Books With Witty Banter Novels & Stories

Ace explained before he grinned at me. I knew immediately that he was being absolutely sarcastic especially when he spoke about the books that lined the shelves. His collection of books related to our field of work, art, and creativity, seemed very exhaustive and included some rare books that were hard to get in hardcover as well. I stood in front of the bookshelf as I admired it. “These books are amazing. I should steal some of them sometimes…” I said with a laugh. “Please do…” he replied casually. “Which one would you recommend?” I asked.

Shelves leaned like drunken companions, and books spilled across tables and floors in uneven towers. Mr. Greene, an elderly man with wiry spectacles, waved him in. “Welcome, Father,” he said with a grin. “Just Auther,” he replied. Mr. Greene chuckled. “Habit. But welcome, Auther.” They spent the morning dusting shelves and categorizing titles. Auther’s fingers remembered the rhythm of books, the scent of aging pages. He found himself recommending a poetry collection to a shy teenage girl and debating literary metaphors with an old scholar who stopped by every Thursday.

I ask, His body literally vibrates with excitement, making me chuckle, and he launches into a spiel, telling me about this book he was reading currently, a romance novel about a student and her professor, Her Professor’s Pet is the title, and obviously I am intrigued. “It is so good, I have to pace myself, I can’t finish it too quickly, and I also can’t slow down.” he groans in frustration, and I find that cute. I make a mental note to read the book so we could have conversations about it, I wanted in on his mind and whatever he was thinking about. We talk about everything and nothing at same time, but the entire time, even with bitter chocolate ice cream in my mouth, I find myself at peace,

I stopped at the library door and smiled to myself. ‘Books are better than people. Books don’t hate on you for something you didn’t do.’ I pushed the door open and breathed in the wonderful smell of books. ‘Paradise.’ I strolled to the shelves and scanned through the books, reading their names off their spines. ‘It seems Dante wasn’t joking when he said half of his library was filled horrors.’ A book caught my eye, and I pulled it from the others. “Bone and Souls by B. Brian.” I read the name aloud and skimmed through the description behind it. “This seems interesting.”

' Rinny was in good humour again and falling easily into our banter. 'Yes, all delivered, nice and cosy. And they're not stinky witch books, it’s just you’re allergic to anything wholesome. They're powerful grimoires with more magick in one little word than your entire body. I'd be careful about insulting them, they can hear, and they don't like it.' I push at the threadbare rug with my toes and frown as the rose petals start to rise in the water before me, pulling my attention. I turn away from the bowl and ignore them. 'Aww, shoosh. Those books don't scare me half as much as you do. There's another reason I'm calling though.'

And damn was he good looking. You should at least let me know you were there. " I was rendered speechless for the second time when I took a look at my intruder. No, the intruder would be correct. "Let me help you with that." He knelt down to help me pick up the books scattered round the floor. "Thank you." I fumbled picking up the ones I could reach and glimpsed "Hmmn, rare combination of books children books and that." His eyes sparkled with amusement as he got a glimpse of my spicy romance book, Lethal Vows by T.L Smith.

Emma said, walking deep into the living room. "Thanks." She walked to a set of shelves on the far side of the room, running her fingers over the spines of his books. A lot of them were classics, novels by Dickens, Voltaire, Dumas, Melville, and Hemingway. She smiled when her fingers ran over the spine of not one, but three copies of Mitchell's Gone with the Wind. There were modern novels, too, including Stephen King and Sidney Sheldon, but they didn't look as well read as some of the others.

A medium-weight blanket that could survive the dryer and didn’t care about spills. On my way to the register I remembered the conversation we’d had at the diner about books and the way her eyes had lit sideways when she mentioned a mystery author. Banks once showed me how to find the public side of a wish list when a pack kid didn’t know how to ask for a birthday gift. I tried the same trick now and felt briefly like a burglar when it pulled up—H. Williams—Books—all paperbacks, nothing flashy, a handful of titles I recognized and two I didn’t. I picked three, then forced myself to stop, because generosity without brakes can feel like pressure. I paid and didn’t look at the total. Wolves coun

After the party last night, saying goodbye to Ella, I asked her out for lunch this time, it was my turn to ask her out, she said yes. We went to our home with a big wide smile plastered on my face, this was the best birthday ever, how did she even managed to find a little that likes reading and books. She even work in the book shop, see my love for stories did pay out, we found her, we still didn’t know how to ask her about being a little, or being our little to be exact. But we did agree on taking things slow with her, on letting her get used to us on her own terms and conditions.

“Books don’t talk back. They don’t expect small talk. I like the order. And the stories. What about you? History major with a focus on obscure trade? That’s not common.” I shrugged even though he couldn’t see it. “I like knowing how people lived before everything got loud. Plus, it’s an excuse to hide in here. Away from parties and drama.” “Smart girl,” he murmured. The way he said it made my stomach flip. Time passed. Maybe twenty minutes. We talked about everything and nothing. My terrible roommate. His awful coffee from the faculty lounge. How the basement always felt colder than the rest of the building. Our voices got softer, more comfortable. The dark made it easier somehow. Like we we