Page 5 of Unseen Eye
I blink. “You mean, like ordering inventory and handling the accounts?”
His smile is warm and genuine. “Among other things. You’ve been here for years, and no one has a deeper love for books than you.” He hesitates, then adds, “Eventually, someone’s going to need to take over entirely. And I can’t think of anyone better suited for it.”
My heart skips a beat. Surely, he’s not serious. “Wait—really? You’d trust me with the store?”
A soft chuckle escapes him. “I already do, Eva. This place wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Emotion rises in my chest, and I manage to nod. “I’d be honored, Mr. Whitfield. I don’t know what to say but thank you.”
He claps me on the shoulder, a gesture filled with quiet pride. “We’ll go over the details later, but I wanted to give you some time to think it through.”
The rest of the afternoon flies by as I am barely able to contain my excitement. As the sun sets, the last few customers trickle out, leaving the bookstore quiet once more. I gather my things, waving goodbye to Mr. Whitfield, but something pulls me back.
“Mr. Whitfield,” I start slowly, “do you remember anything about my parents? Or... or about the raid that happened back then?”
He straightens, a shadow crossing his face at the mention of the raid. “Ah, yes, I remember it well,” he says quietly, his gaze distant. “That was a dark time for Pinebrook. They came in the dead of night, raiding homes. Many families... well, they didn’t make it.”
I nod, his words sinking into the silence between us. After a moment, he shakes his head, looking back at me with a soft, sad expression. “But your parents... I’m sorry, Eva. I didn’t know them. If I’d known someone else with eyes like yours, I wouldn’t have forgotten.”
My shoulders slump, a mix of relief and disappointment washing over me.
As the sun dips toward the horizon, casting the bookstore in a warm glow, I gather my things to leave. The village hums with the sounds of a day winding down, and for once, I feel like I have something here—something solid to hold onto.
Chapter Three
The next morning, stepping through the stone walls, I am greeted by the sight of the market in full swing. A smile creeps across my face. This is easily one of the reasons why Saturday is my favorite day of the week. Stalls line the cobblestone streets, vendors peddling their goods with enthusiastic shouts, drawing people from neighboring towns and even distant regions.
Children weave through the crowd, their playful squeals blending with that of a street musician playing his flute near the fountain. The scent of fresh bread and roasted pecans waft through the air, making my stomach rumble in anticipation. The market is a sensory feast, with vibrant displays of fruits and vegetables, shimmering fabrics, and an array of handmade crafts. It’s a place where everyone knows each other, where stories are exchanged as readily as goods, and where the heart of the community beats the strongest.
“Eva!” a familiar voice shouts from a nearby stall. I quickly head toward it, not bothering to hide my smile. “Morning, Garet,” I say as he hands me some bread, ignoring the feeling of my heart skipping a beat. Garet, the other reason why I love Saturdays. Being a son of one of the vendors, he attends the market every week. He is tall and lean, with tousled straw-colored hair that always seems to catch the sunlight, making it look like a golden halo around his head. His sharp green eyes are lively, always filled with a hint of mischief.
“You’re late,” he teases, biting into his own warm, crusty loaf of bread. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about your favorite customer.”
I laugh, taking a bite of the bread. “Never. Just had a bit of a late start this morning.” A slight moan escaping my lips as Isavor the warm taste.
He leans against the stall, watching me with a curious expression. “Another story done?”
I nod, pulling out a stack of freshly printed pages from my satchel. “Yep, and it’s a good one. Mr. Whitfield already seems excited about it.”
Garet’s eyes light up. “Can’t wait to read it. I would still love to know how you come up with these. One day you’ll trust me enough with your secret,” he winks.
I smile at his praise, feeling a warmth in my chest. Garet has been one of my earliest and most supportive readers, always eager for the next installment.
“I still can’t believe how this all started,” Garet muses, pulling me back to the present. “You, a village storyteller, soon to be the talk of the town.”
“Well, let’s not be dramatic,” I reply, a touch of sarcasm in my voice. “But it’s nice to have people enjoy what I write. Maybe next I’ll have to start signing autographs and hire an entourage.”
Garet chuckles. “So, are you going to the festival tomorrow?” His tone casual but his eyes gleaming with excitement. The Harvest Moon Festival is an annual celebration held in the heart of the village, marking the end of the harvest season and honoring Thalor, the goddess of the harvest. It’s a time when the entire community comes together to give thanks for the bountiful crops as well as the changing of the seasons. The festival is a riot of colors, sounds, and scents, transforming the village into a vibrant hub of activity and joy.
I shrug, trying to play it cool. “I might. Depends on if Kendry needs me to help with his remedies.”
Garet chuckles, his green eyes becoming more striking against the early afternoon sunlight. “Doesn’t he always need help with those? How many times has he accidentally turned water into... what was it last time? Slime?”
I laugh, the memory of his exasperated face as he tried to fix the mess. “That was an interesting day. But I think he’s finally perfected the headache remedy, so he should be fine without me for a few hours.”
“Good, because you need to come,” Garet insists. “I even convinced my father to extend our stay an extra day just so we can go together. The festival won’t be the same without you.”
I raise an eyebrow, amused by his determination. “You convinced your father? That must have taken some serious persuasion.”
