater and pale blue jeans.

Let there be light am johnson