Saved By Your Hot Book Boyfriend

1. A Book With a Hot Guy, Please!

1

A Book With a Hot Guy, Please!

Mysterious Hot Guy

Curse this darkness . How long have I been trapped in the infinite void? There’s not even a sun to rise and set, no days to count.

If there’s a crime attached to my punishment, it’s been so long, I can’t even remember what I did.

All I can do is go back to sleep.

If I’m lucky, maybe this time I’ll dream.

You

It’s late. The streets are always dead at this hour, but tonight they’re even quieter than usual. Not a single car has passed by for five minutes.

Normally you don’t mind the walk home from work after the late, late shift. But tonight feels different. More ominous. Your shoes clack loudly across the empty sidewalk with every step.

Have they always been this loud?

You’re June Wintergreen, a twenty-something single lady working odd hours at a 24-hour cafe just to make rent. It’s not a bad gig, but some days you just wish a hot book boyfriend would appear and take care of you.

Or at least walk you home.

A chilly, early autumn breeze funnels between the buildings, making you shiver. If only you’d remembered your jacket when you left for work.

Goosebumps rise on your arms and you rub them away, keeping your head down as you hurry home along the deserted street. It’s the kind of night where every sound echoes, and ordinary objects stretch into jagged shadows.

It’s past two, and even the bars are empty now. All the shops have long since closed.

All but one.

Warm light shines like a beacon from the wide front windows of a bookshop as you round the corner. There’s no placard over the door, but the facade is painted a rich black with gleaming metallic gold accents. As you draw nearer, you can see stacks and stacks of vintage books piled up inside, teetering at odd angles, and leaning here and there into every available space.

There’s something intriguing about the shop, and you find yourself slowing down as you pass. You can’t help but notice how none of the books are titles you recognize. Many of them aren’t even in English.

And all of them look ancient, like the place has been there longer than time itself. Which is what makes this especially odd.

There was no store there when you walked to work this afternoon. It was just an empty building.

You’re sure of it.

You’d absolutely have noticed a strange shop like this.

You rub away the goosebumps on your arms as chills descend your back. It’s the feeling of being watched, but when you glance over your shoulder, there’s no one there. Just a misty fog settling in over the night like a blanket, hazing all the streetlamps.

You should really get going.

You start to turn away, but your feet freeze. It’s as if the shop itself is calling to you, beckoning you in.

Slowly, you find yourself turning back.

Just a quick peek won’t hurt , you tell yourself. As if you ever had a choice.

A small bell jingles above the door as you step inside.

The scent of dust and old paper hits you like a wall. It’s a strangely pleasant scent. Familiar and oddly homey.

You stand there in the entryway, just breathing in the strange shop.

Whatever odd, evil presence had been making you so nervous outside doesn’t exist here.

The hodgepodge assortment of books looks even more helter-skelter up close, and you have to turn sideways just to reach the front counter through the stacks.

There’s no way all this was moved in one afternoon. Surely this store had been there all along and you just never noticed it. It’s possible the blinds were drawn or the windows were boarded, or even just the lights were off.

Maybe someone’s been renovating it.

Except, when you think back on it, you’re pretty sure you remember seeing a “for rent” sign in the same spot out front on your way to work that afternoon.

Nah, can’t be. You must be misremembering. Maybe that was the place next door.

You reach out to touch one of the books, but just before your finger grazes the spine, someone behind you clears their throat.

You jump.

But there’s no one there.

“ Ahem ,” coughs a small voice, and you shift your gaze lower to find a frowning, wizened old man peering up at you through gold wire-rimmed spectacles.

“Hmm,” he mumbles, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Well, well. It isn’t much, but it will have to do.”

“Excuse me?” You ask, taken aback. “Are you talking about me?”

Maybe he’s senile. He looks as ancient as his books, like he might crumble into a pile of dust if you breathe too hard. But his eyes are sharp and gleaming.

With a smile, he croaks out, “ I’ve been waiting for you. “

Um. What?

You take a step back, glancing at the door.

Maybe the good feeling you had when you walked in was a little premature.

But the little old man only laughs, pushing his spectacles higher on the bridge of his nose.

“There, there. Do not be alarmed. Please ,” he says as he starts down one of the narrow aisles between the zig-zagged stacks. “I have just the book you’ve been looking for.”

Mysterious Hot Guy

Something’s keeping me awake.

The void’s all static, like the air before a thunderstorm. It’s the feeling that something is changing.

A burning, long-forgotten anger sizzles through my veins.

I know this feeling.

It’s her .