Page 9 of The Bookworm Who Stole Christmas
Finishing up with the books on the shelf, I collapse the box and walk over to the register and add it to the pile of cardboard hiding behind my desk that is waiting to be taken out to the dumpster on my next trip.
The mountain of receipts overflowing on my desk needs to be sorted. I only need to throw them away. I catalogue everything monthly. I just have a habit of rolling them into a ball and flinging them across the room instead of putting them in the trash.
“Why do you hate Christmas?” a voice says from behind me, and I jump six feet in the air.
“Jesus H Christ,” I exclaim, clutching my chest. “Give a girl some notice before you shave ten years off her life,” I pant, trying to catch my breath.
“Sorry,” she giggles from behind me.
Turning, I look at her. Amelia’s taken off her outdoor coat and is in a bright pink jumper and blue jeans. Her dark hair is pulled into a ponytail, showcasing her baby face and button nose.
“What did you ask… you know, before you tried to give me a heart attack?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
Her eyes narrow, and she tilts her head. “Why do you hate Christmas?”
I shrug my shoulders as I lean back against the counter. “Just do.”
“There’s got to be more to it than that,” she probes, her brows furrowed. “Everyone loves Christmas.”
Amelia sits down opposite me in one of the chairs I have spread around the room. You never know when you’ll get to a particularly good part in a book and just need to perch.
I sigh. “Look, kid, you’ll learn as you get older that everything isn’t as black and white as it seems.” I push away from the counter and walk over, sitting in the opposite chair. “I have my reasons for not liking it.”
“My dad loves Christmas, and my grandma too,” she says, smiling. “They go nuts for it every year.”
“Then you’re lucky, kid.” My lips lift slightly. “Enjoy it while you can. Being an adult sucks.”
“Are you always this happy or is it just this time of year?” she asks.
I laugh. That’s the fourth time in two days that someone other than Zoey or Arty has made me feel something… has hell frozen over? Am I coming down with something? What is this kid doing to me?
“Nah, I’m miserable all day, every day. It’s a gift of mine.”
“Dad said I can buy a book. Can you help me choose one?”
Her big doe eyes look up at me, and for just a fraction of a second, I feel my heart de-icing slightly.
“Yeah, kid. What are you after? I have all the greats.”
We stand up together, walking through the aisles to the children’s section. Books line the walls, row after row, and I feel that familiar calm settle in. This is my spot—the one that always makes the noise fade.
“I don’t know what to choose; there are so many,” she whines, eyes wide.
“That’s where I come in handy,” I tease.
Stepping forward, I walk over to the bookshelf that holds my favorite book. I have special editions after special editions of this book, as well as having it in different covers. I slide it off the shelf and hand it to Amelia.
“Howl's Moving Castle?” She turns the book over in her hands to read the back.
A smile sneaks onto my face the second I see her eyes light up. Amelia’s face right now—one full of wonder and awe—is exactly why I love doing what I do. Watching the excitement of another person loving a book, watching their world open to another realm or two, always leaves its mark on me. I just don’t tell anyone that, it’s a secret I’ll take to the grave.
“Have you read it?” she asks, still not having looked up, as she flips through the pages. “Is it good?”
I scoff. “Is it good? It’s only one of the greatest stories of all time and a personal favorite of mine.” I perch on the chair opposite her. “They even made it into a film.”
The shop door opens, and a voice calls out, “Amelia, honey, you here?”
“Yeah, Grandma. I’m in the back with Maddie,” she shouts, eyes still firmly on the book.
