Chapter 1: The Girl Behind the Counter
1622 Words
Ava Bennett loved the smell of old books.
There was something comforting about it-the soft scent of paper, dust, ink, and history all tucked between worn covers and cracked spines. Some people walked into a bookstore and saw shelves. Ava saw doors. Each book was a way out, a new world, a different life waiting for someone to choose it.
That was why she loved working at Moonlit Pages, the small independent bookstore tucked between a bakery and an antique shop on Rosewood Street. The store was cozy in a way that made people slow down when they entered. Warm lamps glowed from the corners, wooden shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, and a tiny reading nook sat near the front window with two mismatched chairs and a table that always held a stack of staff recommendations.
Outside, the morning was gray and misty, but inside Moonlit Pages felt like a secret.
Ava stood behind the counter, carefully arranging a display of new fantasy releases. Her fingers brushed over the shiny covers as she lined them up by height, then stepped back to admire her work. She tilted her head, frowned, and switched two books around.
“Better,” she whispered.
Ava was the kind of girl people noticed, even when she tried not to be noticed.
She was twenty-three, with warm brown skin, soft cheekbones, and full lips that usually rested in a thoughtful expression. Her eyes were a deep brown, almost black in certain lighting, but when sunlight hit them, little flecks of gold appeared around the edges. Her hair was thick, dark, and curly, falling around her shoulders in soft spirals that never seemed to behave no matter how much conditioner she used. Today, she had pulled half of it up with a clip, leaving the rest loose around her face.
She wore high-waisted jeans, a cream sweater, and ankle boots that had seen better days. A silver moon necklace rested against her collarbone, something she had worn since she was little. She didn’t know where it came from. Her adoptive parents had said it was in the basket with her when they found her.
Ava touched the necklace without thinking.
She did that often.
Whenever she felt nervous.
Whenever she felt lost.
Whenever she felt like something was missing from her life, but she couldn’t explain what.
The bell above the front door jingled, pulling her back to the present.
An older man stepped inside, shaking rain from his jacket.
“Morning, Mr. Ellis,” Ava said with a smile.
“Morning, Ava.” He looked around like he had just walked into church. “Got anything new with dragons?”
Ava’s smile widened. “Always.”
She led him toward the fantasy section, weaving between shelves with the ease of someone who knew every inch of the store. She handed him three books, explained each one, and tried not to laugh when he clutched all three to his chest like treasure.
“You’re dangerous,” he said.
“I prefer helpful.”
“You’re going to bankrupt me.”
“Only emotionally.”
Mr. Ellis chuckled and headed toward the counter.
Ava liked customers like him. People who came in not because they needed anything, but because the bookstore made them feel at home. She understood that. Moonlit Pages had become her second home years ago.
Maybe even her first.
Her apartment was quiet. Too quiet sometimes. Her adoptive parents had moved to Florida after retiring, and while they called often, the distance left her feeling more alone than she liked to admit. Her best friend, Lily, said Ava needed to “get out more,” which usually meant “let me drag you somewhere loud and embarrassing.”
Ava preferred books.
Books didn’t ask why she sometimes woke up sweating after dreams of running through dark forests.
Books didn’t question why she could hear conversations from across the room better than she should.
Books didn’t stare when she healed from a paper cut in less than a day.
Ava shook the thought away.
No. Not today.
She rang up Mr. Ellis, tucked his books into a paper bag, and handed him his receipt.
“Try the red one first,” she said. “It has the best dragon.”
“There’s a best dragon?”
“There is always a best dragon.”
After he left, the store settled into its usual midmorning quiet. Rain tapped lightly against the windows. The bakery next door sent the smell of cinnamon rolls drifting through the shared wall, which was rude and completely unfair.
Ava glanced at the clock.
Ten thirty-seven.
Her stomach growled.
“Absolutely not,” she muttered. “You had breakfast.”
Her stomach growled again, louder this time.
Ava placed a hand over it. “Traitor.”
She was reaching for the granola bar hidden beneath the register when the bell above the door jingled again.
A woman rushed inside with a little boy in a yellow raincoat. The boy’s hood was shaped like a duck, complete with a tiny orange beak. Ava immediately decided he was the best customer of the day.
“Hi,” the woman said, slightly breathless. “Do you have books about wolves?”
Ava paused.
Something strange moved through her chest.
Not fear exactly.
More like recognition.
“Wolves?” she repeated.
The little boy nodded seriously. “Big ones.”
Ava smiled, though the feeling in her chest remained. “We definitely have big wolf books.”
She walked them to the children’s section and pulled a few picture books from the shelf. As the boy flipped through them on the rug, Ava caught herself staring at one of the illustrations. A gray wolf stood beneath a full moon, head lifted toward the sky.
For a second, the store seemed to fade.
Rain.
Trees.
A howl in the distance.
A baby crying.
Ava blinked hard.
The image disappeared.
“Are you okay?” the woman asked.
Ava forced a smile. “Yes. Sorry. Just remembered something.”
Except she hadn’t.
Not really.
That was the problem.
She returned to the counter, unsettled. The strange flashes had been happening more often lately. Dreams that didn’t feel like dreams. Sounds she couldn’t explain. Smells that seemed sharper than they should.
Last week, she had smelled smoke before anyone else noticed the candle burning too close to a curtain in the store’s reading corner. The week before that, she had heard Mrs. Parker crying in the self-help aisle from all the way across the shop, even though the woman had been trying to be silent.
And then there was the cut.
Ava glanced down at her hand.
Two days ago, she had sliced her palm open on a box cutter while opening a shipment. It had been deep enough to make her dizzy. Her manager, June, had nearly dragged her to urgent care.
By the next morning, the cut was gone.
Not smaller.
Not scabbed.
Gone.
Ava had told herself she had imagined how bad it was.
People imagined things all the time.
Right?
The bell jingled again before she could spiral any further.
This time, Lily Harper walked in like she owned the place.
Lily was bright energy in human form. She had honey-blonde braids pulled into a ponytail, oversized hoop earrings, and a pink raincoat that made her look like she had personally declared war on gloomy weather.
“Good morning, my favorite book goblin,” Lily announced.
Ava leaned on the counter. “I work in a bookstore. That does not make me a goblin.”
“You hoard books, drink too much coffee, and hiss when people interrupt your reading.”
“I have never hissed.”
Lily gave her a look.
Ava looked away. “Not recently.”
Lily grinned and placed a paper cup on the counter. “I brought peace offerings.”
Ava immediately reached for it. “You are forgiven for the goblin comment.”
“I didn’t apologize.”
“And yet forgiveness has been granted.”
Lily leaned against the counter and watched Ava take a sip.
“So,” Lily said.
Ava narrowed her eyes. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“You said ‘so’ in your dangerous voice.”
“My dangerous voice?”
“The voice you use before suggesting something that ruins my peace.”
Lily smiled too sweetly. “There’s a new neighbor moving into the house beside you.”
Ava froze with the cup halfway to her mouth.
“How do you know that?”
“Because Mrs. Cross told my aunt, who told my cousin, who told me.”
“That is a terrifying information network.”
“That is spying with casseroles.”
Lily laughed. “Anyway, apparently he’s young, single, and very attractive.”
Ava rolled her eyes. “Mrs. Cross is seventy. Everyone under forty is young to her.”
“She said he had arms like a romance cover model.”
Ava almost choked on her coffee. “Mrs. Cross said that?”
“Word for word.”
“I’m moving.”
“No, you’re not. You hate packing.”
That was true.
Ava tried to look uninterested, but her fingers tightened around the cup. She had seen the moving truck before leaving for work that morning. A large black truck had been parked in front of the vacant house next door. She hadn’t seen the new neighbor clearly, only a tall figure carrying boxes through the rain.
Still, something about the house had felt different.
The air itself had seemed heavier.
Ava had locked her door twice before leaving.
- Writer
