Second Chances Bookstore stood on the corner of Brown Street, right between a cafe and an artisanal soap store. The outside, once a vibrant red, had dulled to a fitting mauve colour, and there were boxes upon boxes of battered old books lining the outer window for customers to peruse. Inside, a collection of maybe five or six people browsed through the shelves, each in their own little world as they picked out their stories.
Jess stood at the far end of the bookstore, uniform scruffier than usual, with a cart of books beside her, meant for restocking. The eclectic look of the shop suited her—from the wisps of black hair that escaped her messy ponytail to the crooked name badge by her apron, Jess was the definition of a cluttered person. Her eyes—wide in proportion to her face—were fixed o
