We Were Here Books Novels & Stories

A book they'd read together, out loud, one chapter at a time. They crossed things off. The ugly beach. The lopsided bowls. The strange play. “We're doing it,” she said one night. “Doing what?” “Living. Not surviving. Not waiting. Living.” He kissed her. “Took us long enough.” “We had to learn.” “We learned.”

After dropping her luggage off at the motel's office, we headed back to the same café we'd had lunch at the day before. "So, where'd you sleep last night?" she asked when the waitress walked away after bringing us our menus. "In Bourbon," I said without looking away from my menu.

HE FOUND HER The bookshop was called Paige & Prose.It was the kind of place that had no business existing in a city like this — tucked between a laundromat and a phone repair shop on a street that couldn't decide if it was charming or forgotten. The sign above the door was hand-painted. The windows were always slightly fogged. Inside it smelled like old paper and cinnamon and something warm that Rain had never been able to name but had always associated with safety.She had worked here for two years.She loved it more than almost anything.She was on her knees behind the front counter Tuesday morning, reorganizing the bottom shelf of new arrivals, when the bell above the door chimed."I'll be ri

Rows of towering bookshelves stretched into the gloom, filled with books bound in leather that looked suspiciously like skin. "Where do we start?" I whispered, overwhelmed. "Section X," Killian said, walking straight to the back. " The Anomalies." We spent hours pulling books. The Red Moon of 1402. The Feral Plague. The Betrayal of the South. Dust coated my fingers. My back ached. But I kept reading. "Here," Killian said suddenly. His voice was tight. I rushed over to the table where he was standing. He had a massive, crumbling book open.

His the one I'm meant to hate, to loathe— his the enemy! But his the one I desire, crave, want and need the most. I am his. As he is mine. And together? We burnt bridges and started fires, wars, it was so beautifully chaotic that it tore and shredded us apart,, my dear love. _ Emily Collins is a young brilliant woman who started her business from scratch with the help of her two bestfriends and with a thick and heavy past behind her, she's doing good— as good as she can be with a little baby boy.

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.

The dining hall was grand, with long tables set for a feast, and I knew, without a doubt, that my babies and I were finally home, and best of all we had our mate and chosen family with us here. ____________________ This book is the property of Ulliend Musings and its brand. It is only to be promoted or disturbed by approved formats such as Goodnovel and KindleVella.

I noticed all the different categories and different sections the books were placed in. With ease, Agatha found each book and I held out my arms as she gathered the books into them. Some of the titles were written in languages I couldn’t read, and some were just… absurd. ‘Werebear physiology’, ‘Werebear magic rituals’, ‘Werebear sexua’-nope not reading it. Just shuffle forward behind the nice kind lady. She stacked a few books labeled ‘Werebear history’ and ‘Werebear proper stamina management’, into my arms, before leading me somewhere else.

The part that still believed we weren’t done. ••••••••• We're nearing the end of this book 🥺