The Book House Long Branch Novels & Stories

The address was a bookshop. Not open. Not at five-thirty in the morning. But lit from inside with the specific warm light of a place that had been someone's home before it was anyone's business. The kind of light that said someone was awake in there and had been awake for a long time. Elena stood on the pavement outside it with Alexander on her left and Emeka on her right and felt the specific sensation of a story arriving at the place it had been moving toward all along.

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.

As I perused the books, I could feel Aidan’s gaze on me. The shop, much like the one downstairs, boasted an impressive selection. These were books to be enjoyed in the coffee lounge, not purchased or taken home. A smile tugged at my lips as I reached the romance novel section. So, Well Thumbed had these too. I wondered if they had hidden gems, perhaps something I hadn’t read or that Uncle Alex’s book club, Bound To Please, hadn’t discovered yet.

And then Nell talks for two hours. The Long Yard sits eleven miles north of the stone bridge on the old drovers’ road, in the bottom of a valley with a spring in it. It’s low, and it’s long, exactly as she said, and it isn’t one building but three, joined by covered runs so nothing has to be walked outdoors. The wall is on the inside because the outside of it is meant to look like a stock farm, and it does, and there are actual cattle in the western field which are actually sold at actual markets by a man who actually pays tax.

I hope it holds what we need. Nate led us towards the library, opening the large dark oak doors. We entered smelling the stale air of old books and dust. The entire circular walls were covered in books. Nate went up the spiral staircase to the second floor. He opened a class display and pulled the book out. He handed it to me when he returned back downstairs. The book had a red leather binding with singed in words that read A New Leader. I didn't understand the title considering the subject we were looking into.

Greta and Gabby made their way to Page Turner’s Bookstore just down the street from the Blue Moon Inn. Once inside the warmth of the large shop, Greta was surprised to see a bright modern shop, which included not only a metaphysical section, but my children’s section, too. With soft upbeat music playing in the background, it didn’t take long to find the shopkeeper chatting away to a rather wild looking dog by a fireplace.

I think it's for entertainment. I pass each column of shelves, eyeing those past-dusty books that have been written with a feather. "Did you find something?" I ask Benny. We both went separate ways. I'm sure that Benny is reliable enough to actually help us. "I got this book," he holds it up for me to see. "There's a huge family tree on some of the pages. It's also written." He walks to my side, handing the big book, but the book immediately touches the hard wood floor.

He said, “I’ll give you anything you want if you satisfy me. I’ll even deal with the people you hate.” Carrie stubbed out her cigarette too. After the deed, Carrie was sleepy. She pulled the blanket over herself and yawned. “Don’t lie to me, Mr. Longbottom. You’re the only thing I’ve left now.” She still had the promise that Mr. Longbottom gave her. “I heard you met Mrs. York today.” Contrary to Carrie’s sleepiness, Mr. Longbottom was still energetic. “Mm. I went to the bookstore and spent a few hundred dollars buying a set of books for middle schoolers.

A bell jingles when I walk into a book store called “Jinx’s Magic Shop” and my nose is immediately assaulted by the smell of stale books mixed in with a lemon-scented air freshener. Moving away when someone tries to exit the store, I look around and admire the place. It looks pretty causal, with lines of shelves surrounding every corner of the left side of the room and comfortable sofas on the other. The crowd in the store is pretty small, with only a few settled down as they quietly read, and situated in the middle is a large desk occupied by a young brunette with glasses. There’s a computer on the desk and its surrounded by a lot of books heaped upon one another, she raises her head and sm

She parked on a side street and walked down Main Street to the large, red brick building. The bookstore was an old building on the corner of Main Street and Oak Lane in the heart of downtown Devonsville. A family-owned Italian restaurant sat to the right, and a ice cream shoppe to the left. Everything was decorated for the holidays. Christmas-tree lights sparkled in the windows over carefully arranged books and gift ideas. The door chimed softly as she walked inside. The soft scent of paper and books mingled with fresh coffee and right out of the oven chocolate chip cookies. It was the smell of home. She took a deep breath in and smiled, feeling content.