Book Style Novels & Stories

Grabbing two, she let out a large sigh of relief. “Thanks!” “What are all these?” I asked, opening the office door for her. “Different books on design and where to buy everything. We don’t have to use any of these.” “I was thinking something with white and creams. Kind of boho, but not. Light stained wood, bright and airy. Maybe comfy like you just want to sink into it and relax.” Laying the books down on the desk, there was this neatly wrapped box in the middle with a card on top. “What’s this?” I asked, reaching for the card.

Yam sliced it open slowly, hands trembling. Inside was their book. “The Art of Staying.” Cover: a sunflower. A crooked shelf. Two mugs—one chipped. And behind it all, the suggestion of a fan, mid-spin. Franc stared at it like it might whisper back. “Feels unreal,” Yam said. Franc flipped through pages. Some with artwork. Others with Yam’s poetry. Their story—wired beginnings and all—now bound in matte finish. “I think this book breathes,” Franc said.

She rocked back and forth on her heels, a nervous smile twitching along her lips. I want to laugh, but I remain professional. I’m supposed to be an expert in all things seduction and sex. I can’t break my cover now. I gently spell out her name before writing my unique yet generic as all h*ll personalized message. After that’s done, I scrawl out my signature, ‘G. Blake’ and close the book once I know the message won’t smear. I slip into the first few pages, a business card, a special bookmark, and a couple of stickers before I place the book in a printed small tote bag. A final touch of an art print of the main characters, and I then finally hand the bag to the reader. Nice and quick. Only ni

The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and dust, and I could feel the weight of knowledge pressing down on me. The doppelganger gestured for me to follow, and I trailed after it, my footsteps echoing off the stone floor. We wove through the narrow aisles between the shelves, the doppelganger pausing occasionally to run its fingers over the spines of the books. As we walked, I noticed that the books seemed to be arranged in a specific pattern. Some of the shelves were filled with books bound in black leather, adorned with strange symbols that seemed to shift and writhe in the dim light. Others were filled with books bound in white leather, adorned with intricate gold filigree.

I ran my fingers along the spines, listening to the silence and allowing it to guide me. And then, I felt something like a whisper in my bones. My hand stopped on a book so large that it nearly spanned the width of the shelf. Its cover was unmarked, bound in cracked black leather that felt cold to the touch. No title, no author. It was just looking heavy. I pulled the book, and the shelf behind it groaned as if relieved. I sat on the floor, back against the wall, and opened it. The pages of the book were yellow I. Color, the ink is faded but legible. The script was archaic, looping and sharp like claws etched into paper.

She tore the box open. Inside this box were a dozen books. Most looked the same—typical bindings, mostly classics. But one book stood out immediately. It didn’t look anything like the others. It was thick, overstuffed and weathered, with leather binding. It looked as if it had been through a war. And it looked ancient.

I should be so professional that he can't even find any faults. I lifted the heavy book using both of my hands and placed it in front of me as it created a huge sound. I sensed Gabriel turned to me, but I didn't care. If something breaks because of these books, then it is on him. He fucking forced me. I opened the book and started to read, trying my best to understand everything that I read. It is about clothing and fashion. It is not that complicated, but it is hard.... maybe because I don't know anything about clothing and fashion.

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; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} Action speaks louder than voice.

Kennedy POV. The weather was bad, but I needed to get that new book, it's Robert birthday gift, who'd knew a grown up man would kill for the newest werewolf love book. I got into my car, drove carefully toward the local book store, they had the new book reserved for me. It was supposed to one quick drive, until I walked into the library. A girl was sitting on a bean bag, her blond hair was covering her eyes with overgrown bangs, she tried to huff them away from her face but to no use. She looked young, maybe she's just here with her parents, looking down at the book she had in her hands it was a kids story. Does she read for the local kids? Or is it just for her?