The Book Shop and Unexpected Meeting

The Maplewood Book Nook smelled like old paper, leather, and possibilities. Autumn loved everything about it—the creaking wooden floors, the maze-like shelves stuffed with volumes both new and ancient, the reading nook by the window where afternoon sunlight pooled like liquid gold. This place was her second home, and Hank Morrison was like the grandfather she’d never had.

“There’s my favorite writer!” Hank called from behind the register, his weathered face breaking into a warm smile. He was seventy-five but moved like a man twenty years younger, his passion for books keeping him spry. “Owen said you’ve been making good progress on the novel.”

“Four pages today,” Autumn said, weaving through the stacks toward him. “Which I’ll probably delete tomorrow, but still. Progress is progress.”

“That’s the spirit. Hemingway rewrote the ending of ‘A Farewell to Arms’ thirty-nine times. You’re in good company.” Hank gestured toward the back room. “The Steinbeck’s back there, along with some other treasures from an estate sale. Help yourselves. You know where everything is.”

Owen was already rummaging through boxes of books, pulling them out with the excitement of a kid on Christmas morning. “Auti, look at this! First edition ‘East of Eden,’ and it’s in incredible condition!”

Autumn joined him, running her fingers reverently over the book’s cover. “Hank’s going to charge you a fortune for this.”

“Worth every penny.” Owen set it carefully aside and continued digging. “Oh, here’s that romance series you mentioned. The one with the lighthouse keeper?”

“‘Tides of the Heart’? Owen, you’re my favorite person.” Autumn grabbed the books eagerly. She’d been looking for these for months.

They spent the next hour sorting through boxes, falling into their familiar rhythm. Owen would read ridiculous passages from old pulp novels in dramatic voices, making Autumn laugh until her sides hurt. She’d find him veterinary texts and science books he’d been wanting. It was comfortable, easy, the way friendship should be.

“So,” Owen said eventually, holding up a book called ‘How to Win Friends and Influence People.’ “Think Mr. Fancy needs this? He seemed a little… intense.”

“His name is Eli, and he was perfectly nice.”

“Oh, he has a nickname now. Eli.” Owen’s tone was teasing, but Autumn caught something else underneath it. Something tighter.

“Owen.”

“What?”

“What’s really bothering you?”

He was quiet for a moment, studying the book in his hands like it contained the secrets of the universe. Then he sighed. “Nothing. Maybe. I don’t know.” He looked at her, and his usual easy smile was strained. “You just seemed really engaged talking to him. More engaged than I’ve seen you with anyone in a while.”

“I talked to him for like five minutes.”

“I know. That’s what worries me.”

Autumn frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Owen set the book down and ran a hand through his sandy hair. “Forget it. I’m being weird. Probably just had too much coffee this morning.” He brightened, visibly shaking off whatever mood had taken him. “Hey, there’s a bonfire at Miller’s Farm this Saturday. Want to go? Supposed to be the last warm weekend before it gets really cold.”

“Sure. Sounds fun.”

“Great! I’ll pick you up at six.” Owen’s smile was genuine again, and Autumn relaxed. Whatever had been bothering him seemed to have passed.

They paid for their books—Hank gave Autumn her usual “family discount” despite her protests—and stepped back onto Main Street. The afternoon sun painted everything in shades of amber and gold, and the maple trees that gave the town its name were living up to it, their leaves a riot of red, orange, and yellow.

“I should get back to the clinic,” Owen said, checking his phone. “Mrs. Patterson’s cat has a follow-up at three, and if I’m late, she’ll spend the entire appointment telling me about proper time management. Again.”

Autumn laughed. “Good luck with that.”

“Hey.” Owen caught her hand, and his expression was serious for a moment. “I’m glad we did this. Lunch, books, just… hanging out. I know things have been stressful with your parents and the writing and everything. But you’ve got people here who care about you. Remember that, okay?”

Something about his intensity made her squeeze his hand back. “I know, Owen. Thank you.”

He pulled her into a quick hug, the kind he’d been giving her since they were teenagers, then headed off toward his clinic with a wave. Autumn watched him go, feeling a familiar rush of gratitude. Owen had been her rock through everything—her parents’ disappointment, her struggles with writing, every bad day and small victory. She didn’t know what she’d do without him.

She was about to head back to her apartment when she noticed the small gallery across the street. Sophie Chen’s art space was newer to town, opened just last year, and Autumn had been meaning to visit. On impulse, she crossed the street and pushed open the door.

“Autumn!” Sophie looked up from where she was hanging a new painting, her dark hair pulled back in a paint-spattered bandana. “Perfect timing! I need a second opinion on this placement.”

“It looks great,” Autumn said honestly. The painting was abstract, all swirls of blue and green like ocean waves. “Is this from a local artist?”

“Yep! Jamie Lin from over in Riverside. Incredible talent.” Sophie stepped back, studied the painting, then nodded in satisfaction. “So what brings you in? Finally ready to let me display some of your artwork?”

Autumn had sketched illustrations for her novel chapters, little drawings that she’d shown Sophie once over coffee. “I’m not good enough for gallery walls.”

“Lies. You’re just scared. There’s a difference.” Sophie moved to the small kitchenette in the back of the gallery. “Tea? I just made a pot.”

“Sure.”

As Sophie poured, Autumn wandered around the gallery, admiring the various pieces. Local art, mostly—photographs, paintings, pottery. Sophie had curated a beautiful collection that somehow captured the soul of Maplewood.

“So,” Sophie said, handing her a mug. “Rumor has it there’s a mysterious stranger in town. Tall, dark, expensive-looking. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Autumn nearly choked on her tea. “How does everyone already know about him?”

“Sweetie, this is Maplewood. When someone new buys coffee at Rose’s, it’s town news within an hour. When that someone is gorgeous and clearly loaded, it’s town news within twenty minutes.” Sophie grinned. “Apparently, Daisy has already written three different fantasy scenarios about him in her diary.”

“That sounds about right.” Autumn couldn’t help but smile. “His name is Eli. Elias Blackwood. He’s staying in town for a while, according to him. That’s literally all I know.”

“But you want to know more.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. I saw your face just now when you said his name. You got that look.”

“What look?”

“The look every woman gets when she’s interested in someone. The ‘I’m trying to be casual about this but internally I’m very not casual’ look.” Sophie sipped her tea thoughtfully. “Does Owen know you’re interested?”

“I’m not—” Autumn stopped. “Wait, why would Owen care?”

Sophie gave her a long, searching look. “Autumn. Sweet, oblivious Autumn. You really don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?”

Before Sophie could answer, the gallery door opened, and a voice called out, “Sophie? You here?”

A man walked in, and Autumn recognized him immediately from the expensive suit and confident stride as someone not from Maplewood. He was handsome in a polished way, with dark hair, sharp features, and designer everything.

“Marcus!” Sophie’s face lit up. “You’re early! Autumn, this is my brother, Marcus Chen. Marcus, this is Autumn Hayes, one of Maplewood’s finest residents and an amazing writer.”

“Nice to meet you,” Marcus said warmly, shaking Autumn’s hand. His grip was firm, professional. “Sophie’s mentioned you. You’re working on a novel, right?”

“Trying to,” Autumn said.

“Don’t let her fool you, she’s brilliant,” Sophie interjected. “Marcus is visiting from New York. He works in finance—”

“Boring finance,” Marcus corrected with a grin. “Sophie makes it sound more interesting than it is.”

“You’re a CFO. That’s pretty interesting.”

“Only to other people in finance.” Marcus checked his watch. “Sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got to make a call. Work never stops, even on vacation. Autumn, it was great meeting you.”

After he disappeared into Sophie’s office, Sophie turned back to Autumn with dancing eyes. “Speaking of mysterious city boys…”

“Don’t even start.”

They both laughed, and Autumn stayed for another half hour, talking about art and writing and small-town life. But as she finally walked home through the autumn-painted streets, her mind kept drifting back to the café, to gray eyes and careful smiles and the way Eli had said her name.

Back at her apartment—a tiny studio above the flower shop—Autumn tried to write. She really did. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she found herself staring out the window at the street below, watching leaves scatter in the wind, thinking about conversations and coincidences and the strange way life sometimes shifted without warning.

Her phone buzzed. Another text from her mother.

Mom: Don’t forget about Sunday dinner. Wear something nice. Brandon’s bringing important guests.

Autumn sighed and set the phone aside. Sunday was five days away. She’d worry about it then.

For now, she had a novel to write, a town full of friends who cared about her, and an unexpected curiosity about a stranger who’d looked at her like she was worth listening to.

It was enough.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

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