Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Idris
I loved my job at the local used bookstore. I enjoyed nothing better than being surrounded by biblichor, the smell of books. Some found it musty and more than one patron came in fine and left sneezing, but to me and my bear, it felt like home.
“Mrs. Davis brought in another stash,” Magda called out from the front.
I’d just finished rearranging the old Fabio-type romance books with their warped, well-worn pages.
Some victims of the fold-over-the-corner monsters who couldn’t be bothered with a bookmark.
The covers cracked me up. Most of the titles were barely visible through the cracks in the spines.
But…they were still a big hit. Older people.
Younger people. The love for those once-forbidden romance novels never died.
“I’m coming.” A voracious reader, Mrs. Davis brought in a box full of trades every week and sometimes left with even more.
My work paid the bills and brought me joy, but I was destined for more.
“She hit a garage sale.” Magda pushed a produce crate full of paperbacks toward me and nodded to the other box on the floor. Mrs. Davis had enough credits to buy the whole damned store but, after her husband passed, reading brought her peace.
“I’ll get these into the system and on the shelves.”
Magda pushed her glasses up and sighed. I didn’t even know why she wore them. No matter how many times she adjusted the prescription, she could barely see anything if the font was less than eighteen. If I ever found another job, she would have to hire someone else to read the titles for her.
And correct her accounting.
I picked up the boxes and carried them to the small desk in the back room where I catalogued the books we received. The drawer held my notebook of ideas. The goddess had given me a brain full of concepts and plots and plans, but none of them had come to fruition so far.
What a shame for someone bursting with ideas to work in a place with no chance for growth. I’d had a better job once, with a company I believed in that had an honor system and a foundation of community. Room to grow.
Then the owner decided to sell to a nest of snakes. Management promised no one would be laid off—a blatant lie.
Within two weeks, more than half the staff was let go. People with families, with hopes and dreams like mine.
Folks just trying to afford life.
If I ever came face-to-face with the former owner, we would have words, none of them nice.
With the new books in the system and on the shelves, I bid Magda good night. The scent of simmering soup crept down the stairs from her apartment.
I kept things simple in my life since the big change.
My walk home took less than ten minutes, passing the grocery store where I could stop if I needed anything or if the scents from the bodega were too much for me to resist. I would often stop in for my favorite Jamaican patties and one of their house-baked honey buns to keep the bear inside me happy.
But today, I had dinner waiting at home.
My tiny apartment was comfortable enough. I didn’t need much as a single guy. The place was filled with the smell of chicken, pasta, and mushrooms. My thrift store Crock-Pot came in handy on the days I worked.
Easy meals. Huh. That gave me another idea.
I jotted it down in my journal before going to shower and wind down for the day.
I wasn’t one to go out and club or even to a bar.
I preferred home. My parents said hibernating was never going to find me, but, I wasn’t changing to please some mate I didn’t even know yet.
If they didn’t like me as I was, they were not the one for me.
I read books. I stayed home. I cooked comforting meals. I laughed loudly in my little space. I danced with myself. I lit candles for no one but me.
If I had a fated mate, we would find each other. I’d made peace with that on my thirtieth birthday and didn’t intend to change my viewpoint.
I sat down with my bowl of chicken tetrazzini and my roasted vegetable salad. My mail from the week was stacked up on the corner of the table. While I ate, I went through each one. I lived a simple life, a saver at heart; bills rattled me only when they were outrageous for no reason.
At the bottom of the stack, a blue envelope caught my eye. I slid it out from under the rest to find my name and address in calligraphy.
This was no electric or water bill.
No return address.
My heart sped up as I peeled the wax seal from the envelope and unfolded the sheet of fancy paper. A letter. For me. From a man named Franklin.