CHAPTER 17
1259 Words
Back to the Living
Monday morning, 8:47 a.m.
Lena stands in front of the bookstore’s staff entrance clutching a paper cup of coffee like it’s a life vest.
She hasn’t been here in nineteen days.
Her badge still works. That feels like a small betrayal.
The store doesn’t open to the public for another hour, but the lights are already on, the espresso machine hissing, and someone is blasting Chappell Roan from the stockroom at illegal volumes.
She steps inside.
The smell hits her first: paper, coffee, that particular dusty sweetness that only exists in places where stories live.
It used to feel like home.
Today it feels like walking into a house you used to share with someone who no longer lives there.
Juno spots her first.
She’s halfway up a ladder shelving new romance hardcovers, pink hair now tipped with electric blue, wearing a cropped cardigan that says “I’m a s**t for enemies-to-lovers.”
She lets out a theatrical gasp. “The prodigal sad-girl returns!”
Heads turn.
There are eight people on the floor this morning.
Some she knows well, some barely.
They all know the broad strokes of her disappearance (sick, family emergency, “personal reasons”).
They don’t know the details.
Juno made sure of that.
Her manager, Priya, appears from the office, arms already open.
“Lena.”
The hug is warm, fierce, no questions asked. “Welcome back. We missed you.”
Lena’s throat closes. “Missed you too.”
Priya pulls back, studies her face. “Light duty today. No register, no heavy lifting. You’re on new-release table and storytime prep with Juno. Doctor’s orders.”
“I don’t have a doctor.”
“I’m the doctor now.”
Juno hops off the ladder, slings an arm around Lena’s shoulders. “Come on, corpse bride. I saved you the good scissors.”
The first hour is a blur of small kindnesses.
Someone refilled her favorite mug and left it on her desk with a Post-it that says “caffeine = love language.”
Someone else stocked the staff fridge with her exact brand of oat milk.
There’s a tiny succulent on her keyboard (Sir Charles Barkley III’s identical twin) with a tag that reads “Sir Charles Jr. – don’t kill this one either.”
Juno catches her staring at it.
“Housewarming gift from the team,” she says quietly. “We figured you needed more things that depend on you.”
Lena’s eyes sting.
By 10:30 the store is open and customers trickle in.
Lena is arranging the new-release table when a little girl (maybe seven) tugs on her sleeve.
“Excuse me, do you have the book about the dragon who’s afraid to breathe fire?”
Lena freezes.
It’s the children’s book Eli designed the cover for.
She saw the mock-up months ago (he’d sent it to her at 2:03 a.m. with the caption “finally something that isn’t sad”).
She kneels to the girl’s level. “We do. It just came in yesterday. Want me to show you?”
The girl nods, solemn.
Lena leads her to the kids’ section, pulls the book from the shelf.
The cover is exactly as she remembers: a small purple dragon curled in a cave, eyes wide, tiny puffs of smoke curling from its nostrils like it’s trying not to cry.
The little girl gasps. “That’s exactly how I feel when I’m scared!”
Lena’s chest aches in a way that’s almost sweet.
She reads the back cover copy out loud.
The girl buys it with her own allowance money, hugging it to her chest like treasure.
When she leaves, Lena stays crouched in front of the display for a long time.
Juno finds her there ten minutes later.
“You okay?”
Lena nods slowly. “I just sold a kid the book he made. And she loved it. And it didn’t kill me.”
Juno bumps her shoulder. “Progress, babe.”
At lunch they sit on the loading dock with sandwiches and iced tea.
Juno doesn’t ask questions, just talks about everything and nothing (the customer who tried to return a book because “the characters didn’t end up together,” the new barista who spelled her name “Juneaux,” the fact that Mercury is apparently in retrograde again and that’s why the espresso machine keeps exploding).
Lena listens and realizes she’s laughing without forcing it.
Afternoon brings storytime.
Twenty kids on rainbow carpet squares, Juno in a cape made from an old curtain, Lena on guitar (she hasn’t played in months, but her fingers remember).
They read the dragon book.
When they get to the part where the dragon finally breathes fire for the first time (small, shaky, but real), one of the kids shouts, “She did it! She wasn’t afraid anymore!”
Lena’s eyes meet Juno’s over the sea of tiny heads.
Juno mouths: you will too.
After the kids leave, Priya finds her restocking picture books.
“Hey,” she says softly. “We got an email this morning. The author of the dragon book wants to do a signing next month. They specifically asked if you’d be here to help coordinate.”
Lena’s stomach flips.
“It’s him,” she says.
Priya nods. “I know. I can say no. Or I can say you’re unavailable that day. Whatever you need.”
Lena thinks about the little girl clutching the book like a lifeline.
She thinks about the dragon learning to breathe fire.
She thinks about the version of herself who might be brave enough to stand in the same room as Eli without falling apart.
“Tell them yes,” she says. “I’ll be here.”
Priya smiles like she’s proud. “That’s my girl.”
The rest of the shift passes in a gentle haze.
At 6:02 p.m. the store is quiet, closing duties done.
Juno locks the front door, flips the sign, turns to Lena.
“First day survived. How do you feel?”
Lena considers.
“Tired,” she says. “But… lighter. Like I remembered how to be a person in public.”
Juno grins. “That’s the spirit. Drinks tomorrow to celebrate not hiding in your apartment like a feral raccoon?”
Lena laughs (real, full, startling). “Yes.”
They’re gathering their things when Lena’s phone buzzes.
A new message.
Not from Eli.
From Maya.
A photo: Eli asleep on her couch again, but this time Maya’s hand is in the frame, fingers intertwined with his.
The caption:
he smiled in his sleep when I said your name today
(he said the dragon book is selling out everywhere)
we’re proud of you, Len
Lena stares at it until the screen dims.
Juno peeks over her shoulder, reads it, doesn’t say anything.
Lena’s eyes fill, but she’s smiling (small, crooked, brave).
She types back:
tell him I’m proud of him too
and thank you for taking care of him
She hits send.
The message shows read almost instantly.
Three dots appear, vanish, appear again.
Maya:
always ❤️
Lena pockets the phone.
Juno slings an arm around her as they walk out into the evening light.
“You did good today,” she says.
Lena leans into her slightly.
“I think I might be okay,” she says, and for the first time in months, she almost believes it.
End of chapter seventeen.
She’s not healed.
But she’s standing.
And sometimes that’s the bravest thing a person can do.
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