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Fraser sat in a chair by the register, hunched over his book. Had anyone come into the bookstore to notice - and they hadn't, not in a day and a half - they would've seen that he hadn't turned the page in over an hour. Periodically he would look up from his book to stare at the door, then invariably sigh and turn his eyes back to the pages, if

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Ray peeked in the front window of Mort's, but he didn't see nothing so he came right in. He glanced around, feeling suddenly nervous, but he didn't see Benton or, actually, anyone at all.

Grabbing a random book from a shelf, Ray went over to the counter and hit the bell with it a couple times.

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"Just a minute," Fraser called from the kitchen. He knew he oughtn't be so irritated at having an actual customer, but the truth was he was content with staring out the kitchen window. He went to the sink and quickly splashed some water on his face, hoping to erase the signs of fatigue he knew were etched there, and went back into the shop. He stopped dead when he saw who was standing there, his mouth stuck in a small O of surprise.

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Ray wasn't sure he could say anything, either. As much as Benton had pissed him off, God, he'd missed him. He wasn't even sure he realized how much until the man was standing right there.

"So, uh...I was thinking of trying," Ray paused momentarily to glance at what he'd grabbed, "...Death of a Salesman. I mean, I hate salesmen, so, it sounds like a good one." He grinned, but the uneasiness he felt made it brief.

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"You'll like that one, then," said Fraser. His expression seemed fixed in surprise, though he did come a few steps closer to the counter that divided them. "It's a cautionary tale against pursuing success and wealth at the expense of principle."