Chapter 38: The Bookstore
Margaret Monroe waved at Julian Hayes one last time, then turned and stepped onto the bus. She tapped her transit pass against the reader, found a seat by the window, and watched the familiar old streets of the morning city blur past outside—alive with the everyday rhythm of people opening shops, joggers pounding the sidewalk, and the first rays of sunlight glinting off parked cars. The world felt awake and full of possibility, but Julian's figure grew smaller and smaller until the bus rounded the corner and he disappeared from view.
"Julian," she whispered to herself, the words settling deep in her chest like a vow carved in stone, "we… are going to be together forever. We have to be."
- - -
Julian stretched his arms overhead, the morning chill still clinging to his skin, and turned back toward the apartment complex. The elderly neighbor, Mr. Jenkins, sat on the low stone edge of the flowerbed by the entrance, a cigarette pinched between his fingers as he chuckled softly and watched him with that same warm, grandfatherly gaze.
"Julian, you're quite the ladies' man, huh? Another pretty girl. Almost makes me miss my own glory days."
"What are you even talking about, Mr. Jenkins?" Julian walked over and dropped onto the stone ledge beside him. "She's just a classmate. A good friend, that's all."
He tried to laugh it off, but Mr. Jenkins only shook his head, exhaling a slow plume of smoke that drifted upward in the still air.
"Don't sell yourself short, kid. That girl's a real looker—bright-eyed, full of life. You'd be a fool not to grab hold of a chance like that." The old man clapped a heavy hand on Julian's shoulder. "And what about the one living right across from you? Isabella, right? She's a catch too. Older woman by three years is like striking gold, they used to say."
"But Isabella's five years older than me."
Mr. Jenkins let out a wheezy laugh. "Then you'd be striking gold and then some diamonds."
Julian rubbed the back of his neck, heat creeping up his ears. "I see her as a big sister, Mr. Jenkins. Come on, don't make it weird."
"Weird? Kid, you're practically grown. This is exactly the age for that kind of thing. Those old ladies in the neighborhood keep arguing with me—saying you're still in school, it's not the right time yet. But I tell them, back when I was your age, folks were already settling down, starting families, living real life." Mr. Jenkins's hands moved vigorously now, cigarette ash tumbling onto the pavement as he launched into one of his long-winded lectures, old-fashioned ideas spilling out in a steady stream about responsibility and seizing the moment and not wasting your youth.
Julian nodded along with vague "uh-huhs" and "mm-hmms," his eyes drifting toward the street, searching for any polite excuse to slip away. The words washed over him without really sinking in—until the very end.
"Anyway, Julian," Mr. Jenkins said, voice dropping into something more serious, "if you like a girl, don't wait. Tell her while you've still got the chance. At least let her know how you feel. Don't be the fool who wakes up one day full of regret."
Julian actually listened this time. The old man's words landed heavier than expected, stirring something unsettled in his chest. A clean break, or going all in? If his hesitation ended up holding any of the girls back, the guilt would eat him alive. But the thought of everything simply ending like this left a hollow ache he couldn't ignore either.
His phone rang, cutting through the quiet morning like a lifeline. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and answered.
"Hey hey hey, mole mole, this is sweet potato." Hannah's voice came through bright and playful, bubbling with fresh energy that instantly lifted the weight from his shoulders.
"Did we even have a secret code like that before? What am I supposed to say back?"
"Now we do. You home?"
"Yeah, I am. What's up?"
"I'm at that little bookstore on the street right outside your place. Get over here quick—I'm taking you on a big adventure."
She hung up before he could ask anything else. Curiosity tugged at him stronger than the lingering unease, and he found himself heading down the block before he could talk himself out of it.
The bookstore was tiny, tucked between a dry cleaner and a corner café, run by a lady—an elderly woman who had taught elementary school for decades before retiring and opening the shop twenty years ago. The moment you stepped inside, the scent of aged paper and polished wood wrapped around you like a well-worn blanket. Hannah had spotted the place every morning and afternoon on her bus rides to and from Riverside High, the faded sign and dusty windows pulling at her with a quiet, old-world charm she'd always meant to explore.
It was only a short walk from Julian's apartment complex. He spotted her waiting out front. She had changed her hair today—several thin, long braids twisted up into a soft crown on top of her head—and she wore a light blue jacket over white wide-leg pants, gray sneakers showing just a hint of white cotton socks. The look made her seem gentler, more quietly refined than her usual lively self.
"You made it fast," she said, grinning.
"So what's this huge business venture Boss Hannah is dragging her loyal sidekick into?"
She tilted her head toward the bank across the street, eyes sparkling with mischief. "See that place? We're about to get rich."
Julian stared at her, deadpan. "…"
"Kidding, kidding," she laughed, stepping closer and giving his shoulder a light punch. "I wouldn't rob a bank with someone as hopeless as you for a partner. I just want to look around inside. Got time to keep a girl company, young master Julian?"
"Yeah, I'm free."
They pushed through the door together. An old lady sat behind the counter, knitting a sweater, and looked up with a kind smile when the bell chimed. They both nodded politely in return.
The interior felt like stepping into another era—antique wooden tables and chairs that were worn but spotless, the same timeless elegance that seemed to radiate from the shopkeeper herself. Most of the shelves held world classics and thick history books. Hannah pulled one down that caught her eye, then claimed a quiet table. Julian sat across from her and loosened the vibrant red scarf from around his neck, draping it over the back of his chair.
"I never pegged you for the literary type on a weekend," he said, voice light. "Figured you'd be camped out at home binge-watching something."
"Can't a girl be into books?" Hannah shot back, mock-offended. "You've got some serious bias against me, Hayes."
"No bias. It's just that five minutes ago you were planning a heist, and now you're sitting here all peaceful and scholarly. The switch is pretty impressive."
He opened the book in front of him, the yellowed pages crackling softly under his fingers as he scanned the neat lines of text. With Hannah—and with Margaret, in her own way—he could let conversations wander anywhere. They could be ridiculous, pointless, even a little dumb, and it still felt easy. Natural. No pressure to perform or guard his words.
"What'd you pick?" he asked.
"The Road. Grabbed it at random. You?"
Hannah lifted her book so he could see the cover—solid black, bold lettering across the front. The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.
"I've got the whole set at home. Made it halfway through and figured I'd finish it here."
"Why not just read at home, then?"
"Because it feels better in a place like this." She leaned back, the corner of her mouth curving into a teasing smile. "Plus I've got a dummy here to chat with."
The way she said it—playful, bright, her eyes crinkling with that effortless charm—made it impossible not to smile back. She looked so alive, so effortlessly pretty, the kind of youthful warmth that pulled people in without even trying.
"…Should I even bother defending myself?"
"No need. You are a dummy." She tilted her head. "If Julius Caesar had run into you serving as a general in enemy territory, he would've been over the moon."
Julian stopped turning pages. "Okay, now I have to ask—what exactly makes you say that? I'm not that hopeless, am I?"
"You…" Hannah started, something sharper flickering across her face for half a second before she caught herself. She thought for a moment, then shrugged with an innocent little grin. "Figure it out yourself. It's so obvious and you still have to ask? Total dummy."
"Fine, fine. Boss Hannah is always right. I won't ask again."
He gave up with a quiet laugh and dropped his gaze back to the book. The shop was empty except for the two of them. The old lady sat behind the counter in her reading glasses, needles clicking steadily as she worked on her sweater. The quiet wrapped around them like a soft, sunlit cocoon—peaceful, almost timeless.