He Took Me

7.

Franky's POV

Like hell, if I'm going to let myself mop around Boris' house. I don't trust Boris with myself but I do with our son. Boris and Baba need time alone, Baba needs to learn how to be with his father.

I find a small book store almost outside of town.

"Good morning, dear," the old woman behind the desk greets me when I step through the door.

"Morning," I smile back at her.

"Are you looking for something in particular?"

"No, thank you. Just looking."

There are only three aisles full of books, the rest of the store is filled with antiques. I walk around admiring the very aged books. I've never seen anything like them, just in one aisle, there are books about war, witches and witchcraft, shapeshifters, aliens.

A bell rings then a deep males voice says, "hey Rosalee."

"Good morning, Sasha, how's the baby?" The old lady-Rosalee asks the man-Sasha. And the whole baby mention reminds me of Baba, I should get him something.

"Spend the whole night crying and screaming. Anyone come in?" He asks.

"Yes, there's a very beautiful young lady walking around." I smile at Rosalee's words. She's so sweet.

"Alright, imma start cleaning."

My body tenses when I hear the heavy footsteps of the man supposedly named Sasha. "Hi," I flinch at the sudden voice behind me. "Sorry," the handsome man chuckles.

"No, you're fine," I assure him.

He's handsome and tall but not as tall as my Boris. His dark, curly hair is short and his eyes are a gray/green color. Must be in his early thirties.

"I just wanted to inform you that all the books are half price."

"Oh, thank you." I smile at him.

"Do you need any help?"

"Do you have a kids section?" I feel kinda stupid asking that when most of these books are for strong believers.

"We actually do but it's small and there are not too many good options." He presses his lips in a thin line.

"That's fine." Baba's not picky when it comes to books.

"Well, this way then," he steps around me and I follow him down the aisle. He was right, it's a mini wooden bookshelf that probably has twenty books, if lucky. "Who is it for?" He asks when I approach the books.

"My son," I answer simply.

"Oh!" He scratches the back of his head with widen eyes. "You have a kid."

"Yes, my son." I'm used to getting his reaction. "I'm young, I know."

"Sorry, but hey, I have my own kid, a little girl that loves to scream her lungs out."

I giggle. "How old?"

"Four, she's too old for crying the way she does but that doesn't stop her. She looks exactly like her mother, and I'm pretty sure that's why she hates me," he jokes-or I hope so.

"First kid?"

"First kid," he answers waving his hand around. "And it doesn't help that I'm not with her mother anymore-well, I was never actually with her."

"I had to raise my little Boris on my own too." But I chose to.

"I'm sorry, I never asked how old."