Small Pleasures Book Novels & Stories

Maria: By the time we got home, the champagne had softened into that pleasant hazy kind of tired that made everything feel quieter than it was. The house was dark except for the low lights we had left on, warm and familiar in a way it had not been when I first moved in. Back then every room had felt too polished, too deliberate, too much like I was standing inside someone else’s life. Now there were books on the side table that belonged to me, one of my cardigans draped over the arm of the sofa, Daniel’s watch on the kitchen counter beside a mug I had left there that morning. Small things. Ordinary things. Enough to make the place feel lived in.

Amy whispered. “It looks… safe.” “Then let’s go in.” Panic flared. “No. Not tonight.” “It’s just a bookstore.” Amy tugged her hand with a grin. “Come on.” Reluctantly, Camellia let herself be pulled inside. The air smelled of paper, dust, and something soothing. Lamps glowed softly over worn shelves. “Wow,” Amy breathed. “It feels… peaceful.” Camellia barely heard her. Her eyes had locked on a book, its spine worn, its title faintly gold. She reached for it.

I genuinely appreciate it. Have lots of good time reading the rest chapters and enjoying this book. Love y'all, Gem 💎 Lynne 😚 SPECIAL LITTLE GIFT So, dear reader, below is a sneak peek of book 2 which I'm already working on. Enjoy 🥳 ________________________________ Sophie lay on the opulent bed in a glamorous room, its dim light casting a warm, golden hue over the luxurious furnishings. The bed's silk sheets felt cool against her skin, and the scent of jasmine lingered in the air.

What do I have to do to get attention? I try not to moan when the exquisite flavors burst through my pallet. Slowly closing my eyes, I let the fireworks of spices drown my body. I've never tasted chicken parm this good before. I remind myself to thank the head chef later. When I opened my eyes, chills went down my spine—no not chills, electricity. I'll be stupid if I won't acknowledge the sphere of electricity that has been flying around the room. I don't want to deny the fact that my toes are curling with the thought of Lucas naked. In my bed. Dark. Alone.

Just sneakers and a light jacket. The city was unusually quiet. I ended up at a small antique bookstore tucked between a florist and a tailor. It had no flashy signage, just a brass bell on the door and a handwritten welcome note in cursive. Inside, the scent of old paper and cedar wrapped around me like a story waiting to be told. I let myself drift between the aisles until a book caught my eye—Letters Never Sent. It was a collection of real, unsent letters from women over the last century. To lost loves, estranged mothers, unborn children.

Clearly, she did not expect to have guests at this moment. She placed the book down and gave a comforting smile. “Hi, what kind of book do you want to buy?” Arabella only wanted to explore the book house and could not think of a book that she needed to buy. She said in a soft and gentle voice, “I will just take a look.” The lady boss nodded and left her alone. She sat down and continued reading her book while taking small sips of her coffee from time to time. Arabella scanned the interior of the book house. Although it was small, it still contained the essentials. The design was elegant yet peaceful, and there were all kinds of books orderly arranged on the bookshelves, which make it very ea

Fuck I miss them too, I hope they don't hate me. "Well I'm back to work now. I'm actually in Paris, first time that I've been back since we were here together, and my god the whole fucking town reminds me of you. I even went to that little bookstore that I took you to, trying to find a little piece of you to keep with me. I found a book that reminded me of you. It's called 'Finding the joy in the smallest things'. That's what you do, you're grateful for the little things in life, you made me grateful for the small things. I found joy in your laugh, your smile, your presence, even finding this stupid little book. But now that I've started reading it I've realised it's one of those self help b

The cafe smelled like warm milk and lemon peel. The morning came slow, soft, and steady. Elara moved with hands that knew small rhythms. She tamped espresso, wiped a counter, folded a napkin. The boat bells called from the harbor. Life here had a pace that soothed and scared her at once. A woman with paint-stained fingers sat at the corner table and read a book. An old man argued softly with the radio about weather. They were small things that made the world honest. Elara liked that. It felt like a place where a person could be plain and not be hunted.

Evenings in the library: her armchair, his desk, the lamp, the particular comfort of two people who had exhausted their need to perform for each other and had already discovered what was underneath the performance was immeasurably better. Small things. Ordinary things. Not the kinds of things that would hit the front page or that would be covered in a contract clause. The actual substance of a shared life. He had started leaving her coffee on the nightstand on mornings he woke up before her. She had started leaving bookmarks in library books she thought he would appreciate on his desk without saying a word. He would come in, see it, flip to the marked page, read the section, and later slide

SMALL STEPS It started with a book. Rain didn't plan it. She was at the penthouse on a Friday evening — dinner with Damien, ordinary and unhurried — and when she was leaving, she picked up the novel she had been reading from the coffee table and put it in her bag without thinking. Then stopped. Looked at it. Left it on the shelf instead. Damien watched this from across the room and said nothing. The following week, she brought a cardigan.