The day isn't as heavy anymore.
The seasonal depression that's been weighing on me feels lighter, like maybe there's something to look forward to. Someone to look forward to.
One bookshop collision.
One generous impulse.
One girl with honey-gold hair and dreams bigger than herself.
I return to my coffee, savoring the warmth, and start reading the first chapter of my book.
Surely winter won't be so dark this year after all.
CHAPTER 4
When Opportunity Knocks At Noon
~REVERIE~
The phone rings.
Not the usual ringtone—the one I set for Hazel, Rosemarie, or Mila when they need me at the cafe. That one is cheerful, bright, something that saysemergency croissants need frostingorwe're slammed and need your chaos energy ASAP.
It's "Jingle Bell Rock" because I'm predictable like that, and it never fails to make me smile even when I'm dead tired.
This ringtone is different.Professional.The default one that plays for numbers not saved in my contacts. The generic iPhone ring that could mean anything from a spam call about my car's extended warranty to a wrong number asking if I’m still selling that dresser on Facebook Marketplace.
Make it stop. Please, universe, I'm begging you. Just five more minutes of sleep. That's all I need. Five minutes.
I groan—a deep, pathetic sound that would embarrass me if anyone could hear it—and press my face deeper into my pillow.
The fabric is soft against my cheek, worn from too many wash cycles, and it smells like the lavender spray I obsessively mist on my bedding before sleep. Underneath that is the vanilla body lotion I slathered on last night, the kind that comes in the giant pump bottle from the drugstore because I'm fancy like that. And there's something else too—the distinct scent of paper and ink, that particular smell of new books that I'd bottle and wear as perfume if I could.
Oh right. I fell asleep reading. Again. There's definitely a book wedged somewhere in this bed, probably under my shoulder blade based on the uncomfortable pressure I'm just now noticing.
Make it stop. Please make it stop. My brain is made of cotton and regret and approximately seventeen book hangovers.
The ringing continues, persistent and rude and completely unconcerned with my suffering.
Whoever invented phones should be forced to listen to this sound on repeat for eternity. That's my contribution to hell's design.
I crack one eye open, immediately regretting it as November sunlight streams through my balcony doors—which I apparently forgot to close the curtains on—and stabs directly into my retinas. The light is harsh, unforgiving, the kind of brightness that only exists at...
What time is it? Why is it so bright? Did I sleep through my alarm?
Oh god, did I miss my shift at the cafe?
The phone is still ringing.
I sit up slowly, every muscle in my body protesting. My neck is stiff from falling asleep at a weird angle. My eyes feel likesomeone replaced them with sandpaper. My mouth tastes like I licked the inside of a library and then forgot to brush my teeth.
This is what happens when you decide to 'just read one chapter' at midnight and suddenly it's 5 AM and you've finished an entire book and started the second one.
Worth it, though. That book was incredible. The secret admirer knew what he was doing with those recommendations.
Wait. The secret admirer. The gorgeous Alpha with the maple-honey scent, the soft smile, and the way he looked at me like I was something worth looking at.
Focus.
