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Calla’s Daughter – POV The bookstore smelled like paper and rain. Not a chain store. Not polished shelves or corporate signs. Just an old converted train depot with crooked floorboards and a chalkboard outside that read: “Tonight: The Girl in the Photograph – A Reading.” I almost didn’t show up. Even though I was the girl. Even though I’d written the book. Even though River had flown in, Melinda was already seated in the front row, and Carrie had helped organize the entire thing with a thousand checklists and two backup microphones.

Alie The invitation says Conversation on Story: Building Worlds for Real Life which is the kind of title that makes you feel smart while you drink tea out of a paper cup and pretend the folding chair isn’t a folding chair. The bookstore is small, all honeyed wood and lamps that try to be kind. Someone strung twinkle lights between nonfiction and essays, like stars got cozy in the ceiling.

Maybe our connection wasn’t meant to be, so no matter how we were brought together we still didn’t end up together. A few moments later, I’d found the books I wanted to buy. I placed them in my arms, then walked over to Kevin, who was sitting on the reading sofa. This bookstore has a tiny reading room with only two reading sofas separated by a small round table. A reading lamp stands beside each sofa. On the table sits a small flowerpot serving as decoration. The reading room floor is carpeted, and next to my sofa are two vending machines.

Years of pretending I wasn't awkward had taught me well, one thing I learned the minute I stepped into New Jersey was that a perfect smile to hide whatever broken pieces was buried inside. Number one rule of Zian. Never let the room read you first. Inside, however... I was as usual, already planning my escape. The bookstore occupied the corner of a busy street in downtown Vegas. Floor-to-ceiling window wrapped around the front of the building, allowing sunlight to spill across rows of shelves and displays. Strings of warm lights hung from the ceiling, casting a cozy glow over the polished wooden floors. Banners featuring my books decorated the walls while stacks of signed editions sat neatly

I ran some leave in conditioner and gel through my curls before pinning back the sides with Bobby pins. When I went out to the living room, Bishop was looking at my books. “You have quite a nice collection here,” he said, picking up my well worn copy of ‘Gone with the Wind.” “Thanks. Books are kind of my thing.” “His Majesty said you own a bookstore and that you plan on hiring a store manager.” “I promoted my friend to the store manager. She’s been with me since I bought the shop.” “Wise. Someone who already knows the business.” I nodded as he shelved Margaret Mitchell’s classic. “So, I’m sure you’re curious about what is going to happen next.”

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When my shift ended, I found myself walking toward the corner table where Kael sat, his laptop closed now, a book in his hands. I stopped short when I saw the cover. ‘Knot We Cannot Untie.’ That was the book he was holding. I can't believe that Kael would be reading one of Linda Lively’s books. “You read… this?” I said, the surprise evidently in my voice. Kael looked up, one brow raised. “Why? You think I only read racing magazines and bank statements?” I gave a small laugh. “Chill bro. It’s just… not what I was expecting ”

I was stunned it’s here! I entered the bookstore. “Welcome sir how may I help you?” The guy from earlier said. “Where I can find the “Mi Tesoro” book?” I ask. Well that’s my book, a tragic one. “This way sir” Then he led me on the middle part of the shelf. He left me there and I pick a copy of my book. Wow, I didn’t know they bought a lot of copies of my book. Why did they do it? “It’s Red Wrights book sir” A female voice emerge from my behind.

Sending love and well wishes to you all xx A trail of water dripped behind Bellamy as he emerged from the shower, a towel hung loosely around his waist as he ruffled another towel through his now damp curls. “Whatcha reading gorgeous?” he nodded to Thea. Placing an intricately carved silver bookmark in between the pages, she placed her book down on the bedside table. Letting out a contented sigh, she stretched her arms and legs out on the bed. “It’s called ‘Her Fae Lovers’ by one of my favourite authors, Jane Knight.” A sleepy smile danced across her face as she dragged her eyes over Bellamy’s wet, exposed torso. Little pearls of water clung to his taught, tanned skin making him glisten unde