7. Tessa
TESSA
The bookstore is starting to look like something. Not finished. Not even close. But something.
I stand back near the counter, hands on my hips, surveying the progress with cautious satisfaction. The shelves—what’s left of them—are straighter now. The books are no longer stacked in chaotic piles. The space feels… intentional.
“Okay,” I say. “This is happening.”
A grand reopening. The idea had come to me sometime between reorganizing the third box of inventory and realizing I needed a goal that wasn’t just “fix everything.”
Something tangible. Something that makes this real to other people—not just me.
I jot a few notes down on my ever-growing list—flyers, signage, maybe a small event to draw people in.
“You’re going to need help with that.”
I look up to see a woman standing in the doorway, a warm smile on her face.
“Hi,” I say, straightening. “Sorry—closed for now. Still getting things together.”
“I figured,” she says, stepping inside anyway. “I’m Brooke.”
Brooke Calder
“I’m Tessa.”
“I know,” she says easily. “Everyone does.”
Of course they do.
“I brought these,” she adds, holding up a roll of paper and what looks like a small toolkit. “Delilah said you might need signage help.”
“That’s… incredibly kind,” I say, genuinely surprised.
“Small town,” she says with a shrug. “We help where we can.”
I smile, feeling some of the tension in my shoulders ease.
“Then I will absolutely take you up on that.”
The next couple of hours pass faster than I expect. Brooke works efficiently, helping me measure window space, sketch out simple signage, and hang a temporary “Coming Soon” sign that already makes the place feel more official.
“So,” she says as she tapes the last corner into place, “you planning anything special for the reopening?”
“I was thinking something small,” I admit. “Maybe coffee, a few promotions. Nothing huge.”
“Make it a thing,” she says. “People here like a reason to gather.”
“I’ve noticed.”
She laughs. “You’ll get used to it.”
“Hopefully.”
She steps back, admiring the sign. “Looks good.”
“It does,” I agree.
A comfortable silence settles for a moment before she adds, “You should come out with us sometime.”
“Us?”
“Local hiking group. We go out a couple times a week.”
“That actually sounds nice,” I say. “I could use a break from… all this.”
“Perfect,” she says. “I’ll text you the details.”
I nod, appreciating the easy inclusion. As we step outside to look at the sign from a distance, I notice it again. The glances. Subtle. Quick. But there. A few people further down the street shift their attention as someone passes behind me. I turn slightly.
Archer.
He walks down the sidewalk like he owns the ground beneath his feet—focused, controlled, not looking at anyone directly. And yet—
Everyone notices. The conversations dip. The glances sharpen, then disappear just as quickly. It’s not fear. Not exactly. But it’s close.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “I have to ask.”
Brooke follows my gaze, then looks back at me with a carefully neutral expression.
“What’s going on with him?”
“Archer?” she says lightly.
“Yes, Archer.”
She hesitates just long enough to confirm I’m not imagining things.
“He’s… important,” she says.
“That’s vague.”
“It’s accurate.”
I cross my arms. “Important how?”
She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes this time. “He’s been here a long time. People trust him.”
“That doesn’t explain why everyone looks like they’re trying not to breathe when he walks by.”
Her smile tightens slightly.
“Small town dynamics,” she says. “You’ll pick up on it.”
“That feels like a non-answer.”
“It kind of is.”
I stare at her for a second, then sigh.
“Fine. Keep your secrets.”
She nudges my arm lightly. “You’ll figure things out in your own time.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
She laughs, but there’s something else under it—something cautious. We finish up not long after that, and she heads out with a quick promise to check in again before the reopening.
By the time evening settles in, I’m alone again.
The bookstore is quieter now, the soft glow of the lamp casting long shadows across the newly organized shelves. I’m just about to call it a night when I hear it. A sound. Outside. Low.
Animal.
I freeze.
It comes again—closer this time. A scraping noise. A faint growl that raises the hair on the back of my neck.
“That’s… not a dog,” I whisper.
I move slowly toward the front door, peering through the glass. Nothing. The street is empty. But the sound—
It’s still there. Somewhere just out of sight. Watching. My grip tightens on the edge of the door. I don’t feel safe.
The sound outside doesn’t go away. It lingers. Shifts. Moves just enough that I can’t convince myself it’s imagination anymore.
I stand near the front door, one hand resting on the glass, listening. Nothing comes into view. But the presence is there. Somewhere beyond the reach of the streetlight. Something alive.
Something watching. I swallow and step back slowly.
“Okay,” I whisper. “That’s new.”
My rational brain immediately starts trying to fill in explanations. Animal. Stray. Maybe even a dog that got loose.
But none of those explanations account for the weight of the feeling pressing against the building. I move to the counter, grabbing my phone instinctively before remembering again that there’s still barely any signal inside the shop.
“Of course,” I mutter.
I look toward the back of the bookstore, debating whether I should check—then immediately decide I absolutely should not be going outside alone at night to investigate mysterious noises. That is how horror movies start.
I lock the front door instead. Twice. Then I step back and listen again.
The sound is still there. Fainter now. But not gone.
I glance toward the mechanic shop next door without meaning to.
Dark. Closed. No movement. Archer isn’t there.
That shouldn’t matter. But it does. I press my back against the counter, arms folding loosely as I try to steady my thoughts.
“You are in a town full of weird noises,” I tell myself. “That is statistically possible.”
Still doesn’t explain the feeling. Or the timing. Or the way it stopped just outside and hasn’t fully gone away.
I spend the next hour trying to distract myself with work. Inventory lists. Sorting a few remaining boxes. Straightening displays that don’t really need straightening just so I have something to do with my hands.
But every so often, I stop. And listen. And every time—
It’s still there. Eventually, I give up pretending I’m fine. I move closer to the window again, careful this time not to stand directly in front of it. Nothing. Just darkness and empty street.
But as I watch, I catch something subtle in the alley. A shift. Not movement exactly. More like absence of movement where there should be sound. My stomach tightens.
“Okay,” I whisper again. “That’s not comforting.”
I take a slow step back. Another. And that’s when I hear it again—closer this time. A low, guttural sound that raises every instinct I have even though I can’t name what it belongs to.
Not human. Not anything I recognize. My grip tightens on the edge of the counter.
“Get it together, Tessa,” I say under my breath.
But I don’t move toward the door this time. I don’t check outside again. Because whatever is out there—
I don’t think I want to meet it alone.
Instead, I stay where I am, forcing myself to breathe slowly, evenly, like that will somehow make me less aware of the fact that something is still circling outside. Waiting.
Eventually, the sound fades. Not abruptly. Not decisively. Just… less.
Like whatever was there decided not to reveal itself tonight. I don’t relax. Not really.
I just stop bracing quite so hard.
When I finally lock up fully and turn off most of the lights, the bookstore feels different again. Smaller. Tighter. Like the walls have shifted inward a fraction. I hesitate before heading upstairs to the small back room I’ve been using as temporary living space.
Halfway there, I stop. And look back toward the darkened storefront.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I whisper.
But I don’t go back down. I climb the stairs anyway. And even as I lie down later, staring at the ceiling in the dim light, I can’t shake the feeling that whatever was outside tonight—
Wasn’t random. And it wasn’t gone. It just decided not to come closer.