Stirred Not Shaken Book の小説・ストーリー

"I'm sorry to bother ye." Louisa smiled assuredly. "You never bother me Sheila, and don't you think you do." Sheila smiled. "Now, it's time for the book," she flipped the book open, revealing the title in bold. "Whoa---" they cried in unison, as the title 'Finding Your Magic Star' glowed brightly with grandiloquent light blinding their vision.

Don’t meet his eyes. I focused on the glass, swirling the liquid, though my palms were slick with sweat. God. Why did Andrew have to leave me here, in this suffocating room, with a man like Marley and women who wouldn’t even blink if he decided to touch me? They’d probably laugh, maybe even watch, and that thought made bile rise in my throat.

"Noah, sorry to bother you so late. That new batch of ingredients that arrived today seems to be reacting oddly after mixing. "A few pens of livestock are looking pretty listless when they eat. Do you think we need to fine-tune the formula ratios? Or maybe we messed up somewhere in the process?" I opened the car door and got in. Inside, it was quiet. I could hear my own steady breathing. I looked out at the heavy darkness beyond the window and cut him off. "Frank." "Yes, go ahead." Frank responded immediately. "Don't bother asking me about the formula anymore." There was an obvious pause on the other end, as if he didn't understand what I meant.

“Maybe it’s one of those books that only appears under certain lighting.” I blinked my eyes rapidly. “… Seriously?” “Try it!” She clapped her hands together while she continued to bounce up and down. At this point I was willing to try anything. I lifted the journal toward one of the overhead lights. Nothing. I turned it sideways. Still nothing. I tilted it every direction imaginable. Nothing changed. “Maybe shake it,” she said as she stared at the journal and shook her body. I stared at Lyra. “You think words are going to fall out?”

The thought is a small, bitter comfort because nothing stings like betrayal. My gaze slides left and locks on the bookshelf. Old wood, a little scuffed, shelves stuffed with returned paperbacks and a few knick-knacks, mismatched bookends, a ceramic owl, a stack of defunct menus someone shoved in a hurry. The bottom shelf sags, the base leaning a fraction out from the wall. Whoever stocked it last time did a sloppy job. It is not anchored. My brain flips through possibilities like cards, fast and clean.

I closed my eyes, trembling as tears escaped and fell into the food. "Happy birthday, Eleanor Shaw," I whispered to myself. "Keep moving forward—onward forever. Even if no one loves you, there's still light at the end of the tunnel. As Jeffrey said, you have enjoyed over 20 wonderful years of wealth and privilege. You've had it good." Just like that, I repeated words of comfort to myself as I wiped away my tears. I moved all my belongings that I had sorted out over the past two weeks in the living room.

I said, grinning from teeth to teeth like a child. We walked into the library. It looked like it had been a while, since it was in use. We went through several sections which included, finance, self-improvement, ethics, business amongst all. I caught a glimpse of a book I had been wanting to read, “Atomic Habits” by James Clear. I picked it immediately, and started going through it. After a while, I noticed I wasn't hearing any sound from the cook. I looked around and found her wiping tears off her eyes with the hem of her apron.

Chapter 1 – You’re Trouble, Aren’t You? It was one of those Chicago nights where the air smelled like rain and bad decisions. The streets shimmered under the streetlights, wet with the earlier drizzle, and the whole city buzzed like it knew something dirty was about to happen.