Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 74501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
He was right.
It wasn’t there.
He hit up the T-U-V section again, just in case it wasn’t in Young Adult.
Nope.
Not there either.
Dutch then walked back up to the front and saw Duke, as usual, was behind the book counter.
The man’s eyes came direct to him the instant he’d cleared the stacks.
Duke was a mainstay at Fortnum’s. An ex-English professor who, decades ago, left the university politics, track to tenure and rat race behind, dropped out and made his life about his wife, his bike and his job at a used bookstore.
Dutch liked Duke, respected the man, but he didn’t like the look in Duke’s eyes these days when Dutch would come to the store. He further wasn’t big on the looks Duke and Tex would exchange when Dutch was around.
Tex was a Vietnam vet, an ex-recluse, and an inveterate cat lover. So much of the last, there were dozens of pictures of cats, all Tex’s, tacked haphazard on the wall behind the coffee counter under the shelves of cups and mugs.
The man was also a lunatic. And it was against all odds that huge, loud, bad-mannered, cat-loving dude was the best barista in the state and at least everyone in Denver knew it, so even now, when it was one in the afternoon, there was a line ten strong in front of the coffee counter.
But even with all that, Tex was a good guy. Solid.
Like Duke.
Family, the folk at Fortnum’s. Duke, Tex, Indy (the owner of the store), Jet, one of Indy’s best friends who also worked there, their large posse.
Dutch had a family like that. A big one of MC brothers and their women and their children.
Good, solid folk, down to their bones.
And yet…
“Invisible Man, this for you, or someone else?” Duke asked, taking Dutch’s attention, and Dutch realized he was so lost to his thoughts, he was working on autopilot and hadn’t noticed he’d approached the register and laid down his books.
“Someone else,” Dutch answered.
“You read it?” Duke asked.
“Yeah,” Dutch told him.
“Whole world should read it,” Duke muttered, jabbing a thick finger against the screen of the tablet that stood in for a till.
“Yeah,” Dutch agreed. “Listen, you wouldn’t have any copies of The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas that haven’t been shelved yet, would you?”
Duke shook his head. “Not many givin’ up that book. We get one, you want me to call you?”
He could go to Barnes and Noble, easy.
With Tex as her barista, not to mention Indy and her crew all being the subject of those books that had been published, so folks came in all the time, Indy wasn’t hurting for customers, or cash.
Still, Dutch bought his books exclusively from Fortnum’s.
And he had a lot of books.
He had no idea why Fortnum’s was his go-to. It wasn’t about buying local or any of that other millennial shit.
Thinking on it, it was the fact he liked the vibe.
It was the fact that walking in there was like walking into someone’s house.
Like coming home.
To family.
Shaking off his thoughts, he agreed, “That’d be cool.”
“You wanna stay for a cup o’ joe and a talk?” Duke asked, and Dutch hid his surprise.
The man hadn’t approached. Not in word or deed.
There were the looks he gave Dutch, the ones he exchanged with Tex.
But he never said dick.
“No, got shit to do this afternoon,” he lied.
He had no shit to do that afternoon.
Or at all.
Ever.
“Boy—” Duke started.
“I’m not a boy,” Dutch bit.
His temper wasn’t usually short, but these days, it could be.
This was why Duke blinked.
He then said, “Son—”
“I’m not your son either,” Dutch returned.
“Right then.” Duke’s voice was no longer a friendly rumble. It was tight. “First, my age can’t have escaped you, considerin’ all this gray hair and wrinkles, so you are a boy to me, and you will be until you’re sixty and I’m dead. And second, any man’s a man at all, a man that’s younger than him and obviously struggling is his son. A son he looks after.”
Christ, was he not hiding it?
“I’m not struggling,” he lied again.
“Dutch—”
“Brother, just ring me up so I can get on with my day,” Dutch demanded.
Duke was silent a beat.
He then finished ringing him up, and Dutch paid.
“No bag,” he grunted.
Duke slid the books over the counter toward Dutch.
Dutch had turned, avoiding Tex’s eyes as he did, and started heading toward the door when Duke called, “You know that door is always open, but the one to my cabin in Evergreen is too, man.”
Duke was good people and Dutch had acted like an asshole.
So he lifted a hand and flicked out a finger to indicate he’d heard Duke’s words before he walked out the door.
It was early November, and cold, and he’d had a trip planned to Fortnum’s on his agenda that day, so he was not on his bike.
He was in his truck.