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PROLOGUE !
IT WAS A classic morning as Cynthia rushed to her job in the rain, clutching the umbrella handle tight. "Definitely still in Britain," she grumbled to herself, practically sprinting to her destination.
Cynthia Simons, a regular girl with a regular life. Working part-time at a bookshop and writing a half-assed romance novel. Not to mention her successful younger brother who did YouTube, Twitch streaming, and managed to attend college all at the same time.
But, that's besides the point.
Blonde dyed hair which her brown roots have long overgrown into and dark blue eyes—sometimes mistaken for black. Her dark brown overcoat slapped against her left leg as she pushed her way through the slightly crowded streets, slightly tugging at her black face mask and her old beat-up Vans hit the concrete sidewalk in a rhythmic pattern.
Busy morning, she mused, catching glimpses at the other adults passing by her. Finally, the slightly boxy and vintage bookshop appeared in her peripheral vision. Gratitude washed over Cynthia as she took a sharp turn into the alleyway, aiming to enter through the back door.
After speed walking to the back entrance—a sad place with old, soggy books kept in a large cardboard box stationed at the foot of the stone staircase leading up to a big metal door—she shoved a hand into her coat pockets, trying to find her key to actually gain access to the bookstore.
But, despite checking both pockets—both inside and out, she wasn't able to find it.
The wave of gratitude that overcame her a few moments prior was swapped out for a feeling of panic.
She fumbled for her phone and sent a quick text message to her coworker, typing with her thumb and holding the umbrella close.
oliver evans 📖 iMessage Today 10:49
evans lemme in don't have my key thru the back Read 10:49
gotcha
A sigh of relief left Cynthia's lips and she slid her iPhone back into her coat pocket, waiting patiently for the metal door to swing open. Soon enough, the metal creaked softly and a head popped out from the behind the door.
Fluffy black hair peeked out along with wide gray eyes. A pleased look passed over the stormy eyes when he saw Cynthia and a guy stepped out, holding the door open wider.
Oliver Evans, eighteen and almost 6'3", was Cynthia's coworker. He stood awkwardly, wearing a green hoodie and dark blue jeans. His gray Converse dug into the beige carpet and a black surgical mask was hanging from one ear.
Cynthia, someone who's been working at the Book Attic for almost twelve months, has known Oliver for five. The first time the two met, Cynthia thought his name was Evans but that's his last name. Since Cynthia was already used to calling her coworker Evans, she stuck to that name.
