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

14:42

1/9

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,

2/9

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.

already been up there

luxury. Books were unnecessary, and Mom and Dad weren’t interested in feeding my addiction to

now, surrounded by the musty scent of old

idea doesn’t seem

cold nose snuffles against my hand, and I realize I’ve stopped petting her. “What do you

option to get rid of them. Who throws away books?

a contented sigh, which I choose

14:42

3/0

<

Ava Settling in (1)

as varied as their titles. Some are smooth, others ridged, a few even cracked with age. Each one

mine to

But where?

disturbed, and survey the living room with a critical eye. The walls are bare, save for a few generic paintings that came

that will hold my new library.

could fit a tall bookcase, perfect for the hardcovers. The smaller paperbacks could go on a lower shelf, maybe under the window. And the romance novels? They deserve a special place, perhaps a little nook in the corner where I can

could work.

in not

inat

14

hodroom had

Ava: Settling In (II)

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 soaks in the tub, when I

limited only by the space I have and the strength of the shelves. But I’m determined. These books have waited long enough to be read, to be loved. They deserve

couch, her blue eyes curious. “What do you think, girl? Should

her head, considering, then lets out

bark.

crisp white bookshelves and the colorful book spines that would enliven them up. Maybe

all my books by color. It

5/9

Settling In

my belly as reality sets in. Bookshelves cost money. Money that

and regular Ava is back.

comfort.

and saving for

a car, once I’m settled

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

life. People turning old crates into rustic shelves, repurposing ladders into quirky bookcases, even building shelves, from

to access

679

Settling in

I can do that.” I sit up again, staring at my walls. It can’t be that

up at the excitement in my