Tangled

16 Ava: Settling In (II)

Thunk.

That’s it. That’s the last book, tossed onto a pile of mystery novels. Fifteen boxes are now empty, and while it might appear that my apartment is little more than a haphazard pile of empty boxes and organized book piles, my heart breathes with the room I’ve created by tackling the monster that is everything Mrs. Elkins stored in this apartment for the last who knows how long.

The couch is soft and springy as I flop onto it, taking a well–deserved break. Selene’s ears perk up at my sudden display of enthusiasm, but she doesn’t move, content to rest by the front door, which happens to be one of the few places in the living room not covered in something.

“We did it, Selene! We’ve tackled the monster and unpacked it all!”

Well, everything that was in the living room. The kitchen still has a few boxes, and let’s not even talk about the bedroom. But the living room? The living

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16 Ava: Settling in (11)

room is done, and that’s what matters.

I survey the piles of books scattered around the room, separated by genre. There’s a stack of classics, a pile of contemporary fiction, a few biographies, and even a small collection of poetry. The biggest pile by far, though, is near and dear to my heart. Romance. Tantalizing little bodice–rippers with bare male chests whispering to me, enticing me to flip them open and be drawn into a world of magical, mystical, perfect

men.

I used to read them whenever I had a chance. The

White Peak library was full of them, and I was desperate for any happy ever after I could get my hands on.

They’re a lot less appealing these days.

I rub my chest, frustrated by the ache that likes to poke its head out in my weak moments, and snap a quick photo of the piles to send to Mrs. Elkins.

[AVA: What should I do with all these books?]

Selene seems to realize that I’m done moving for a while and slinks over on her silent paws, jumping beside me. She circles once, twice, then settles down,

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16 Ava: Sottling In (1)

her head resting on my thigh. I scratch behind her soft ears as I wait for Mrs. Elkins‘ response.

My phone buzzes.

library. They’ve already been up there for a decade gathering dust anyway.]

with new appreciation. My own library? The thought had never occurred to me. In the Blackwood Pack, books were a luxury. Books were unnecessary, and Mom and Dad weren’t interested in feeding my addiction to fantasy worlds and lives that could take me away from my own, at least

now, surrounded by the musty scent of

idea doesn’t seem so far–fetched.

I realize I’ve stopped petting her.

if it was ever an option to get rid of them.

sigh, which I choose to interpret as a yes.

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<

Ava Settling

Some are smooth, others ridged, a few even cracked with age. Each

to

But where?

at being disturbed, and survey the living room with a critical eye. The walls are bare, save for

hold my

go on a lower shelf, maybe under the window. And the romance novels? They deserve a special place, perhaps a little nook

that could work.

in not the

inat

14

had

Ava: Settling In (II)

practically begging for a bookshelf. I could wake up every morning and see my beloved books, ready and waiting to be read. And maybe, just maybe, I could squeeze a small shelf into the bathroom. For those long

only by the space I have and the strength of the shelves. But I’m determined. These books have

spot on the couch, her blue eyes curious. “What

considering, then lets out a soft

bark.

my mind races down the rabbithole of shopping, of crisp white bookshelves and the colorful book

books by color. It would be impractical, yes, but

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Settling In (1)

dance and twirl through my mind until they stop with a jerk and a dip in my belly as reality sets in. Bookshelves cost money. Money that I don’t have in abundance, not with my barista wages. Not with how much I’ve spent just

couch, my enthusiasm gone. Happy Ava is gone, and regular Ava

comfort.

and saving for school

Once I have a car, once

stories, languishing in piles on the floor is almost painful. They deserve better. They deserve a proper

turning old crates into rustic shelves, repurposing ladders into quirky bookcases,

Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Find ɴøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of

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Settling

that.” I sit up again, staring at my walls. It can’t be that hard, can it? I can build them myself,

up at the