Book Talk Novels & Stories

We left the market eventually and walked without deciding to, no direction, just side by side talking about nothing in particular, and I kept thinking how strange it was that I could talk to this person about genuinely nothing for this long and never once want the conversation to stop. We’d been walking for what felt like ages, when we turned a corner and I saw a bookshop. It was small and slightly tucked between two larger buildings. I was through the door before I even had to think about it, pulling Caleb behind me. It looked exactly like the kind of place you stumbled into by accident and somehow lost two hours inside. I disappeared between the shelves almost immediately. Then I found a b

"Tuesdays are difficult." Elion laughed. "Yeah. Tuesdays." "Elion?" "Yeah?" "There is an event," Cale said. "Tonight." "What event?" "The bookstore in town. The turning Page. They posted a flyer. 'Local Author Night'." "I'm not a local author. I've lived here for six months." "You have a deed. You pay taxes. You are local." "I didn't tell them about the book." "I did," Cale said. Elion dropped the book. "You what?"

He opened it, counted quickly, then nodded. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mrs. Cole.” “This conversation never happened,” I said. “What conversation?” He got back in his car and drove away. I stood there for a moment, hand in my pocket, fingers wrapped around the flash drive. The concrete was cold. The air smelled like exhaust and oil. Somewhere below, a car alarm went off, then stopped. I got back in my car and drove. Isabella had suggested we meet at a bookstore. Not the kind with coffee bars and reading nooks. The old kind. Dusty. Narrow aisles. Books stacked floor to ceiling. The kind of place where no one looked at anyone else because everyone was too absorbed in their own world.

“It’s been two months since we met. You’re an amazing boss, an amazing person but you’ve had that look since the first time I saw you.” “What look?” She sighs “I don’t want to overstep but if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.” I don’t know what to tell her so I just nod. “Thanks, I’ll be leaving soon.” “Alright, we’ll lock up.” **** I grab a book from the shelf and read the title. ‘The Psychopath’s internal wiring’ I walk over to a seat in the corner and I start to read. A gentle hand taps me, jerking me awake.

He goes away while I'm staring at everyone, trying to keep myself busy with my thoughts even though I feel out of place. He returned with a canned drink; we found a spot to see and finally sat. I suck at starting up a conversation; instead, I focus on scrolling through my phone while Daniel discusses it with the rest of the people sitting with us; it's a table of four. Then everywhere goes silent; the author of the book goes to the stage, and behind the stage is a projector displaying the book with animation that accompanies it. Titled, “When I broke free”It's a middle-aged woman, possibly in her late 40s.She begins.

"There's one in Capitol Hill open until eleven. We could just browse. No agenda." "Okay. Pick me up in twenty." The bookstore is quiet. Soft lighting. The smell of coffee and paper. We split up. An unspoken agreement to explore separately. I find him thirty minutes later in the poetry section, reading with complete focus. "Find anything?" I ask. He shows me a collection by Mary Oliver. "I didn't know I liked poetry. But this is—it's beautiful." "Buy it." "I will." We leave with five books between us. None of them self-help or business strategy. Just novels and poetry and a cookbook.

I was in the back corner, in the literary fiction section, halfway through the first chapter of something a review had recommended, when I heard his voice. Not directed at me. He was near the front of the store, talking to the owner — a woman named Carol who had been there since before I was a regular and who knew her inventory the way I knew my recipes, thoroughly and with strong opinions. He was asking about something specific, a title, and Carol was telling him they had one copy left and she'd held it because she'd had a feeling someone would come in for it. I stood very still between the shelves. The sensible thing was to stay where I was until he'd finished and left. The bookstore was s

“You’re one of those conspiracy people.” “I am,” she said proudly. “Thank you for noticing.” I poured tea into mugs and added sugar, too much, as usual. Bailey watched, horrified. “Sweet tea,” she said, sounding like she’d discovered a crime. “You’re a sweet tea person.” “Yes,” I said, defensive on principle. Bailey leaned closer, eyes gleaming. “Okay. So here’s what we do. We start a book club.” I blinked. “What?” “A book club,” she repeated, like it was obvious. “For romance. Specifically romantic fantasy. Specifically.” she lowered her voice again, conspiratorial “ the ones with wolves.”

I knew I had to keep the conversation going to make us both comfortable and move past the discomfort, but I wasn't sure how to start. After a moment, I decided to use the book as a safe conversation starter. "I couldn't help but notice you were reading that book. It looks really interesting. What's it about?" I asked. "It's a fascinating story about time travel and parallel universes. Would you like to read with me? I can start over," she offered, finally facing me. "Sure," I replied happily. I sat close to her, and we began reading. Soon, we started discussing the book, and we became relaxed and talked freely like before, which made me happy.

I asked, and she unzipped her hoodie,taking out a novel. "Pride and Prejudice, who doesn't love a good novel?" She asked. Seeing her with that book reminded me of Molly, and Maria of course. For some reason the women I had keen conversations with were book lovers, except Paula of course. "Yes it's a great book, my wife has probably talked about it," I said. Greta and I talked about random things until I stopped in front of a clothing complex. "We are here," I announced. Then I got out of the car with her. We walked into the store with her behind.