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icallhimjoey · 1 year

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A Whisper Away

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: A continuation of Like A Poem and A Lot Like Love where we dip into your November for a couple consecutive years and see how you're getting on with the bookstore, Joe's career and... other changes.

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, I strongly advise you to read the previous bookstore fics before diving into this one bc some things will absolutely go over your head otherwise!

Author’s note: so i got an amazing request from Alex @darthvontrapp that made me cry and so now it's become this whole thing, a "third season" if you will! hope you enjoy!

Wordcount: 2K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“Just, throw them to me, I’ll catch,” you said to Anne, balancing high up on a ladder in the store. Anne held a string of Christmas lights in her hands, also high up on a ladder but across the store from you. You held out both hands, steadying yourself with your knees, and Anne was about to throw you a loop of lights, but you were interrupted by repeated knocking on the widow so loud it felt like the whole store rattled.

It was Joe, looking furious, wagging his finger at the both of you with his brow furrowed as he walked to the door to step inside.

“Absolutely not, are you insane?! Get down from there!” Joe ordered you as the door swung open harshly, triggering the bell above it. It felt a little like you’d been caught by a schoolteacher doing something naughty in the back of the class, and you suppressed a giggle as you made eye contact with Anne. Joe had his fingers waving you down towards the floor, making you roll your eyes at him. You’d done much more dangerous things than this and you felt he was definitely overreacting.

“Anne, you should know better than to let her climb up there,” Joe said, keeping his eyes trained on you as you manoeuvred your feet into place to be able to climb down.

“We need to do the Christmas lights,” Anne argued dryly. The plan was to string them along the ceiling throughout the whole store to really up the whimsicality. There really wasn’t enough space for a Christmas tree, and the ornaments you’d put up in the window honestly looked a bit sad on their own.

“Not at 7 months pregnant, you don’t. Get down,” Joe held onto the ladder you were on as you listened to his demands and started descending per Joe’s stern request. As soon as Joe could get his hands on you to guide you down safely, he held on until both of your feet were safely back on the floorboards.

“Hi,” you smiled at his worried expression and leant in for a kiss, which Joe granted you, before bending over and pressing a kiss onto your pregnant stomach.

“Promise me you’ll keep both feet on the floor for at least the next four to five months,” Joe tilted his head down as he looked at you and raised his eyebrows, exchanging his serious eyes for pleading ones.

“Four months?! Joe, I–”

“Ah, ah! Promise me!” Joe interrupted you as he started climbing the ladder you’d just climbed down from, ready to help Anne with the Christmas lights. “I know what you’re like. You’ll just put on a baby carrier and get back in here as soon as you can, endangering both of your lives, stacking shelves up on these ladders which, I’m telling you, we really have to get tracks for them installed, that would be so much safer.”

You turned to look at Anne, who was still stood up there, holding the Christmas lights. You hoped she’d back you up, but she gave you a blank stare. When you signalled with your eyes for her to say something, she just said, “He’s right.”, and threw the string of Christmas lights to Joe who skilfully caught them.

“Oh, yes, let’s get wheels into the store now that there’s going to be little fingers around to get caught under them,” your sarcasm went largely ignored by the two of them high up above you. “That sounds like it’s definitely not a disaster waiting to happen.”

“I’m still waiting for that promise. Four months. No ladders.”

Four months was entirely too long. It was still just you in the store most days. Anne had more hours and no longer worked just on the weekends, but your store didn’t make enough to pay her fulltime. And with shelves needing stacking most days too, it felt wrong to even think about not stepping onto a ladder for four months straight. You could agree to no more ladders during the pregnancy, but after? If you’d look at a shelf that needed more books, you knew you’d be quick to put new ones in place, the gnawing urge to fill out all shelves properly could really overwhelm you. It was why you made late hours nearly every day, and why a lot of the time, if Joe was in, he’d be down there helping you out. It was also why your store always looked exactly the way you wanted it to look, which brought you great pleasure and pride because that way, it still looked just like when your granddad had ran it. Logically, though, you knew that it wouldn’t be the end of the world if the upper shelves didn’t always look the way you wanted them to for a short while.

“Ugh. Fine. Four months, no ladders.”

It took Joe and Anne about 30 minutes of swearing at each other to string the Christmas lights all along the ceiling whilst you had made yourself busy doing necessary work by the till, adding the latest delivery of books into the system. With your pregnancy you’d gotten so many books about having children and child care that you and Anne had ended up creating a full baby display for them. It had made your mother laugh when she’d seen it, saying that the store was really becoming an extension of what life event you were currently going through. You couldn’t help it, and they sold fine, so it was fine.

“Jesus Chri- Anne! Would be great if you would actually look at me when I throw you something!”

“Don’t throw them when I’m not looking,”

“I counted down!”

“I counted down,” Anne mocked him under her breath in a small high-pitched voice.

You couldn’t hide how much you enjoyed the two of them bickering as you scanned barcode after barcode, a smile tugging at your cheeks the whole way through until the lights were in place.

“And now for the grand reveal,” Joe stood next to an outlet and was about to flip the switch. For a second you held your breath and silently cursed at yourself for not having checked to see if they worked beforehand and were scared they’d gone through all that work for nothing.

“Ta dah!” but thank goodness, the lights turned on and illuminated the store in soft light that, with it dark outside and most of the other lights turned off, instantly made everything look so much nicer. Cosier. Christmassier. You all just looked up at them for a moment, admiring the view.

“We should have them up all year round,” you spoke softly, almost upset at the fact you’d never done more to dress up the store for Christmas. It was only early November, and with the clocks turning back an hour a few weeks ago and the days becoming shorter, Anne had asked if she could do a Christmassy book display for the window. You loved Christmas and were surprised to find that Anne did too – you didn’t think it fit her personality at all. You thought she’d be way more into Halloween. Or Guy Fawkes Night. But when your gaze broke away from looking at the ceiling to scan Anne’s features, you could see the twinkle of the lights in her eyes and the smallest of smiles.

“Hank needs to hurry up so he can see it,” Anne said, checking the clock. Her shift ended about 20 minutes ago and when she noticed, you noticed too, wincing at the fact that you hadn’t stopped her when you should’ve. Anne frequently stayed late, and you’d told her time and time again that she really didn’t need to.

Her comment made you drop your shoulders and shake your head, laughing through a sigh. “Hank?” Joe asked, giving you questioning eyes as he joined you behind the counter. “Anne,” you started, but Anne was quick to interrupt as she slung her arms into her coat. “If you won’t tell me his name, I’m going to stick with Hank.”

“Mmh… Hank,” Joe said the name, narrowed eyes trailing along the ceiling in thought, as if he was seriously considering the name.

Ever since you found out you were going to be having a boy, the discussion about baby names between you and Joe seemed endless and was still ongoing. You liked short, simple names, like Max, or Noah, or Luke. Joe kept saying Joe Junior as a joke, or Joe the Second, and it had been funny, until it wasn’t, because Joe wasn’t making any real suggestions. He let you do all the work and then just kept shooting your suggestions down, which was very unhelpful. It had all come ahead a few days ago when you’d suggested the name Archie when cooking dinner together, and he had burst into a full belly laugh. But you hadn’t been joking, and Joe’s reaction was all kinds of wrong, you know, since you were pregnant with a painful body that was surging with hormones. You’d had to blink away angry tears and tried to calm yourself down, but when Joe kept muttering Archie Joseph Anthony to himself, softly chuckling, you’d thrown the knife you’d been holding to cut vegetables into the sink and had walked out.

“Babe,” Joe had called after you, still laughing, but immediately backtracking his reaction when he saw that you were crying. “Archie’s a good name,” he pulled you into a hug which you accepted, but you had kept your arms by your side, not hugging him back. “Don’t lie to me. Clearly you don’t think that,” you’d muttered into his chest. “Okay, no, I don’t think that. I’m sorry.” And then you’d just stood there for a moment, letting Joe comfort you by pressing your body against his, until you heard oil splattering in the kitchen, and Joe promised that he’d think of a name he actually liked.

“No,” you shot down the name Hank immediately. You were not going to name your firstborn son Hank.

“Hank.” Anne said, nodding at Joe as she did up her coat buttons, completely ignoring you. “Hank.” Joe shrugged at Anne, trying to hide his smile through pursed lips, now just messing with you.

“Stop! It’s not going to be Hank!” You laughed, making Joe break too. Anne, not so much.

“It’ll be Hank until it’s something else.” Anne deadpanned, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Oh no, then it’ll probably be Hank for a while,” you groaned, focusing on scanning the last couple of barcodes before you’d be able to shut the system down for the night. “Joe's useless when it comes to names,” you placed full blame on him, because it was true.

“I think I quite like Alfie, though,” Joe then casually said, and it made you gasp, pausing your task at hand to look at him. You felt hot, thick emotion shoot throughout your full body unexpectedly, your breath high up in your throat as you scrunched your eyebrows at your boyfriend who seemed serious about his suggestion.

“Alfie, like Alfred?” you asked with a shaky voice, tears prickling in your eyes, unsure if Joe was even aware of what he’d just said. You thought he couldn’t be. Joe couldn’t know. You’d never mentioned his name before, but that didn't mean Joe couldn't have picked it up somewhere else… he had spoken to your mother on many occasions, and you knew what a menace she could be.

“Like Alfred,” Joe smiled at you, and you couldn’t help the sob that escaped you, falling into him and letting Joe hug you tightly as he smiled.

Anne scanned the two of you and just watched you hug for a moment. She seemed confused.

“Who’s Alfred?” the lack of emotion in her voice balanced out the situation perfectly.

“Her granddad.” Joe simply said, letting you cry into his neck.

-----

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#joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn fanfic #joe quinn fanfic #like a poem #a lot like love #a whisper away #part one #fluff #fanfiction

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icallhimjoey · 2 years

Note

I'm dreading the end of "A Lot Like Love" as much as I'm looking forward to it! Eternally grateful to you, writing this so brilliantly, and also for the anon for asking for more of it. I can't wait for part five, as well as upcoming fic ideas you're gonna tackle.

Get ready to mourn this story with me, this is officially its last part. You've all been way too kind to me throughout all of it - for Like A Poem, and for A Lot Like Love. I really appreciate all your comments, reblogs and likes. Thank you. Special thanks to @thatonefan-girl for finding beautiful pics for me to use! Wordcount: 4.7K

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A Lot Like Love

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe hadn’t had time to come into the store again that day. And the day after he had to work until late, but he promised he’d come see you. He texted you. Texted. With words. No pictures, no emojis. It was new and a little unsettling.

“Did you survive the day?”

You hated it. Even though there’d been so many times you wished you and Joe would just text each other like normal people would, with questions normal people would ask each other, this first wordy message had made your skin crawl. Anne had peeked over your shoulder and had retched at it, which you thought was a bit much.

“We’ll talk about it later” you had texted back. You dabbled a little with the idea of putting a full stop at the end of it but had decided against it last minute. After staring at the two messages that followed each other, you decided to also send “It was okay.” Because it had been okay, and it felt nice to add that instead of completely dismissing him. However, you did decide to put a full stop at the end of it then.

You hadn’t texted each other since.

It had been a long two days, and you had felt weird all throughout it. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t look online, just because you didn’t actively want to make yourself feel worse. But you didn’t need to seek it out; it found you because people wouldn’t stop sending you photos and videos and their opinions. You knew that it would’ve been different had it been a picture of you and Joe walking in the street holding hands. Or even if it had been a sneaky pic of the two of you on the train, like you thought Joe initially meant when he broke the news to you. But the image of you on his lap like a cheap rodeo cowgirl, with his hands on the meat of your body – you were glad your grandfather wasn’t around to have witnessed it, even though you knew he would’ve been the best comfort with the exact right words for you.

So, an evening like this one was exactly what you needed. Friends. Drinks. Fantastic business ideas. And giggles. Many, many giggles. Most of them were at the expense of Joe, and whilst you hadn’t participated in making the jokes, most of them had made you laugh.

You had pushed aside a display table to make for extra room in the center of the store so you, Anne and your best friend had enough room. Splayed out on the floor, brown wrapping paper rolls and scraps surrounded you, along with piles of books you had pulled from your shelves. Three pairs of hands were busy, cutting paper, ripping tape, and wrapping up books.

And you were drunk. But only slightly. Because your friend said she knew how to make great margaritas and she had been right.

It was quite the sight for Joe to see when he walked past the window. It was late and already dark out, and he had imagined the store to be dark too, but he’d been surprised when he’d seen the illumination from down the street. Joe stopped to look at the three of you through the window. He saw you take a huge gulp from your cocktail, underestimating either the size of your mouth or how much was left in the glass, tipping half of it down your face. It made all of you laugh.

Then Anne saw him and pointed at him with eyes of thunder and lightning. It caught your attention and then you saw him too. “Anne, stop. None of today is his fault.” And you waved Joe over to come in. But Anne was drunk too. “We ought to burn you at the stake!” were the first words Joe heard when he walked in.

“Yea, okay. Sure… should we go now? Or later?” Joe nodded and pointed a finger behind him, eyebrows raised up high at Anne. Anne settled for later.

“How was work?” you tried to sound so casual, like it was a question you asked Joe all the time and it made your best friend burst out laughing.

“Work was fine.” Joe was sweet enough to answer you, but he didn’t manage to hide his own smile. “But I should really be asking you.” He took off his coat and sat down in an armchair. His armchair.

“Anne’s a good guard dog,” You said and it sufficed as enough of an answer. Joe understood. This also didn’t seem the right time to press it further. “I’ve survived the days.” You didn’t mean for it to sound snarky, but it came out a little cutting. Joe didn’t have time to even show in his face that he properly heard you.

“Since you’re here,” your best friend cut in. “We’re going to need you to sign this.” And she passed Joe a piece of paper that read MYSTERY BOOKS PICKED BY JOSEPH QUINN. “For authenticity.”

In the top left corner she had drawn a little stick-figure with long curly hair, holding a guitar. In another corner Joe found a normal stick-figure.

“That’s obviously Eddie Munson, and that’s you looking normal. I don’t know what other things you’ve done.”

Joe shot you a confused look.

“Not my idea. Talk to them.” You poured yourself another margarita from the blender that you found behind you, far enough from all of your limbs so none of you would kick it over, but close enough to reach when you needed it. Like now.

“If your stupid face is going to be bringing in more people, we’re going to want to tempt them to spend actual fucking money in here.” Your best friend said with biting sass. You were worried how Joe was going to take her tone. Joe had learned with time how to move around Anne, but you were unsure if Joe was going to take this type of shit from your best friend as well. Joe was unaware that he’d jumped headfirst into a shark-pit, and you kind of hoped he was a fast swimmer.

“You’re fucking using me?” he matched her perfectly, and you tried to hide your smile from them. Joe swam fine.

“Using, abusing, call it what you like. Sign it.” She threatened and held out a sharpie to Joe who reluctantly took it from her.

“You’re okay with this?” Joe shot worried eyes at you. Stupidly so – you were drunk. You’d agree to do much dumber stuff if your best friend suggested it right now.

“I’ve grown attached to the stick-figures.” you shrugged at Joe, and he looked at the sign a second longer before using his teeth to open the sharpie and signing it with his autograph.

Anne turned to you. “Stake burning postponed, indefinitely.” It warmed your heart.

Joe turned his head at an angle to see what books you were wrapping up. They were all books you knew he’d bought from the store, or had read there, and he nodded approvingly. “How else can I be of service? Should I sign some of the wrapped books, too?” Joe was half joking, a little sarcastic, but you’d all had too many margaritas to catch it.

“Oh my God,” your best friend rolled her eyes. “Mr Important over here thinks people want signed wrapping paper, like he’s the fucking author of all these books.” She made eye contact with you, but then a second later, she snapped her head back at him. “Actually, that’s brilliant. Limber up that wrist, we’ve already wrapped a tonne.”

Not quite a tonne. But enough for you to think it was time to stop wrapping. Your friend started handing books to Joe, and you thought it was the perfect time to go for a quick toilet break.

“Draw shit on them too, do love hearts on a couple.” You heard your friend order as you made your way to the breakroom.

Did you feel nervous leaving Joe alone with your friend and Anne? Not if they’d been sober. With alcohol in the mix, this situation felt trickier to manage, it felt very unpredictable. But you weren’t going to squat down in a corner or bring them all into the bathroom with you just so you could stay in the room with them. You weren’t that drunk.

Just as you were about to make your way back, you caught them talking. And it was a bit like being butt-dialed. You had to sneak a listen for your ears to catch something that wasn’t meant for them. So, you paused by the door and eavesdropped.

“Listen I’m not going to beat around the bush, my guy,” your friend only slightly slurred her words. “You don’t understand, I would die for her.” You heard Joe huff a laugh, which only egged your friend on. “I could give less of a shit of who you are, you could be a fucking prince and you still wouldn’t be good enough. I don’t care! If someone tried to shoot a gun at her, I would fling myself in front to catch that bullet if it means she gets to live.” Your friend was overly dramatic, and you tried to will her to calm down telepathically. It didn’t work.

“Not Anne. Anne would kill for her.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Joe commented. You could only image the look Anne would be giving him right now.

Eavesdropping was fun, you thought.

“But I need to know, and she won’t tell me so you’re going to have to, did you fuck her on the stairs or-” You slammed the door open with flat hands that slapped against the wood to announce your entrance back into the room. Maybe eavesdropping was not so fun, after all.

That evening you cleared a full display and piled all the wrapped books onto it with the autographed sign proudly stood up in the middle of it.

“Feel a bit li-like Christmas,” you said through a hiccup, pointing at the stick-figure that was meant to be Eddie. “Santa.” You said and laughed loudly at your own joke, convinced that alcohol really did make you funnier.

Anne and your best friend had just left, the margarita blender was empty, and your heart felt full. There was a little tidying to do still before bed, and you stumbled around to reach for the scraps of discarded wrapping paper and little balls of tape that stuck to the floor. Then you stood up whilst underneath a table, smashing your skull full forced into the hardwood underside of it.

“Ow,” was all you managed, a reaction far too small for the loud bang Joe’d heard.

“Jesus Chr- okay. Let’s go.” Joe grabbed you by your wrist, carefully moving you from underneath the table before pulling you in and embracing your head, kissing the spot of impact.

“I’m okay!” you were quick to dismiss it. “You won’t be when the alcohol’s out of your system, babe.”

“Babe,” you repeated. Joe had never used a pet name on you before. “Let’s go upstairs.” Joe guided you into the breakroom.

“Let’s go upstairs, babe,” you giggled, mocking Joe, but totally accepting his guidance of you. Joe had to use two arms fully extended to push you up the stairs, because sometimes one of your legs wouldn’t be able to travel up the next step by itself and it would just dangle mid-air as you called Joe babe again, just because it was funny to push his buttons.

“Stop it, before I’ll actually have a go at it on these stairs with you,” Joe bit back, hinting at words from your friend he was sure she hadn’t been allowed to reveal to him, and he softly chuckled to himself.

“Don’t.” you warned. “I’ll plummet myself off them if you mention that again.” The empty threat made him laugh louder.

Fighting you free of your clothes was a difficult task. You were a mess of limbs and huffs of laughter. All of it worked against Joe, and it felt a little like he was trying to rid a squirmy toddler of an outfit with tricky buttons and zippers but harder. Trying to get you to drink a tall glass of water wasn’t so hard. You gulped it down without a fight but did have to stop twice because you had to laugh at something you didn’t explain to Joe.

In bed, Joe asked you how drunk you really were. “Stone cold sober, sailor!” you’d used an accent Joe hadn’t heard from you before and you’d saluted him with your eyes closed.

Too drunk, Joe concluded.

“We’ll talk in the morning.” Joe smiled, said good night, and gave you a kiss to the forehead that made you hum before you allowed sleep to take you.

Monday morning came too fast.

The awful taste in your mouth, almost mouldy feeling inside your head, hot legs under covers too thick – it was all wrong. Nausea laid in wait, primed to activate on movement. You tried to sit up but were quickly fought back against the mattress by gravity, a low groan escaping your throat. You felt Joe move beside you. The mattress dipped in slightly and an arm found its way across your stomach.

“How bad is it?” Joe’s voice was deep and raspy, still coated with sleep.

“Don’t sit up. It's dangerous up there.” You warned Joe through squinty eyes, like he’d been drinking the night before too. You tried to focus your eyes on your outstretched hands, but double vision turned them into two sets. They lifted, floated, crossed over and blurred as you held them still. You needed more sleep.

“Mmmh,” Joe buried his face deeper into the pillow. “We’ll do today horizontally.”

Joe didn’t have anywhere to be until later in the afternoon. And you’d already decided the night before that you’d open shop whenever you felt like you could actually function to do so. You managed to get a little more sleep before the sun had lit up your bedroom enough for it to not be ignored anymore.

“Last night was fun,” you recounted, breaking a silence that hadn’t asked to be broken.

“Yea? How’s your head?” Joe knew you had to be in pain, both from the alcohol consumption leaving you dehydrated and from the way you bashed it into a table the night before.

“I’ve not had any complaints.” You joked, making yourself laugh more than Joe.

“Look at you! So quick on your feet, and that at,” Joe checked the time. “Ten past eight in the morning.” Joe sarcastically commented, cooing you patronizingly.

“Thanks, babe.” You remembered everything from the night before, and Joe huffed a laugh through his nostrils.

A silence lingered where Joe found your hand in the sheets, propped your arm up onto its elbow next to his, and he let his fingers play. Delicate slow touching, soft tickles that barely grazed your skin. You felt a sharp pang in your chest as if shot by cupid himself, that little shit. It hurt, but it leaked out hot fluid that filled your whole chest. It resembled hot chocolate; thick, warm, sugary sweet, almost silky. And then it translated itself to your brain, and you were hit with a realization that terrified you.

“You okay?” Joe lifted his head from the pillow a little to look at you, sensing your shift in emotion.

“Just hung over, I guess.” You lied and you let Joe continue to tickle your palm with the tips of his fingers. It was almost too intimate for you to bear.

“I’m sorry about last night,” you suddenly said, surprising Joe. You were mostly apologizing for your friends, but you’d lie if you said you hadn’t egged them on when Joe hadn’t been looking.

“No need to apologize. I should be the one saying sorry to you.” Joe meant for what people seeing a picture of the two of you kissing had brought onto you.

“It’s not your fault.” You meant the picture being taken in the first place.

“But I’m still sorry.” Joe meant for what the picture had changed for you.

And that was enough. You’d find a new routine, you were sure. So what if Joe wouldn’t be in your store all the time anymore? He could be there after hours as much as he wanted- as much as you wanted now. Joe didn’t have to sit in the armchair for three hours, rereading the same paragraph eight times because his real focus was on where your eyes were boring into him as you took every moment you could to stare at him from your spot behind the counter. Now he could just be in your bed with you and apologize for things he had no control over. You convinced yourself it would be just as fun.

“About what I said the other day…” Joe started, and something in his voice revealed a certain level of importance. You had an inkling about what he was referencing, but didn’t want to bring it up yourself, so you stayed silent. You heard Joe’s head move against the pillow as he turned to look at you again, and you realized he was waiting for you to speak.

“It’s okay, we decided you didn’t mean it.” You pretended it was something Joe was also going to apologize to you for, and you hoped he’d drop it.

But Joe instead intertwined your fingers with his and held your hand, now turning onto his side to face you fully. You stayed put flat on your back and just turned your head to find his eyes. It was better because you still felt nauseous, but it was also better because it felt safer. Not as intimate, much less scary.

“What if I did mean them?” he squeezed your hand tightly, as if you might take your chance to jump from the bed to get away from him.

“Because it feels a lot like love,” his voice was so close to a whisper, it felt like his words were barely even there.

Your breath hitched in your throat, as if it missed a step down the stairs, and you had to balance yourself and find your breath like lost feet below you. The words felt like another person in the room. A third wheel at the end of the bed that was staring at you in hopes of accepting them so they could stay there. You looked Joe in the eye, and all the emotions you found in there punched you right in the gut.

“Those are scary words, Joe.” You confessed carefully.

“I know. But don’t run from them.” Joe said and you could feel his hands squeeze yours a few times, tight fingers pulsing around your palm.

Joe was onto you, and the hand that wasn’t holding yours found your face and cupped around your cheek. You closed your eyes to his touch.

“I’m going to say more scary words. Embrace yourself.” Joe said with a slight smile, and it instantly released more nervous, frantic butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

“The first time I loved you was when you silently placed a cup of coffee next to me. I had just started wondering if I was overstaying my welcome, and then you just gave me a hot drink."

You silently blinked at Joe.

"The second time I loved you was when I was talking about you with your grandfather, and we looked at you and your mother hard a work for a little while.” As you listened to Joe, the hot chocolate inside your chest was bubbling, threatening to tip over into the rest of your body and seep out of it, into the bed.

Joe wasn’t done yet, though.

“The third time I loved you was when you called me Mr Quinn and gave me your phone number. I stuck that piece of paper in my wallet, and I’ve still got it in there. And the fourth time I loved you was when we had the photoshoot here and we were out front and I could see you in the breakroom, working behind your laptop and singing along to my playlist, just in your own world, undisturbed by whatever we had going on.” Joe reminisced, looking up at the ceiling as he vividly remembered the sight of you.

“After that… all the times I’ve loved you sort of pile together into a big, sticky ball that bounces around my body when I look at you.” Joe found your eyes. He was impossibly cute, and your face told him that you thought so. But there was more to find in your eyes. Joe said to not run from his words, so you very actively tried not to, but it proved almost too difficult.

“Joe, I can’t,” you started, flipping the script, and scaring Joe with what you were saying. “I can’t be an addition to…” you continued, searching for the right words. “… to a system. Or an addition to an entity.” You said, and Joe understood. “I’ve barely even met him, really. I can’t suddenly be Joseph Quinn’s girlfriend.” and like you’d grown accustomed to by now, whenever you spoke of the Joe who was in the public eye, you added the hand gesture that went along with it, but this time small and quick.

“You won’t be. You’ll be mine.” Joe pulled your hand up to his mouth and kissed it.

It sounded so simple. You knew in theory it wouldn’t be, but it was tempting to play with the idea of simplicity for the two of you. Like it had been so simple, for so long. Too long.

You sat with Joe’s words for a minute, then suddenly turned over so you were now also on your side, facing Joe. You looked down at your clutching hands in between the two of you and swallowed thickly.

“The first time I loved you was when you read Blindness in one day and came to tell me about it, only two days after we first met.” Joe’s lips pursed into a small smile which encouraged you to keep going. You couldn’t look him in the eye for this, and you kept your gaze on your hands.

“The second time I loved you was when you bought that book without checking to see what it was because you had missed the store-”

“I’d missed you.” Joe confessed sweetly, eyes twinkling like those of a naughty schoolboy.

“I fucking knew it.” You scrunched your face at Joe’s, and you both giggled.

“The third time I loved you was during that shoot, when you had to pose on a ladder, and you grabbed the book my grandfather used to read to me.” Joe remembered how he’d found your face through the window, and you’d looked at each other for a second.

You suddenly frowned and sunk further into your thoughts. “But what if it doesn’t work?” you asked Joe, and your worry-filled eyes locked with his. “What if I’m not equipped for this?” and Joe caught your lip trembling before you quickly bit into it to hide it from him.

Joe leant back a bit, moving away to take in more of you, to read you fully. You looked frail. Breakable. He didn’t want to break you because he had seen what that was like. Joe thought back to that horrific day where you had processed your grandfather’s passing in the bookstore, the event for different reasons almost as traumatic for him as it had been for you.

“Sweetheart,” Joe scooted back closer to you, moving until your foreheads were pressed together and your hands, still holding each other, were curled up tightly in between your chests. There was nowhere for you to look but directly into Joe’s big, brown eyes.

“It’s been working. You’ve no idea how well equipped you are, and you’ll see. You’ll grow to see it, I promise.”

You weren’t sure how Joe was so convincing. But he was.

“Tell me you love me again,” you asked, and Joe’s kiss came in hot an heavy. This time there was no lingering of his lips in front of your face, no waiting for you to close any gaps. Joe found your lips with his without hesitation and you loved him for it.

“I love you,” Joe said into your mouth and followed it with little kisses that travelled from your mouth all over your face until they circled back again.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

It was past noon when you opened the store. You were both there, coffees in hand, stood behind the counter. The morning of love left you with relaxed bodies, your hangover slowly curing and no worries about anything, for whatever you could think of. No worries for the rest of the day, no worries for other photos that were bound to be taken of the two of you together and no worries for the future. It felt all too blissful, and you let yourself soak in it.

You smiled at the display you put together the night before, the autographed sign looked so much more professional in your memory of creating it. Now it was mainly its sentimental value that kept you from replacing it for something without badly drawn stick-figures and obvious dried and wrinkled spots from where you’d spilled margarita on it.

Joe asked if you remembered pointing at the sign and calling one of the stick-figures Santa last night when the door opened.

“Oh my God,” a girl in her late teens early twenties had stepped in and from her wide eyes you gathered she hadn’t expected to actually see Joe there, in the flesh.

Joe kissed you on the back of the head quickly, as much out of sight as he could make his public display of affection before stepping around the counter towards her.

“Hi, welcome, can I help you find a book you’re looking for?”

And you got to stand back and watch him interact with her. Joe was quick to match her energy, was the one to initiate a hug and then hugged her close so she could really feel him- smell him. He posed for a selfie and then sold her a book from your display. His display. “You won’t know what you’re getting, but you do know that I drew that for you.” He said, scrunching his face and pouting as he pointed at a little love heart on the wrapping paper that covered the novel. She was all smiles, and so were you.

Then she looked at you behind the counter and made her way over to pass you the mystery book Joe had picked out for her, and you rung her up.

“Did you manage to find everything you were looking for?” you asked, and you saw Joe grin at you from behind her.

You had an inkling then that this was going to work out just fine. When the young woman walked out the store after giving Joe a short wave, Joe turned to you with outstretched arms.

“Hey? That wasn’t so bad!” he celebrated, and you laughed as you shook your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Will you be okay to do the rest of them yourself?” Joe asked, stepping behind the counter and pulling you into him by your waist. “Are you asking me if I’m going to be able to run my store?” you feigned offense, making Joe grin. “Good, because I’ve got to run.” He pressed a quick peck to your lips before picking up his coat from where he’d left it on the armchair the night before.

“Though, it won’t be half as exciting without you here,” you made eyes at Joe, knowing that if people were to find that selfie online, they were going to be coming in hoping to get one too.

“Tell them I’m in here all the time, they’ll come back and buy more.” Joe said, arms swinging into his coat and stepping towards the door. “I’ll be back before dinner.”

“Hey,” you said, nodding your head up at him as you leant your arms wide on the counter, hanging in your shoulders. Joe stopped just before he stepped out and turned to look at you.

“I love you.” Your voice laced thick with adoration as you bit your bottom lip in a smile. Joe squeezed one eye shut and stuck his arm out, catching your words with his hand, then pressing them tightly to his chest.

“I love you too.”

the end.

— read Like A Poem here

The story continues: read A Whisper Away here. —

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