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.

them, dear. Start your own library. They’ve already been up there for a decade gathering dust anyway.]

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

now, surrounded by the musty scent of

doesn’t seem so

against my hand, and I realize I’ve stopped petting her. “What do you think, Selene? Should

option to get

lets out a contented sigh, which I choose to interpret as a yes.

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<

Settling in (1)

spines of the books, their textures as varied as their titles. Some are smooth, others ridged, a few even cracked with age. Each one holds a story, a world waiting to be

mine to cherish, mine to

But where?

room with a critical eye. The walls are bare, save for a few generic paintings that came with the apartment. They’ll have to go, replaced

that will hold my new

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 curl

could work.

the living room in

inat

14

had

Settling In (II)

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 soaks in the tub, when I want nothing more than to escape into a good

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 a home, and I’m going

eyes curious. “What do

her head, considering, then lets out a soft

bark.

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

color. It would be impractical,

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Ava: Settling In

Bookshelves cost money. Money that I don’t have in abundance, not with my barista wages. Not

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

comfort.

and saving for

Once I have a car, once I’m settled in classes, things will change.”

thought of these books, these precious stories, languishing in piles on the floor is almost painful. They deserve better. They deserve a proper

I’ve watched while dreaming of building a better life. People turning old crates into rustic shelves, repurposing ladders into quirky bookcases, even building shelves, from scratch with nothing but a few planks of wood and a trusty

ɴøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access

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Ava: Settling in (1)

at my walls. It can’t be that

up at the