Chapter 19 #2
I wish I could say I feel bad for him, but honestly? Watching Rick get flustered like this? It’s the highlight of my day.
***
I slip into the seat next to Naomi, forcing a reassuring smile that doesn’t quite feel convincing. “Hey… I called Sam,” I tell her, my voice a little too bright. “She actually picked up, you know.” I let out a weak laugh, hoping to ease the tension. “She’s on her way. Shouldn’t be long.”
Naomi turns to me with a small nod. Her face is pale, her eyes wide and haunted, and seeing her like this hurts in a way I can’t describe.
“Okay,” she says softly, her voice barely audible.
I exhale, running a hand through my hair. “I know you’re scared, freaked out… and I’m so sorry you got dragged into this,” I say, my words tumbling out. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
Naomi doesn’t say anything, just nods again. “I, uh, finally got the bookshop job,” I blurt out, trying to steer the conversation somewhere—anywhere—else. “Took a ridiculous number of emails, but they caved.”
Her lips twitch, almost like she’s trying to smile, but her gaze keeps darting toward the window. Sam’s car pulls up outside, and the faintest flicker of relief crosses her face.
Naomi stands, smoothing her hands over her jeans. “Good luck,” she murmurs. “We’ll talk later.”
I step aside to let her out, watching as she heads for the door. “Don’t tell Sam yet,” I manage to say, the words catching in my throat.
Naomi pauses at the door, turning back to look at me. “I’ll wait for you,” she says softly.
And the thing is, I believe her. I shouldn’t. I know better. But I do.
I always do.
Maybe that’s my problem.
And the worst part is that I’m fully aware that my sisters maybe don’t deserve it, but I can’t bring myself to stay angry as much as I want to. It’s not who I am.
I guess that makes me pathetic, but it also makes me wonder. Maybe not being me is exactly what I need. I’ve always hated the idea. Hated everything about myself so much that I would just wish—I would beg to be anyone other than me.
Beg to what? I never knew.
Just anything. Anyone. Anyone but me.
Me. Adeline.
The name tastes like ash in my mouth.
And every single time I say something. Anything.
Every time I say something stupid or embarrassing and totally unnecessary.
In those moments I despise myself. I curse myself, and my mind and my stupid inability to say anything useful.
Because eventually, I realized that everything that leaves my mouth is useless and disappointing.
Embarrassing.
Perhaps that was letting other people’s opinions and perceptions of me win.
They’re just words. But are they? Words can really be like poison, seeping into your soul until you can’t tell where their hatred ends and your self-loathing begins.
And after a spell of people all making the same cruel judgments, you tend to start believing them.
And unfortunately, that’s exactly what I’ve done.
And I hate myself even more for it.
***
It’s starting to get dark.
I can’t shake the uneasy feeling as I walk alone, especially after what happened just an hour ago. But I need this job. Desperately. My hands ball into fists, trying—and failing—to stop the trembling. I grip my jumper for some sense of stability and keep moving toward the bookshop.
But as I step inside, it’s like all those thoughts evaporate, the corner of my mouth tilts up and my heart flutters at seeing something so incredibly beautiful.
It’s perfect—cozy shelves crammed with books, the faint smell of paper and ink hanging in the air.
Behind the desk, an older woman peers over her glasses, her eyes narrowing at me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m lost or just plain clueless.
Books have always been my escape, my sanctuary. I could lose myself in a story for hours. In fact, I could probably inhale entire novels in one sitting. And that’s not even an exaggeration. Just standing here feels like stepping into another world.
It’s really amazing.
Summoning the brightest smile I can manage, I walk up to the woman behind the desk.
“Hi, I’m Adeline Ross,” I say, covering my words in confidence.
Or at least, something similar. “I sent you a few emails.” Okay, maybe more than a few.
Like… a lot. The bookshop was my last hope.
Well, unless I wanted to consider—nope, not finishing that thought.
The woman raises an eyebrow, her expression somewhere between unimpressed and mildly annoyed. “Flooded my inbox, more like,” she replies dryly. “Your persistence is quite overwhelming.”
I laugh nervously, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “Sorry… ma’am.”
The woman’s face twitches, clearly irritated. Or maybe just uncomfortable.
Just wonderful.
“Sorry,” I quickly apologize, sensing her annoyance. “What… um—what should I call you?”
The woman doesn’t lift her gaze from the paper she’s writing on. “Ma’am?” I add, hoping for an actual response.
Finally, she looks up again, her expression so stern, it makes me take a little step back. “Edna will do.”
“Right, Edna,” I say quickly. “What would you like me to do?”
“There are some new book arrivals that need to be shelved. Take those crates over there,” she points to a stack of boxes near the counter, “and organize them on the shelves. Fiction is on the left, non-fiction on the right. And mind the alphabetical order.”
“Got it,” I say with a smile.
Approaching the crates, I quickly identify an issue. The crates are practically glued together. I tug at the top one, but it doesn’t budge. It feels like I’m moving a boulder right now. My arms strain as I pull harder, but the only thing I’m moving is my dignity—straight to rock bottom.
Edna clearly failed to inform me of the weight of these crates. Who does she think I am? Superwoman?
“Um, Edna?” I call hesitantly.
She glances up, her expression flat. “Yes?”
“These crates are… uh… kind of heavy. Any chance you could—”
“Are you seriously asking an old woman to lift those?” she interrupts. “I hired you for a reason, dear.”
Of course. How silly of me. I force a smile. “Never mind. I’ve got it.”
“You’ll be fine,” she says dismissively, waving me off.
I so do not got this.
I grip the edges firmly and pull with all my might.
I need to join a gym.
Gripping the crate again, I muster every ounce of strength I have. With one final heave, it breaks free—sending me sprawling backward onto the floor.
“Thanks for the help, Edna,” I mutter under my breath, rubbing my definitely bruised back.
Without even glancing up, she says, “Perseverance, Adeline Ross. Now separate the others.”
Internally, I grumble at her comment. I see Edna is enjoying watching me in my torment. I thought the elderly were supposed to be nice?
Clearly, Edna missed the memo.
I continue wrestling with the crates, to no avail unfortunately. Seriously, these crates are going to be the end of me. Amidst my struggle, I hear her say something about my struggling being too loud.
“Sorry.” A quick apology that I definitely don’t mean.
I’ll make sure to dial it down for your convenience.
Of course, I don’t actually say that part.
I’m still struggling when I hear the doorbell chime and the soft murmur of Edna’s voice. My concentration breaks, and I let out an undignified grunt as the crate slips. Great. My face flushes in embarrassment, but I dare not turn back to see if anyone noticed.
“Adeline,” Edna’s voice cuts through the moment.
“One second,” I say, tugging at the stubborn box. With one last pull, it comes loose, sending me flying backward again. Smooth. Real smooth.
I scramble to my feet, wiping off the dust from my clothes, and finally turn to face Edna and the customers.
When I see them, I almost trip over my own feet.
Standing there, in all their intimidating glory, are Christian Ryder and Kai Seele, looking like they don’t quite fit in this little bookshop.
It’s like giants in a teacup. I freeze, my brain short-circuiting. Do they look annoyed? Did they see me fall? Probably. Definitely.
“Hi,” I manage to squeak, my voice an octave higher than usual. “Can I, uh, help you with something?”
Edna, unbothered as ever, nods toward them. “These fine young men are looking for books. Help them.”
I nod dumbly, not moving.
“Now would be good, Adeline,” she adds, her tone as dry as ever.
“Right. Sorry,” I blurt, gesturing for Christian and Kai to follow. As we head to the shelves, I plaster on a smile, trying to shake off my nerves. “So, what kind of books are you guys into?”
I know Christian always buries himself in books, but Kai? I guess I should have known. You don’t become the most promising student in the entire school by doing nothing.
And I also know Christian is more into the classics.
For some reason, it crosses my mind that Kai probably needs a book called How to Function Like a Normal Teenager While Being Stupidly Good at Everything.
It’s silly, but it makes me smirk.
“Something funny?” Kai asks smoothly, his tone calm but with a pointed edge.
Christian raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
Wait. No. Did I just… Oh god.
I did not just say that out loud.
Yep. This is officially the most mortifying day of my life. And considering my track record, that’s saying something.
My cheeks flush crimson. “So… the classics!” I blurt, my voice unnaturally bright. I force a laugh, attempting to change the subject.
It doesn’t work.