Love, Death, and Books

The bell over the door jingled as Joslyn stepped into Mostly Books, shaking the rain from her coat. The smell of old paper and coffee greeted her like an old friend—along with the sight of the store’s usual chaos. Stacks of books teetered on every available surface, a small sign near the register declared Yes, we know it’s a mess. No, we won’t clean it, and somewhere in the back, the store cat was probably napping on a pile of unsorted paperbacks. Joslyn made a beeline for the horror section. She had no business buying another book—her unread pile at home was already a monument to poor impulse control—but that had never stopped her before. 

She was thumbing through a well-worn copy of The Haunting of Hill House when a voice beside her said, “Good choice. But if you want actual nightmare fuel, you want Hell House by Richard Matheson.” She turned and found herself looking at a guy about her age, holding a battered paperback like it was a sacred text. He had dark hair, slightly messy, and an expression of earnest enthusiasm, which was not something she typically associated with horror recommendations. 

“Excuse you,” Joslyn said, clutching Hill House to her chest, “but Shirley Jackson is untouchable.” 

“I’m not saying it’s bad,” he said, holding up a hand, patting the air between them as if to pump the brakes. “Just that if you want ‘this book might actually be cursed’ levels of terror, Hell House is the way to go.” 

Joslyn narrowed her eyes. “You work here, don’t you?” 

His grin widened. “Busted. I’m Liam. I’m usually in the back, pretending to organize inventory.” 

“Joslyn. Usually in the front, pretending I don’t have a serious problem with impulse buying.”

Liam laughed, then gestured toward her book. “So, haunted houses, huh? That your thing?”

She shrugged. “I like the atmosphere. Creaky floors, ghosts with unfinished business, that slow build where you’re not sure if the house is haunted or everyone’s just losing their minds.”

“Excellent criteria. Personally, I like the ‘definitely haunted, and also you’re probably not making it out alive’ approach.” 

Joslyn considered. “Fair. But there’s something fun about the psychological unraveling.” Liam tapped his book against his palm.

“It’s the difference between a haunted house with ghosts and a haunted house that is a ghost.” 

Joslyn blinked. “Okay, I like that. You’ve clearly put thought into this.” 

“Oh, way too much,” Liam said. “You should see my bookshelf at home. It’s like a shrine to literary terror.” 

They spent the next hour pulling books off the shelves, arguing over the best horror novels, and occasionally getting distracted by a completely unrelated book. Joslyn had somehow ended up holding a cookbook about medieval feasts, while Liam flipped through a book on true crime. “This is getting out of hand,” Joslyn mused, flipping to a page featuring an elaborate roasted peacock. “I came here for ghost stories, and now I’m contemplating the logistics of serving a bird with its feathers still on.”

Liam, still focused on his true crime book, snorted. “Meanwhile, I started with haunted houses and ended up reading about forensic botany. Did you know they once solved a case because of pollen found on a suspect’s shoes?”

Joslyn peered at him over the top of her book. “And you say I’m off track.”

Liam held up The Joy of Home Brewing, which had somehow made its way into his hands. “Okay, but at least you’re still adjacent to horror. I don’t even drink beer. I have no idea how this happened.” 

Joslyn smirked. “Clearly, the bookstore spirits have decided you need a new hobby.”

“Or a new murder method.” Liam tapped his true crime book.

“Plenty of creative poisoning cases in here.”

Joslyn pointed at him. “See? Still horror-adjacent.” She glanced back down at her own book, flipping to another page. “Though, now that I think about it, medieval feasts were basically a death trap—between questionable food preservation, lead goblets, and the occasional assassination.”

Liam chuckled. “So what you’re saying is, medieval feasts are horror-adjacent?”

“They could be! Imagine a horror novel where the ghost only haunts the food.” 

Liam considered this. “You joke, but that’s kind of a great idea.” 

Joslyn snapped the book shut. “Right? A cursed recipe book where every dish has terrifying consequences. You make a roast, and suddenly your house smells like a burning village. You bake a pie, and now there’s a vengeful spirit lurking in your fridge.” 

Liam pointed at her. “I would 100% read that.” 

They moved to a nearby table where their collection of completely unrelated books continued to grow. A passing customer gave them a bewildered look as they debated whether ghosts could attach themselves to food, leading to a tangent about haunted restaurants and then, somehow, cursed objects in general. 

Eventually, the chaos of their book choices forced them to start putting things back, but neither seemed in a hurry to stop talking.“I don’t know how we got here,” Joslyn admitted.

“I think it started with ghosts, then spiraled into food and murder.” 

“So… a pretty normal conversation.” 

Liam grinned. “Basically.” 

They wandered toward the store’s worn-out armchairs near the coffee station. The cat—aptly named Poe—was curled up on one, but the other was free. Joslyn sat down, and Liam leaned against the bookshelf beside her. 

“So,” he said, “have you always been into horror, or was there a gateway book?” 

Joslyn thought for a moment. “I think it started with Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark when I was a kid. The illustrations haunted me. But I liked being scared. It was like controlled fear—safe fear.” 

Liam nodded. “That’s exactly it. Horror is the only genre where feeling bad is the goal but in an enjoyable way.” 

She laughed. “That makes us sound insane.” 

“Well, we did just spend an hour debating whether a book was scary enough to be cursed.” 

“Fair point.” 

There was a comfortable pause. Joslyn glanced down at Hell House, which she had, at some point, agreed to buy. “You’ve convinced me,” she admitted. “I’ll give it a shot.” 

Liam’s smile was pleased but not smug. “Good choice. And if it traumatizes you, I’ll even offer a book-related therapy session.” 

“Oh, lucky me.” 

He hesitated for half a second before saying, “Or, if you’re feeling particularly brave, we could discuss it over coffee sometime.” 

Joslyn looked up, surprised but not unpleasantly so. His tone was casual, but there was an undeniable flicker of something else in his expression. 

She considered making him work for it, but, honestly? She wanted to say yes. “Well,” she said, pretending to deliberate. “I do have a lot of opinions on haunted houses.”

“I got that impression.” 

“And I wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity to argue with you about them.” 

“And a missed opportunity it would be.” 

She smiled. “Alright. Coffee sounds good.” 

Liam’s grin widened. “Great. I know a place just down the street. I’ll even let you pick the haunted house discussion topic.” 

Joslyn stood, book in hand, and met his gaze. “Good. Because I have so many thoughts.” 

“I can’t wait to hear them.” 

As she walked to the counter, she stole a glance over her shoulder. Liam was still watching her, his smile lingering. Maybe this wasn’t just about books after all. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t mind one bit.

Three months later, Joslyn stepped into Mostly Books, shaking the rain from her coat as the familiar scent of paper, coffee, and dust wrapped around her like a well-worn sweater. The store was as delightfully cluttered as ever, and somewhere in the back, Poe was probably curled up on a pile of unsorted paperbacks.

Liam glanced up from the counter, where he was pretending to organize a stack of books but was probably just reading the top one. His face brightened when he saw her.

“Look what the storm dragged in,” he teased, leaning against the counter.

Joslyn rolled her eyes, dropping her umbrella into the stand. “Oh, please. It’s barely a drizzle.” She gestured at her soaked sleeves. “Completely manageable.”

Liam snorted. “Sure. You’re thriving.” He pushed a cup of coffee toward her, already knowing her order.

She took it without question, blowing on the steam before taking a sip. “You’re a lifesaver.” She wrapped her hands around the steaming mug, allowing the heat to seep into her bones.

“I know.” He nodded solemnly. “So, finished The Name of the Wind?”

Joslyn smirked. “I did!” She proclaimed, beaming at him, “And I’ll have you know, I’m here to get more. I’m in a fantasy phase now.”

Liam raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really? I thought you would ‘only read books where the houses actively try to kill people.’”

“They still do, they just have dragons now.”

Liam grinned. “Alright, I can work with that.” He disappeared into the shelves and returned a moment later, dropping a book in front of her.

“The Lies of Locke Lamora,” he said, tapping the cover. “Heists. Cons. Backstabbing. Pretty much crime, but make it fantasy.”

Joslyn picked it up, flipping through the pages. “I do like morally questionable characters.”

“I had a feeling,” Liam said dryly.

She smirked. “What else you got?”

Liam turned, scanning the shelves before plucking another book out and handing it over. “The City We Became. Urban fantasy, sentient cities, weird cosmic horror vibes. Very you.”

Joslyn studied the cover, nodding. “Alright, I’m sold. And since I know you, I assume you’ve read both?”

Liam looked offended. “Do you even have to ask?” They settled into their usual routine, wandering the shelves and tossing book recommendations back and forth. As always, the conversation spun wildly off-topic—somehow landing on a heated debate about which fantasy world had the worst living conditions.

“I’m just saying,” Liam argued, “Westeros is objectively worse than Middle-earth. If you live in Middle-earth, worst-case scenario, you get caught in an orc raid. If you live in Westeros, you’re either dying of war, disease, or political nonsense.”

Joslyn tilted her head. “Okay, but what about the Forgotten Realms? You could just be trying to get groceries and suddenly a wizard’s personal feud with a demigod ruins your entire day.”

Liam considered this. “That’s… a fair point.”

Joslyn smirked. “Victory is mine.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I walked right into that one.”

“You really did.”

Still grumbling about fantasy worlds and their ever-present dangers, they made their way to the bookstore café and claimed their usual corner. Poe, as expected, had already claimed one of the armchairs, curled into an impenetrable ball of fur. Joslyn took the other, and Liam sprawled into the seat across from her, kicking his feet up on the chair next to him like he owned the place.

“Alright,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head, “so how’s the fantasy kick treating you so far? Think you’ll stick with it, or is this just a fling?”

Joslyn took a slow sip of her coffee, pretending to consider. “I think I’m in it for the long haul. Magic, political intrigue, morally grey characters—it has range.”

Liam grinned. “Yeah, yeah, welcome to the dark side. It’s nice here.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Took me long enough, huh?”

“You’ll be demanding ten-book epics and tragic backstories in no time.”

“Sounds about right.”

For a moment, they just sat there, the usual easy energy between them settling into something quieter. Comfortable. The rain pattered softly against the windows, and the rich scent of coffee mingled with the faint mustiness of old books.

Liam tilted his head, watching her. “You know,” he mused, “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who argues about books as much as you do.”

Joslyn raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not at all.” He smiled, something softer around the edges. “I think it might be one of my favorite things about you.”

Joslyn blinked. The comment was unexpected, but not unwelcome. She was used to their back-and-forth, the teasing, the quick-fire exchanges—but this? This was a different kind of honesty, slipping into the space between them before she had time to prepare for it.

She tilted her head, studying him. “Well,” she said, pretending to be unaffected, “considering you spend about five hours a day arguing with me about them, I’d say you enjoy the challenge.”

Liam smirked. “I do enjoy watching you pretend I’m wrong before realizing I’m right.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please. You’re right maybe half the time.”

“Sixty-forty, at least.”

She scoffed, but before she could argue, Liam added, almost too casually, “One of the many reasons I love you.”

The words landed between them before either of them had time to react. Liam went completely still. Joslyn froze mid-sip, coffee hovering just below her lips. A beat of silence stretched between them, neither moving. Neither speaking.

Then, slowly, Joslyn set her cup down. “Huh.”

Liam exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. That, uh… that wasn’t supposed to come out like that.”

Joslyn arched a brow. “No?”

He let out something between a sigh and a laugh. “Not like that, at least.” He still wasn’t panicking, but there was something expectant in his gaze—waiting, gauging her reaction.

Joslyn tapped her fingers against the table, considering. It wasn’t that she was against the idea—it was just that she hadn’t expected him to be the first to say it. And definitely not like that, like it had just slipped out, unplanned and unfiltered. Liam exhaled sharply and rubbed the back of his neck, looking—if not nervous, then at least aware that he’d just said something big. But to his credit, he didn’t backtrack. Didn’t try to laugh it off or pretend it didn’t happen. He just sat there, watching her, waiting.

Joslyn wasn’t the type to get flustered over stuff like this, but still… that had not been on her bingo card for the day.

She tilted her head. “So, just casually dropping the L-word over coffee, huh?”

Liam let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Yeah, uh. Apparently.”

Joslyn studied him for a second. He wasn’t panicking, but he was waiting—like he wasn’t sure if he had just completely derailed whatever was between them.

She wasn’t sure either. But weirdly? She wasn’t opposed to it. She sat back, crossing her arms. “Bold strategy. You do this with all your bookstore customers, or am I just special?”

Liam let out a quiet, relieved laugh. “Nah, just you.”

Joslyn ran her tongue over her teeth, thinking. She could tell he meant it—had probably meant it for a while and just hadn’t planned on saying it today. And that was… kind of nice, actually. Finally, she leaned forward, studying him with narrowed eyes, like he was a particularly tricky plot twist she hadn’t seen coming. “You know,” she said slowly, “most people ease into that kind of thing. Maybe drop a ‘hey, I like spending time with you’ first.”

Liam exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. Never been great at pacing.”

Joslyn smirked. “Terrible narrative structure.”

“Completely botched the build-up.”

She tilted her head, considering. “Still. Bold move.”

Liam met her gaze, steady. “Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

Joslyn tapped her fingers against the table, letting that sit for a second. Then, finally, she just nodded. “Okay.”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Not running for the hills, am I?”

A slow, lopsided grin spread across his face. “No, I guess not.”

Joslyn picked up her book again, flipping it open like nothing had happened. “Now, tell me more about this morally questionable con artist.”

Liam chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, you’re gonna love him.” And just like that, they kept talking—like nothing had changed, but also like everything had.