Once More Bookstore Novels & Stories

The bookstore was further from a plan—just a someday-thought she'd had for years that had floated close enough to grab. She grabbed. That was the thing she wanted Grace to understand, and Emma, and Mia when she got old enough. That the bookstore wasn't born brave. It was born desperate and stubborn and from the specific clarity that comes after a life falls apart. You don't wait to feel ready. You build, and the building makes you ready. --- Her phone buzzed. Duke. *Where are you?* *Store.* A pause. Then: *Which one?* *Third.* *Coming.*

"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.

the letter read. “I spent four hours today arguing with a man who smelled like old goat cheese and gunpowder. I found myself wondering if you were still reading about the Medicis, or if you’d moved on to something less bloody. I found a bookstore in a small village today. It was tucked between a bakery and a butcher shop. I saw a first edition of 'The Shining' and thought of you. Stay in the sun, Little Bird.” I laughed again, a sound that I had not genuinely made in a while .

“A lot has happened lately. You know… not long ago, someone started pursuing me again. His name is Blake Miller. He works at the bookstore nearby. He’s a good person… “I also met a he-wolf. I don’t know his name, but… his eyes look a lot like yours.” The cold wind stirred the fallen leaves on the ground. They brushed against each other with a soft rustling sound. “Carter, I really miss you.” I stood there for a while longer, saying nothing else. The mess inside my head was tangled beyond sorting out. It didn’t belong in a conversation with someone who had already fallen asleep forever. On my way back, the bookstore on the street corner had just opened.

I reached out and took Calder’s hand, letting the warmth coming from it wash through me. “Hey,” I whispered, voice cracking a bit. “It’s me again. I know I said I was done coming here last time, but… here I am. Yay.” I squeezed his hand gently, as if that could wake him up. Newsflash, it didn’t. “You know all about the house and Nancy’s excitement about the new school,” I continued, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’ll be managing a bookstore there, and that’s not very exciting because from my research, the place sells old books. I’m not a fan of old books, Calder. That’s your thing.”

I looked from the sign to the window and shared a look with Pam. “Why are we at a bookstore?” Pam asked. “Come inside and find out, ladies.” Aidan smiled as he held the door, a bell chiming as it opened. I frowned, wondering what sort of trap my roommate had unknowingly agreed to. Nothing good could come of a club linked to a bookstore. Mundane storefronts weren’t used for the kind of place I should be entering, and sure the fuck, not a place Pam should go. It was starting to make sense why Malcolm needed Aidan. Whatever this store hides, it’s demonic, and as a cambion, he isn’t a member. What is that cambion up to wanting to bring her somewhere like this? And what does Aidan think he will g

It’s all about faith. °°° The story ends here. Thanks for reading. Follow me on my I*, and get to know about my next book which is about their kids. Also, read my another book Beta Nocholas. It's a werewolf romance. Thanks again :)

I wanted to pretend for a little while that we were just a couple, that our lives weren’t the stuff of political scandal and whispered betrayal. The bookstore we chose was nestled on a quiet side street, its painted sign slightly faded, its windows fogged from the morning chill. Inside, the space smelled of paper and dust, with warm lighting and handwritten shelf labels. The floors creaked beneath our steps. It reminded me of the orphanage’s tiny reading nook, where I had first learned to lose myself in pages. Richard lingered behind me, his presence comforting but unobtrusive. He occasionally plucked a book from a shelf, skimming the first few lines before handing it to me.

It was not long before she was at her favorite bookstore. Entering the quaint bookstore on the corner, Kayla breathed in the familiar scent of paper and ink. The shelves were lined with rows upon rows of books, their colorful spines beckoning to her like old friends. She meandered through the aisles, trailing her fingers along the bindings, searching for the perfect escape from reality.

“A walk. The market. That bookstore you like by the harbor. We don’t have to talk about… any of it. Just be.” My instinct is to say no. Hide. Stay curled in this house until my guilt devours me. But something in his voice, hope, maybe, or an aching need to keep me tethered, makes me nod. “Okay,” I whisper. “Okay.” ~~~ The bookstore smells like paper and memory. It’s quiet inside, save for the soft shuffle of pages and the hum of a fan overhead. Emon disappears into the history section, but I drift toward the poetry aisle, my sanctuary.