Chapter 5: Hidden Currents

The bell above the door chimed softly, cutting through the tranquil atmosphere of the bookstore. Eleanor didn't look up immediately; she already knew who had entered.

Nathaniel had come again.

She directed her attention to the book in her lap, pretending she hadn't been watching the door just moments before. This had become an unspoken ritual for them: he arrived late, close to closing time, browsing with his characteristic quiet intensity. Eleanor would recommend a book, and he would accept it without question. No pressure, just a delicate balance neither of them openly recognized.

But tonight felt different.

Perhaps it was the way he lingered by the entrance, his presence more pronounced than usual. Or maybe it was the weight of their last conversation still echoing in her mind—his words about how everyone needs saving from something.

Finally, she shut the book and looked up.

Nathaniel was standing a few feet away, impeccably dressed as always, but something in his expression seemed different.

"Long day?" she asked, trying to maintain a light tone.

His lips twitched, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. "You could say that."

She observed him as he wandered toward the shelves, fingers gliding lightly over the spines. Normally, he moved as if he had all the time in the world, but tonight there was an undeniable tension in his shoulders.

After a moment's hesitation, Eleanor pushed herself to her feet. "Any specific mood you're in for a book?"

Nathaniel turned to her, curious. "What do you mean?"

"For your book." She gestured toward the neatly organized titles lining the shelves. "Are we thinking about existential dread? A slow unraveling of sanity? Or maybe something with a tragic ending?"

His mouth curved into a slight smile. "And those are my only choices?"

She smirked back. "I could always add a tragic romance to the mix."

Nathaniel considered her with a thoughtful expression. "Tempting."

Eleanor stepped closer, feeling a spark of inspiration. "Seriously, though. What kind of mood do you want to explore?"

He paused, which was unusual for him. Nathaniel often spoke with confidence, but tonight he weighed his words carefully before responding.

"Something honest," he said finally.

Eleanor felt the weight of his words settle between them.

She turned to the shelves, her fingers tracing the spines before she pulled out *The Glass Castle* and handed it to him.

Nathaniel examined the cover. "A memoir."

"About survival," she said. "About learning to make peace with your past."

Something flickered in his eyes, a fleeting moment of recognition. Slowly, he accepted the book.

"You always choose the perfect one," he murmured.

Eleanor shrugged, feeling a rush of warmth. "It's a talent."

Nathaniel chuckled quietly, though the amusement didn't linger.

Instead of proceeding to the counter, he stayed a moment longer, lightly tapping the book against his palm. An intriguing silence stretched between them, filled with unsaid thoughts.

Eventually, he spoke. "You shouldn't be sleeping here."

Eleanor felt a knot form in her stomach.

She forced a lighthearted response. "Who says I am?"

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the back room. "I notice things, remember?"

Eleanor exhaled, crossing her arms defensively. "You could use a new hobby."

He remained silent for a moment as he studied her, his quiet intensity making her feel exposed.

"I know what it feels like," he said softly.

She blinked, taken aback. "What do you mean?"

His gaze held hers. "Not having a place to call home."

His words stirred something within her, a reaction she didn't expect.

Eleanor let out a dismissive scoff. "Right. Because you must have so much experience with being homeless."

Nathaniel didn't react to her sarcasm; he simply continued to look at her with unwavering understanding.

"You'd be surprised," he replied quietly.

Eleanor's breath caught in her throat.

There was an authenticity in his voice—no pity, no judgment—just understanding.

It left her feeling unsettled.

She looked away, clearing her throat. "I appreciate your concern, Nathaniel, but I'm fine."

He didn't argue with her, but his expression suggested he wasn't convinced.

Instead, he placed *The Glass Castle* on the counter and took out his wallet. "I'll take this one."

Eleanor moved automatically, ringing up the book without meeting his gaze.

As he accepted it, their fingers brushed—a brief connection that sent an unexpected warmth through her.

She brushed it aside.

Nathaniel took a step back, tucking the book under his arm. Before turning to leave, he paused again.

"If you ever need—" He hesitated, shaking his head slightly as he reconsidered his words. Then, more quietly, he said, "Take care, Eleanor."

With that, he was gone.

The door's bell chimed softly behind him, leaving her in a thoughtful silence.

Eleanor stood there for a long moment, staring at the door he had just exited.

This moment felt… significant.

Not in a way that alarmed her or urged her to flee.

But in a way that whispered: Be cautious. This could have meaning.

And that thought was both exciting and daunting.