Stormbound Hearts – By Andrea Johnston
STORMBOUND HEARTS
BY ANDREA JOHNSTON
Blyss
It’s been said time and time again, but there is truly something special about the smell of a new book.
Some might say it’s the crisp scent of the ink.
Others could argue the binding glue is the standout aroma.
I say it’s the combination of it all, but mostly the spark of familiarity the mixture conjures in the reader’s soul.
My co-worker, also known as my Siberian cat, Cherry, is unimpressed with my need to sniff each new paperback pulled from the cardboard box.
Like she does to me most of the time, I ignore her adorable snores and turn my attention back to the order that needs to be pulled and inventoried.
Soft sounds of my favorite country station filter from the small Bluetooth speaker on the counter.
I understand why people assume this genre is all about broken hearts and long dirt roads, but it's also about love and forever—happiness and hope. At least, that's how I see it.
It’s moments like this—when everything feels nearly perfect—that I force myself to stop and appreciate all I’ve done here.
Opening a romance-only bookstore in my hometown of Copper Bluff was a risk.
Any business takes a lot of hard work, but something as niche as a romance-themed store, especially in a town where everyone has watched me grow up, requires more than a little bit of faith.
There’s an incredible amount of sweat and overwhelming flood of tears.
Growing up, my granny told us girls that if we believed in ourselves more than others ever could and looked at life with a positive mindset, then we could do anything.
I have continued to live my life with that advice in the forefront of my mind.
Sure my positivity annoys a lot of people, but what’s the point in dwelling on things that make you unhappy?
I’d rather spend my days in a life that brings joy and happiness than one that hurts my heart.
Cherry stretches on top of the credenza, her movements slow with only the slightest twitch of her ears and swipe of her tail. When the bell over the door jingles, she opens an eye and yawns wide.
“Morning, Blyss.”
Mrs. Cooley shuffles in, her large handbag hanging from the crook of her elbow and huge smile on her face.
She’s told me to call her Nora but there’s just something about calling my high school English teacher by her first name that feels wrong.
One of my best customers, I hate that I’m about to disappoint her.
“Mrs. Cooley I have bad news.”
Her bag lands on the counter with a thud as she says, “Blyss don’t you tell me it’s not here.
” I could answer her but I’m sure the confirmation is written on my face.
“Oh for goodness sake. Did John Michael call in sick again? I swear that grandson of mine is one of the laziest men in this town. What has happened to his generation? No work ethic I tell you, it’s embarrassing. ”
Trying—and failing—to hide my smile, I clear my throat.
“Actually, John Michael was here waiting on me this morning.” I motion to the box in front of me, and she attempts to peer inside but her five-foot frame won’t allow much of a peek.
“A box was left off the truck this morning. He put a call in to his manager, and they’ve promised to have it here this afternoon. ”
Relief washes over her face. “Well thank goodness. You know I need to hold a physical book in my hands. Those digital readers just don’t have the same effect on me.”
“You could head on over to the library and see what new releases they have,” I suggest.
Clicking her tongue, she hesitates a beat before releasing a frustrated breath.
Mrs. Cooley knows she’ll need to take the temporary route instead of buying from me if she hopes to settle in with a new read today.
As a business owner, this recommendation may seem like the wrong attitude, but our public library is essential, and keeping the community’s support for it strong is absolutely necessary.
Cherry hops down from her spot of leisure and saunters toward Mrs. Cooley, wrapping herself around the woman’s legs.
I’d like to think my girl is reassuring our customer that we’re still here and support her going across the hall to the library.
Of course, she’s probably looking for a few head scratches and maybe a treat.
Cherry Valance is nothing if not a simple gal at heart.
“How are you Cherry? Looking beautiful as always.”
Soft purrs flow freely from my friendly feline, and it isn’t lost on me how cliché I really am. A small-town bookstore owner with a cat. I glance down to my outfit—a pair of pixie-cut pants and a tunic tank with a bulky cardigan—and roll my eyes. Whoops.
“Blyss, you’ll be closing early, right? Rainy can’t be wrong every day. Bless her heart for following her dreams, but she’s not exactly accurate with the weather forecast.”
That “bless her heart” was said with zero malice, but still carries the intent we all know it’s meant to have.
My former classmate, Rainy Jane Sprinkles, also known as Copper Bluff’s local weather girl, has never been right with the weather forecast. Now before you go waiving your finger at me that I should refer to Ms. Sprinkles as a meteorologist let me tell you that Rainy has aspired to be, and demands she be called, a weather girl since we were in second grade.
I suppose when your parents bestow such a name upon you at birth, you have two choices—local weather personality or something in the adult industry that would have her momma and daddy dragging their baby girl to church for a marathon of praying.
“While I don’t hold out hope that the storm Rainy mentioned will come to fruition, just the mention of it had my heart racing this morning so yes, I’ll be closing up as soon as that second box is delivered.”
“Now honey don’t you go putting yourself at risk waiting for my books. Close up, go home and hunker down. I don’t hold Rainy Jane’s predictions with much weight, but those skies looked dark when I was parking.”
Smiling, I round the counter and put an arm over her shoulder and give it a squeeze.
“Thanks for worrying about me, but it’s not just your order.
I haven’t told many people but I managed to get a dozen special editions of Adeline Snow’s latest release.
I’m hoping to convince her to have an in-store signing when she launches her hockey series. ”
Despite being in her seventies, Mrs. Cooley’s embrace is as strong as someone half her age.
She hugs me tightly and squeals. Yep, an all-out squeal of delight at the thought of attending an intimate signing with her favorite author.
With a promise to save a special edition for her, I guide her to the door and watch her greet the staff of the library with the same gusto she had for me.
ISAAC
Laughter from the other side of my office window draws my attention.
My former English teacher, Mrs. Cooley, stands at the front desk talking animatedly with Annbeth.
I watch as both cover their mouths, trying to adhere to the quiet requirement of the library.
By the way their shoulders shake it’s safe to assume they’ve failed.
With a grunt, I yank off my glasses and toss them on the desk before tucking my chin to my chest and massaging my temples.
I’ve not moved from this seat since I arrived hours ago, and the tension headache I’ve been keeping at bay has officially won the battle.
For weeks I’ve been burning the candle at both ends crafting a detailed proposal for the mayor and financial committee to increase the library’s budget.
Not that I’m expecting an approval of any kind. Why would this year be any different than the last six? I understand the need to prioritize funds for first responders and the safety of the town but, I think along the way, the pivotal role of the community’s public library has been forgotten.
Different than prior submissions, I’ve simplified the proposal and prioritized it based on immediate need.
This includes a detailed breakdown of costs for replacing stained and worn carpeting in the children’s area, recovering worn-out chairs, and upgrading the two public computers.
While the committee may not see these as major needs, the parents who sit on the stained floors during toddler reading time would disagree.
Next to the budget proposal is another list—a longer and more daunting itemization of things that should have been addressed years ago.
An updated HVAC system, cameras on the outside of the building, and better lighting in the parking lot are the most expensive, but in my opinion, the most important.
As the librarian, of course I want to see our inventory updated and newer authors and genres included.
Annbeth has not so subtlety suggested we offer more community-focused activities for children, including reading programs.
All that costs money, and as someone who grew up in Copper Bluff, I know the likelihood we’ll be approved is slim.
And people wonder why I’m grumpy most of the time.
I stand from my desk and leave the stress of these documents behind and step out into the library.
The familiarity of walking down each row calms me as it did when I was a kid.
I spent most afternoons in these four walls doing homework and losing myself in stories that were beyond any reality I lived.
It's part of the reason I wanted to become a librarian. Not just because I love literature and being surrounded by so much talent and art, but also because being the person to keep a space available for kids who have nowhere else to go but an empty house is important to me. It provides people who can’t afford computers or internet at home a place to search for jobs or just search the web matters.