By the Book

Chapter Nine: Letting Go

The faint hum of the computer filled the back office as I leaned back in my chair, sliding my blue-light glasses off and setting them on the desk. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before stretching out to my sides. Every joint in my body felt stiff; my shoulders were practically fused to my neck after hours of being hunched over the hundreds of receipts, invoices, and ledgers sprawled on the desk.

I glanced at the desk around me, now much tidier than it had been when I'd started. Stacks of receipts had been scanned and sorted into neat folders, physical ledgers replaced by spreadsheets I'd created from scratch. The warm brass vanity mirror on the desk reflected the faint glow of the monitor, angled just enough that I'd caught Miles in it earlier when he'd slipped in quietly with a pastry from the kitchen. He hadn't said a word, just placed the plate near my elbow with a warm smile. His reflection had lingered for a moment, almost glowing with pride, before he'd disappeared back into the shop.

I hadn't said anything, either—too absorbed in my work to manage more than a brief nod—but now the memory of that moment lingered. He'd looked... satisfied, like the mirror's placement had been a small victory. I traced the edge of the frame absentmindedly, wondering how long he'd thought about it before putting it there.

Another yawn escaped before I could stifle it, and I stretched my arms overhead, trying to work out the stiffness in my back. The glow of the screen blurred for a moment before coming back into focus, and I rubbed at my tired eyes. A glance at the clock made my stomach drop—it was well past 9 PM.

I'd completely lost track of time.

Pushing back from the desk, I grabbed my cardigan from the chair and shrugged it on before heading toward the door. The office felt warmer than usual, the faint smell of coffee and sugar lingering in the air like an invisible embrace. When I stepped out into the main shop, I was greeted by an unexpected quiet.

The overhead lights had been dimmed, casting the room in a soft glow. The customers were gone, their laughter and footsteps replaced by an almost reverent stillness. The bookshelves stood like sentinels in the dark, their spines catching the faint light from the display cases. Near the counter, Miles stood with his back to me, wiping down the espresso machine with a clean rag.

I paused in the doorway, unsure whether to interrupt him. He was focused, his movements deliberate as he dismantled parts of the machine and cleaned them with a care that seemed almost meditative. The sight struck me as oddly intimate, a glimpse of someone truly in their element.

When I stepped closer, the floor creaked under my boots, and Miles turned at the sound. His hazel eyes caught mine, and he smiled—soft and easy, without a hint of reproach.

"I didn't realize how late it was," I said quickly, gesturing toward the office behind me. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to keep you here after hours."

Miles shook his head, leaning against the counter. "You don't need to apologize. This place is here for everyone, remember? Even if 'everyone' means someone holed up in the back, organizing ancient ledgers."

The corners of my mouth tugged upward despite myself. "I wouldn't call them ancient," I said, crossing my arms lightly over my chest. "Though some of the receipts look like they've survived a few wars."

He chuckled, folding the rag neatly and setting it aside. "Eleanor would've loved that," he said, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "She always thought the older the paper, the more it had to say."

I glanced toward the door, my weight shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. "I still feel like I've overstayed my welcome. I'll head out so you can close up."

"You're fine, Kara," he said gently, gesturing toward the shop around him. "This place is meant to be a haven. Whether someone's escaping their day, losing themselves in a book, or... digitizing financial statements, it doesn't matter. You're welcome here."