Chapter 24 #2
“I thought she said she couldn’t make it. Didn’t she have a meeting with her dad?” I ask.
“Looks like she rearranged her schedule.”
Sofie gets out and looks at the stroller, “He is out of control!” She taps on the glass of the tinted SUV. The driver, James, rolls down the window.
“They’re going to park the Aston Martin of strollers next to the SUV,” Nalani tells him. “Can you keep an eye out?”
“Of course.” He gets out immediately.
“Park it right here,” she says, pointing to the sidewalk. “And let’s roll.”
So we do.
From the outside, the shop looks unassuming, another quiet storefront tucked between cafés and boutiques.
I shift Savannah higher in my arms, her head heavy against my shoulder, and tug the soft wrap from around my waist. It’s no longer awkward; it’s become second nature.
I slide her in close against my chest, the fabric snug around her legs and back until she’s resting in that perfect spot, high enough to support her neck and the perfect position for me to kiss the top of her head.
She sighs, one small hand curling against my collarbone as I tighten the last fold. By the time I push the door open, the bell above gives a soft chime that feels more like a greeting than a sound.
Warmth greets us first, then a scent that makes me stop mid-step.
Old paper, a blend of roasted coffee, and something faintly floral.
I never spent much time in bookstores. Why go if I couldn’t afford to buy them, the space to store them, or the dread you’d feel when the new family looked at your boxes like you were going to take up too much space?
But libraries? I practically lived in them.
This? Noelle’s bookstore gives me that same sense of peace that a library always has.
“You’re going to love this place,” I whisper against her head. “One day you’ll have your own room with your own little bookshelves and reading area with books you don’t have to return and miss when they’re gone.”
Savannah stirs but doesn’t fuss, her head turning toward the light spilling through the tall front windows.
It’s soft and golden, diffused by vintage sconces that cast an amber glow along the shelves.
They stretch all the way to the ceiling, dark wood polished and full of spines, ranging from weathered cloth to glossy new jackets.
The floor creaks beneath my feet, not sharply but gently, like the building is breathing with us. I sway without thinking, the rhythm of holding her, steady and soothing.
And as I walk farther in, I realize why the air feels familiar. Every place I’ve lived has had one constant: a library with books. Books were the only things that never asked me to earn their company.
When I got my first period at eleven, it wasn’t my mother who helped me through it; it was Anne of Green Gables, who taught me that even when life turns red and raw, there’s still something magical in the mess.
When I kissed a boy for the first time, too fast and too unsure, it wasn’t a sister who whispered advice; it was Elizabeth Bennet, reminding me that I was allowed to want things, but never to settle for being wanted less than I deserved.
When the foster family I adored told me they were moving out of state and I couldn’t go with them, it was Jane Eyre who stayed. Her courage taught me that loneliness could be a kind of armor, and God, how I armored up.
And later, when I aged out of the system with more boxes than plans, I clung to Jo March. She made me believe that even the girls who don’t fit the mold still find a way to build something worth belonging to.
Little Woman also drove me to want to join a sorority, to have sisters —no matter how messy— ones I knew I’d have for four years, a family of sorts.
I glance down at Savannah, sleeping against me now, her face soft and unguarded.
That’s when it hits me—I need to start a list. A list of every book she’ll need, just in case.
If Kyle ever gets visitation, she’ll have her own small escape tucked into her bag.
A doorway out when the world feels too confusing to be comfortable, truly.
Because a man like him, all ego and noise, will never make her the most important person in the room.
Hell, he wouldn’t even make her the second.
But books? Books will help her see she is not alone in those moments she feels.
What’s the alternative? Me dulling all this love I have for her so she doesn’t feel it? The thought makes me feel sick. I will not be less of the mother I am, and will always be, for him. I will fight with everything I am to make sure he doesn’t get the chance.
“You good?” Nalani asks.
“Yeah,” I smile and look around, knowing if my eyes meet hers, she’ll see it, and I don’t want that. Armor up. “This place is incredible.
“She did good,” Nalani says, looking around, and I follow suit.
The shop stretches deeper than it looks from the outside, narrow but long and cozy. Two velvet armchairs sit further back, beyond a wrought-iron staircase leading to a partially open second floor.
Sofie beelines for a sliding door marked “Powder Room” while I pause in front of the children’s section, drawn instinctively to the soft colors and tiny titles.
A woman in her sixties, reading a historical romance, glances up. “Can I help you?”
I straighten. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Another woman calls from across the room, “We should talk NoNo into charging for the restroom. Might actually make a profit for once!”
“We’re here to see Noelle,” Nalani explains.
“Kind of guessed that when the mouthy blonde walked in,” the first woman mutters.
“I heard that,” Sofie calls from the powder room.
“I wasn’t hiding it,” the woman shoots back. “And my name’s not Karen—”
The door slides open again, and Sofie steps out, drying her hands with a paper towel. “Then stop acting like a Karen.”
“Ha!” the woman scoffs. “Oh, hush.”
“She upstairs?” Sofie asks.
“She’s feeling inspired today—don’t go ebbing her flow,” the woman warns.
“Please, I am her flow,” Sofie says, smirking.
From above, a chair scrapes, and the rapid clack of keys stops.
“Is that you, Sofie?” Noelle’s voice drifts down.
“We’re coming up!” Sofie calls.
“No, no—give me a minute, I’ll be right down!”
Sofie rolls her eyes. “Noelle, we can—” She stops mid-sentence as Noelle appears on the stairs, hair escaping a messy bun, coffee-stained cardigan hanging off one shoulder, eyes ringed with exhaustion and joy.
“Oh my God,” Sofie blurts. “What happened to you?”
“I’m inspired!” Noelle beams, nearly tripping as she rushes down. “I just need about ten more hours in the day!”
The bells above the door jingle again, ushering in a gust of cold air and a tangle of red hair.
“Well, okay then, come right in,” Noelle laughs.
The woman who enters looks around, smiling like she’s just stepped into her favorite dream, and I totally feel it.
“Why would you ever leave here?” she murmurs, then bends down, scooping up a black cat from behind a shelf. She glances at us, cradling it like an old friend. “Hi, I’m Hildy, and I’m here for the job posted online.”
“You posted a help-wanted ad online?” Sofie snips at Noelle.
Noelle scratches her head. “Maybe?”
“What do you mean, maybe?” Sofie whisper-hisses.
“I mean, yes, but it was just a couple—”
Hildy crosses the room and offers her hand. “You’re amazing.”
Sofie’s jaw drops. “She’s what?”
Hildy grins. “Aspiring author, current bookshopeteer, looking for a bookworm who loves the classics. Will pay for twenty hours a week, but you’ll want to be here forty.
Benefits: all the tea you can drink and reading material you can consume.
Don’t dog-ear the pages.” She looks at the cat. “Is this yours?”
Noelle blinks. “It is now,” she says, taking the cat and smiling. “And you’re hired.”