Jane Addams Book Shop Novels & Stories

Adley’s eyes darted down to the tan stilettos one of the mannequins wore and cooed, tearing the door open and charging inside. It was comforting to know Adley hadn’t faked her personality when she “moved” into town. She made it known from the beginning how much she loved shopping and took every chance to groan at our town’s horrible selections. It was a hard choice between department store chic, or whatever you could muster at the grocery mart. “I’m actually going to head a few shops down to the bookstore we passed. I’ll see if they have any books on curses and hexes.” I had almost thought Ally was talking to me until Adley made a sound of excitement and nodded wildly.

But because she had run out of people to hand them to. I stared at the line. Then I kept writing. I met Adrian at the bookshop that afternoon. He was already inside when I arrived, standing in the travel section with a paperback in each hand, reading the back covers with the focused expression of a man making a genuinely important decision. He looked up when the bell above the door chimed. "You came," he said, as though he'd half expected I wouldn't. "I came," I agreed. The shop was narrow and warm, floor-to-ceiling shelves broken up by a wooden ladder on a rail, and the kind of organised chaos that made you feel like you might find anything if you looked long enough. A grey cat was asleep o

a sexy librarian. During that first encounter, I struggled to focus my attention on her face (or Janie), because her tits were an eyeful. Either she had big, hard nipples or puffies poking through her bra; they were almost impossible to ignore. The t-shirt hugged her body and showed everything she had to offer; the shirt had "Books Make Everything Better" across the front and I tried to cover my adolescent behavior by asking her about the shirt. She smiled, "I'm in library sciences and I got it at a library symposium...yeah, there are library conventions. I know it sounds geeky, but they can get wild."

CHERRY’S POV The library in the East Wing was a tomb of expensive leather and silent secrets. I was curled in an oversized velvet armchair, the kind that made me feel small and insignificant, trying to focus on a book about estate law. Jasmine had jokingly called it my "New Bible," but the words were just black ants crawling across the page. My mind was elsewhere stuck on the heavy, possessive way Adrian had looked at me this morning, and the cold, miles-long distance he had put between us since.

This was completely depressing. The book store that normally had its shelves crammed with books was open, but the shelves were becoming noticeably bare. I ducked under the “75% off” banner and went inside. I found the children’s section and bought several board books and children’s classics for Aire. I smiled at the kindly old lady who ran the store. I wondered if she was happy about being pushed into selling her store, but I refrained from asking. I was too afraid of what her answer might be. I grinned when I saw the sign at the quirky store on the corner that sold nearly-new shoes, handbags, and accessories. Their big banner read, “Still open and not selling out!”

I glance at the bookshop, at the furious flames still licking through the store. The place looks like a fucking mess, and I can’t help but imagine how distraught the book girl will be when she sees this. If she survives, that is.

The Psychopathology of Everyday Life" by Sigmund Freud." Jane flashed a smile. She was a middle-aged woman, petite, with a round face and the prettiest smile you could ever think of. She often wore a love-shaped glass and rested it on the bridge of her nose when she wanted to stare at you. She wasn't the only Librarian here. They were about 5 I had seen. But Jane had to be the best. She wasn't grumpy and didn't hate school children. She did her job with excitement and I believed she loved being a librarian.

I knew she donated some of it, but I didn't realize it was half. I also learned that the other half went to pay me. Mrs. Adams owned the building, which passed on to her children upon her death, and they were bound by her will to only charge me minimal rent as long as I kept the shop up. I've done exactly that for two years. The bell rings over the door when I enter, and Deirdre is standing behind the counter reading a tattered book. I recognize the title. A dark romance. I think she's read it about eight times.

Technically, it is Arianna’s bookshop, I simply help out for spare change (and also so I could use the computer. The building is bigger than our home. Maybe even bigger than four or five of them together. The front of the building is fitted with sliding panels so we can open up the shop front and set out tables and chairs so people can grab a coffee and a piece of cake while they read. From the shop front, you can see the bright blue of the ocean if you look to your right, down the narrow hallway of buildings. Harv is just a few shops away and flicks us a quick wave as we set out the chairs. We waves back. The books inside are in crates, the same ones that Harv uses. They are side by side al

"Let us go meet her." Chicago was a five hour drive. Liam drove. Anna sat in the back. I navigated. The rain followed us the whole way. Grey skies. Grey roads. Grey everything. The bookstore was called "Pages." It sat on a corner between a coffee shop and a flower store. The windows were full of bestsellers. A sign on the door said "Open." We walked in. Bells jingled. The smell of paper and old wood wrapped around me. Shelves stretched to the ceiling. A cat slept on a pile of romance novels.