My meds are there, alright, but unless I count them, I won’t know if I forgot.It’s too late in the day, anyway.If I forgot and take one now, I’ll have a headache and trouble falling asleep.
Good thing I have my trusty melatonin with me, too.I shake the bottle for good measure, the gummies barely budging against the plastic.
It’s a little anticlimactic.
That settled, I nudge the backpack back over my shoulders and stand up straight, finally looking around the bookstore.
Mybookstore.
Happiness and the warmth of pleasure surge through me, enough that even the odd chill of the place doesn’t unsettle me.It’s better for any leftover books that it’s cold and dry, though I hate to imagine the electricity bill on this place.
Wooden shelves line every wall, and I gasp as my gaze continues up, and up—two stories.
There were no pictures of this bookstore online, and while that was a tragedy two weeks ago, now it’s the best surprise ever.
A wooden railing lines a narrow walkway around the second-story shelves, and I turn around, in awe, without even a word to say to myself.The stained-glass window casts a rainbow light across the scuffed oak floors, and the overall effect is magical.
They creak as I shift, and my brow furrows because it almost sounds like that creak came from behind me.
“Old houses,” I say with an experienced tone.
An experience I currently thoroughly lack, but I know full well I’m about to get a crash course in owning an older home.
The bones of this place are beautiful, there is no doubt about that, but the shelves are mostly empty, dust is caked on so thick that it looks like no one has been here for years, and cobwebs drape across every corner.
And every light fixture.
And every nook and cranny.
It’s a lot of cobwebs.The spiders have been busy.
The dust bunnies are definitely reproducing at break-neck speeds, too.Good for them.
My nose scrunches, and another blast of frigid air hits the back of my neck.
“I need to get the AC turned down to a reasonable number.”Not that I want to.I sigh, rubbing the raised hairs on the back of my neck.“Or not.Or we can just blow through the air conditioning and write off the electricity bill.”
I’m pretty sure the finance dude said something about business write-offs.It’s a haze.I’ll have to look at the binder full of printed details I threw in the back of my truck.
One thing’s for sure, I won’t have to worry about the electricity bill, which is a welcome change.
Boob sweat and swamp ass begone!
There’s a dusty, empty counter wedged up against a wall, a corkboard behind it covered in what looks like faded newspaper articles outlining some disease outbreak from umpty-ump years ago.I barely glance at the ancient yellowed pages.Instead, I bend down, checking out the intricate carvings on the inside of the counter.
“Cool,” I say, then purse my lips and blow, sending a cloud of dust into the air.
Which was stupid, because now I’ve inhaled a ton of ancient dust and lord only knows what else.Coughing, I fan my face, like that’s going to do jack shit to help the dust dissipate.
Fucking dust bunnies and their procreation habits.
“First stop, cleaning supplies,” I say.That sounds fantastic, actually.A healthy way to burn off the anxiety of uprooting my life in circumstances so strange I’ve compartmentalized them to the point of throwing all the legalese in my actual trunk.Like a cadaver.
My eyes narrow, and I study the carved scenes.
Huh.
They seem to tell a story, but of what, I have no idea.Which sucks because I’m really good at telling myself stories.
