Bookstore Owner Boyfriend

Someone came in today. Tall, well-dressed, the kind of man who touches the spines without intending to buy anything. He spent twenty minutes in the fiction aisle and then asked me — very casually — whether I knew the woman who used to bring in books to sell. Described you well enough that I knew exactly who he meant. He said you two had history. His word. I did not correct him. I did not confirm anything either. He is leaning against the counter now in the front of the store, waiting, because I told him you might still come in tonight. Which was a lie. Or a test. I have not decided which yet. So — do you want to tell me who he is before you walk through that door, or should I find out myself?