Chapter Two
The morning arrived with lances of sunlight, jabbing through the half-drawn blinds to dapple the tangled sheets.
Cam’s side of the bed was already abandoned, only a faint impression of warmth left behind and sheets wound around my hips like the memory of a touch.
My head pounded with the dull complaint of too much cheap wine the night before, and my tongue felt thick, my entire mouth stale as if I’d chewed a wad of cotton overnight.
I could hear the shower running from the master bath, the muted hiss tapping a steady rhythm.
That was Cam’s way: out of bed before me, quick jog, then a shower.
He’d towel off, hair dripping, then wander out for his coffee—which I always had waiting.
His phone rested on the nightstand, jittering with a soft buzz.
I flopped to my side and tried to blink away the fog, peeking at the screen: a text, right after six in the morning.
Curiosity nudged me. I stretched for it, but the lock screen blinked irritably, needing a password.
Lacey, the screen read in bold letters. His assistant. Probably just a last-minute change at work; nothing dramatic. Except, why so early? My heartbeat skipped strangely as I eased myself up and tiptoed toward the door, trailing my husband’s oversized slippers.
Cam was in the doorway, toweling himself briskly, steam swirling around his shoulders and chest. He had another towel slung low on his hips, water trickling down his neck. He barely glanced at me. “What are you doing?”
“You got a text,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice even. “When did your phone start needing a password?”
He grinned sheepishly, the lines at the corners of his mouth deepening.
“We had a bunch of break-ins at the building last week. They said to secure everything. My whole life is on there, you know? Can’t be too careful.
” He reached for the phone, and I handed it over, my fingers brushing his for a split second.
He checked it, shrugged, and pocketed it again. “Nothing important. Lacey gets nervous about schedules. I’ll fix it at work.”
I tried to leave it at that, but my next words stuck a little. “Could we maybe have a date night tomorrow? Saturday? It’s been forever since we did anything just the two of us.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise as he buttoned his crisp shirt, every move so smooth I could almost fall for him all over again. The fabric stretched across his chest, pulling just slightly over muscle and bone. My cheeks felt hot, but I kept talking.
“I’ve got a pile of work, but I can clear my schedule for my girl,” he said after a moment. “Dinner and a movie?”
I couldn’t help the way my grin nearly split my face. “Perfect. I’ll plan something.”
He laughed, slipping into his sneakers. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please!” I scrambled after him, tripping on the sheets at my feet, feeling a hint of hope spark to life.
∞∞∞
The job hunt had turned into a long, endless string of ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ Too qualified, not qualified enough, not the right fit. I’d tried everywhere: offices, stores, anything. Every rejection left the word ‘unwanted’ stamped a little deeper on my resume.
I came out of a fancy law office, the kind with marble floors and too-bright lights, feeling smaller than ever. The sidewalk was already shimmering with heat, storefronts lined tidy along the block, mannequins blank-faced and unwelcoming.
Something bright caught my eye. In the window, an ancient typewriter gleamed, its brass body and green glass keys so beautiful I almost pressed my nose to the glass. The sign above it read Timeless Treasures. I couldn’t help but step inside.
A bell above the door jingled, and suddenly I was wrapped in the cozy scent of roasted coffee and dusty, sun-warmed paper.
The wood floor moaned under every careful step.
Shelves towered overhead, full of battered novels.
Here and there, clocks ticked in sync, their brass hands marking quiet hours.
I saw china teacups and faded armchairs tucked into shadowy nooks.
I ran my fingers across the spines of weathered books, breathing in old stories and wood polish.
At the back, a sign pointed ‘Fantasy’ and I drifted there, drawn to covers splashed with dragons and swirling fog and silver-edged swords.
Two books called to me—a deep blue one with gold script, another covered in crushed green velvet—and I clutched them close.
“Hi there, young lady,” a voice called out. I turned and found a gentle-faced man smiling at me from behind the counter. Pale silver hair, skin creased kindly. He looked about seventy, but his eyes were bright and quick.
“I’m never on this side of the city,” I admitted, “but that beautiful typewriter in the window sucked me in.”
“Oh, that! She’s a beauty, isn’t she? Been around since…” He tapped his chin, peering toward the ceiling, “1925, maybe. Give or take a year.”
“So it’s a bookshop and an antique shop?” I asked.
“That’s right, but we’ve got the best coffee in the city, too,” he said, holding up his own cup. “A book with no coffee is like wine without cheese.”
I smiled, even if I didn’t agree. I never liked cheese much, and people always seemed to add cheese to every metaphor.
“Are you the manager?” I asked, still curious.
He came out from behind the counter and offered his hand. “Richard Porter. I own the place. Glad you stopped by.”
His shake was warm and sturdy. “Olivia,” I said, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“So, Olivia, what kind of java do you prefer?”
I shrugged. “Americano, if I’m being honest.”
He seemed to approve. “A true classic. I’ll whip one up for you. Go ahead, look around.”
“Thanks,” I said, a little surprised but oddly pleased. He disappeared behind the counter, and I wandered the aisles, soaking up the sleepy-morning light and tracing the dust motes as they spun in sunbeams. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the whole room.
When I returned, there was a tall, black coffee steaming on the counter. I wrapped both hands around it, letting the warmth chase the chill out of my skin. First sip: bold and bitter, like I liked it sometimes when I needed a real pick me up.
He rang up my books, but waved away the extra for coffee. “Welcome gift,” he insisted. “Everyone deserves a lucky morning.”
His kindness clung to me all the way out the door, my books safe in my bag and the cup warming my palm. For the first time in weeks, I felt almost hopeful. The city outside seemed friendlier, everything touched with gold.