Page 21 of Stolen Vows

My sneakers echo against the hardwood as I move deeper into the space, Romeo’s nails clicking softly beside me. The bones of the bookstore are the same. The towering shelves lining the walls, the overhead lighting casting a warm glow, the exposed rafter beam ceiling stretching high above, the counter with the old-fashioned register still sitting on top. It still looks like Aunt Miriam’s store.

But for the first time, it’s becoming mine. Because soon, the sign out front will bear a different name.

Fiction & Folklore.

A new beginning.Mynew beginning.

The installers are scheduled to replace the weathered wooden sign in two weeks. And if everything else goes well, it’ll be the final touch needed before we open our doors.

I should feel relief. Excitement. Something. Instead, all I feel is pressure. Because I didn’t just fight for this bookstore. I bartered for it. I made too many concessions, too many silent promises, too many sacrifices.

Failing isn’t an option.

With determination thick in my veins, I lead Romeo toward the back storeroom. Three doors line the far wall. One leads to the rear parking lot, where the dumpsters sit against the brick alleyway and my permanent parking spot waits. The second door leads to the side entrance of the bookstore, a convenience for late deliveries or staff access. And the third—the one I reach for—leads to our new apartment.

I pull out my keyring, flipping past the others until I find the bright pink key. The lock turns smoothly, and I step into a small vestibule.

A set of mailboxes lines one wall, a designated space for package deliveries tucked neatly beneath them. To the right, a narrow exterior door leads outside, a secondary entrance. To the left, a wooden staircase stretches upward, leading to the apartment above.

Romeo doesn’t waste a second. He clears two stairs at a time, practically pulling me up behind him.

I laugh, gripping the railing as I run to keep up. “Geez, I already took you on a walk this morning. You shouldn’t have this much energy still.”

Romeo wags his tail, completely unbothered, as he waits on the top stair for me.

I unlock the door at the top of the staircase and step inside, into my home for the next year.

The space is huge.

Fourteen-foot ceilings stretch high above me, two of the walls are exposed brick, worn and rich with history. The layout is completely open—one massive loft, with only a single enclosed room: the bathroom.

Six ten-foot windows line the front-facing wall, flooding the space with warm, golden light. From here, I can see down Main Street, past the boutiques, the cafés, the familiar heartbeat of Avalon Falls.

The movers brought everything in before I arrived, but they only placed things in general spaces.

There are still boxes stacked in corners, furniture waiting to be arranged, shelves waiting to be filled.

It’ll take time to settle in, but for the first time in longer than I can remember, I don’t mind.

Because this place?

It’s mine.

And maybe—just maybe—that means I get to be, too.

I stretch out my bed,leaning back on my elbows, surveying the organized chaos of my new home. Boxes still line the walls, but I’ve made progress.

The kitchen is mostly set up, dishes neatly stacked in cabinets, pots and pans hanging from the rack above the island. My beloved KitchenAid mixer sits proudly on the counter, a welcome pop of candy apple red in the sea of stainless steel.

My bedroom is taking shape too, the new platform bed frame already assembled from the movers, mattress in place. I unpacked the boxes of bedding and pillows. And I even hung up a few vintage travel posters I found at an estate sale last year.

Romeo’s sprawled out, belly-up, paws twitching as he dozes, buried beneath his favorite blankets at the foot of my bed.

The warm glow of candlelight flickers from the dresser, filling the loft with the scent of vanilla and sandalwood. Music plays softly from the speaker I set up earlier. Taylor Swift, of course.

I pull the blankets tighter around me, flicking to the next page on my Kindle, when my phone buzzes with an incoming call from my sister.

I barely have time to sit up before the screen lights up again—she switched to video. I swipe to accept, and suddenly my sister’s smug, sun-kissed face fills the screen.

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