Page 19 of Marked

“The cottage on Cedar Grove Road.” Her fingers paused ever so slightly on the keyboard, a professional smile still in place, but something flickered in her eyes. “My mother’s old place.”

“Sarah Chen’s cottage?” The name came out carefully neutral, but I caught how her gaze sharpened with recognition. “I’ll need to verify ownership rights before we proceed, of course. May I see your ID and the inheritance paperwork?”

I handed over my license and the stack of documents from the estate lawyer, trying not to fidget as she made copies with trembling fingers. Was it my imagination, or did her eyes keep darting to her phone?

“How long does the verification usually take? And, um, what kind of price range might we be looking at?”

Linda’s smile never wavered, but her eyes kept drifting to her phone on the desk. “Well, given the location and current market… properties in that area typically list around half a million.”

I choked on air. Half a million dollars? For a cottage that probably had more cobwebs than square footage?

“Of course,” she continued, voice pitched slightly higher than before, “we’d need to do an official appraisal…” Her hand was inching toward her phone again.

I nodded along, but my brain was too busy doing cartwheels through fields of dollar signs. Goodbye student loans! Hello actual furniture that didn’t come from a dumpster!

“I’ll contact you once we’ve verified everything,” Linda said, her movements precise as she handed back my documents. Almost too precise. “Though I should mention, historically, properties in that area can be… particular about their sales.”

“Particular?” I raised an eyebrow. “It’s a house, not a picky eater.”

She laughed, but it sounded borderline hysterical. “Just meaning there’s often additional paperwork. Local ordinances, you understand. I’ll need to make some calls to verify… certain aspects.”

I didn’t understand, actually, but I was too busy mentally furnishing my future apartment to care. “Right, well, thanks for your help!”

As I left the office, I caught a glimpse through the window of Linda reaching for her phone with just a bit too much urgency for a routine property listing. But hey, maybe real estate agents were just really excited about paperwork.

I wandered to the town square—because of course Cedar Grove had a town square, complete with wrought-iron benches and meticulously maintained flower beds. The morning sun felt good on my face as I claimed a bench, tilting my head back to soak in the warmth.

That’s when I saw it. A massive black wolf statue dominated the center of the square, its stone eyes eerily lifelike as they gazed over the town. The craftsmanship was incredible, but seriously, what was with this town and wolves?

The hair on the back of my neck prickled. That familiar sensation of being watched crept over me, and my scar tingled in that weird way it sometimes did. I rubbed at it absently, scanning the storefronts across the street. Nothing but the usual small-town parade of shops, though I could have sworn I caught movement in one of the second-story windows.

A burst of childish laughter broke through my paranoia. A group of kids were playing tag around the statue’s base, their shrieks of joy echoing across the square. One little girl with untied shoelaces caught my eye.

“Hey there,” I called out before I could stop myself. “Want me to fix those for you? Wouldn’t want you to trip.”

She bounded over, pigtails bouncing, and thrust her foot onto the bench beside me. As I tied her laces into neat bows, two more kids materialized, all wanting the same treatment. Somehow, this turned into an impromptu shoe-tying lesson, complete with the “bunny ears” rhyme I didn’t even know I remembered.

“You’re good with them,” a passing mom commented, smiling.

I shrugged, oddly flustered. “Just don’t want anyone face-planting into that very expensive-looking wolf.”

By the time the kids dispersed, my stomach was reminding me it was lunchtime. I retrieved my sad little lunch bag from the car—just an apple and a pack of spicy ramen that I planned to eat dry and crushed up, because sometimes you just need to embrace your Asian snack heritage.

No way was I heading back to that cottage yet. Not until I absolutely had to get ready for dinner with Caleb. Which was not a date. Definitely not a date. Just a thank-you dinner with an unfairly attractive man who probably moonlighted as a model when he wasn’t mysteriously maintaining other people’s property.

I crunched into my apple, trying to ignore how the stone wolf’s eyes seemed to follow my movements. The square was nice, I had to admit. Peaceful. Well, aside from the prickling sensation between my shoulder blades that refused to go away.

Maybe I’d take a walk around town after lunch. Window shop. Practice looking like a normal person who wasn’t being stalked by inanimate wolf statues or jumping at shadows or agreeing to non-date dinners with gorgeous strangers.

The town wasn’t half-bad, I had to admit as I strolled down Main Street. Quaint without being kitschy, historic without feeling decrepit. Hanging baskets overflowed with late summer flowers, and the sidewalks were that perfect small-town width where you could window shop without getting jostled. If you ignored all the wolf imagery—seriously, even the trash cans had paw prints—it was almost charming.

And then I saw it—a Help Wanted sign in a bookstore window that made me do an actual cartoon double take. The storefront was gorgeous, all exposed brick and gleaming windows, with Stone & Page written in elegant gold lettering. Inside, I could see floor-to-ceiling wooden shelves and cozy reading nooks that made my inner bookworm purr.

The sign itself might as well have been written by my fairy job-mother:

IMMEDIATE OPENING

Part-Time Bookseller

---