Chapter 74: Grandma Maggie
Rosalie:
The following four days passed in a routine that slowly started becoming my new normal, though I couldn’t quite decide whether I loved it or hated it.
Every morning began before the sun even thought about rising, followed by Eiden arriving outside my house with impossible punctuality, dragging me to his place where he and Zaiden seemed to have made it their life’s mission to convince my legs they were capable of far more suffering than I had ever imagined.
The first two days, I returned home barely able to climb the stairs to my bedroom. By the third day, I had stopped questioning why I had agreed to train in the first place. By the fourth day, I realized I wasn’t actually getting weaker - I was getting stronger. It wasn’t much.
I still complained every single morning. I still glared at Eiden every time he announced another lap around the forest. I still secretly hoped Zaiden would suddenly declare the training complete after only twenty minutes. Unfortunately, neither of them possessed even a tiny bit of mercy.
Yet beneath all my complaints, I couldn’t deny the changes. My breathing wasn’t as terrible anymore. My legs didn’t shake quite as violently. And perhaps the biggest reward of all - my wolf hadn’t disappeared again. She remained quiet most of the time, but every now and then I could feel her stirring gently inside me, especially whenever I trained. That feeling alone was enough to make every aching muscle worth enduring.
Training wasn’t the only thing filling my days. I still needed a proper job. My novel had started gathering readers little by little, and every evening after returning home I faithfully wrote another Chapter before falling asleep from exhaustion.
But I knew writing wouldn’t pay my rent immediately. Contracts took time. Readers took time. Income definitely took time. So every afternoon I walked around town carrying copies of my resume and applying anywhere that looked remotely promising. Most places politely turned me away. Some weren’t hiring. Others wanted experience I didn’t have. A few simply looked at me once before saying they would call me later - a call that never came.
By the fourth day, I had begun wondering if perhaps I should accept Zaiden’s offer of working at the Nightfang Packhouse after all. The thought lasted barely five seconds before my stubbornness pushed it away. I wanted to build something with my own hands. I wanted to know that whatever future I created belonged to me and not to someone else’s kindness.
Ironically, the opportunity appeared right beside my own house.
I had passed the little bookstore several times while moving into the neighborhood, but I had never stepped inside until the small handwritten sign hanging on the front window caught my attention one afternoon.
"Help Wanted."
The little brass bell above the door chimed softly as I entered. Immediately, the familiar scent of paper, old wood, and ink wrapped around me like a comforting blanket. Rows upon rows of books stretched across the cozy shop, sunlight filtered through large front windows, and somewhere near the back an elderly woman sat behind the counter with reading glasses resting low on her nose. She looked up from her book the moment she heard me and smiled warmly.
"You must be here about the sign."
I returned her smile and nodded. "If the position is still available."
"It depends." She closed the book carefully before standing. "Come. Sit with me."
Her name was Margaret Holloway, though she insisted I simply call her Grandma Maggie like everyone else in the neighborhood apparently did.
She brewed tea before we spoke, and somehow the entire interview felt less like applying for a job and more like visiting someone’s grandmother for the afternoon. Yet behind her warm smile, I noticed a sadness every time her gaze wandered across the empty bookstore.
"People don’t read the way they used to," she admitted after a while, wrapping both hands around her teacup. "Or perhaps they still do... they simply read differently now. Everything is on phones. Tablets. Computers. Young people pass this shop every day without even glancing through the windows."
Her eyes softened as they swept across the shelves.
"My mother owned this bookstore before me." She paused before continuing, "And her mother before that."
Another pause.
"I always thought one day my daughter would inherit it." Her smile became smaller. "But life had different plans."
Silence settled between us.
"I have been thinking about selling it for almost two years now." Her confession surprised me. "The business barely survives anymore. Most months I make just enough to pay the bills. Some months..." She laughed quietly. "...not even that."
I didn’t know what to say.
She looked at me again and said, "So this is my last attempt."
My brows lifted.
"I’m looking for someone who might succeed where I couldn’t." Her smile returned, though this time it carried determination instead of sadness. "Someone younger. Someone who understands today’s readers better than I do."
My heart skipped slightly and I asked, "What exactly are you looking for?"
"You."
I blinked.
She laughed and then leaned forward. "I’ll give you three months."
I listened carefully as she explained the conditions. During those three months I would manage the bookstore however I wished. Rearrange it. Promote it. Organize events. Change displays. Introduce ideas. As long as I didn’t intentionally damage the bookstore or break the law, she promised not to interfere or question my methods.
Then came the part that truly surprised me.
"If you fail to improve business after three months," she said calmly, "you’ll return half the salary I paid you."
I frowned slightly.
"And if I succeed?"
Grandma Maggie smiled. "You’ll receive forty percent of the bookstore’s income."
My eyes widened.
Forty percent? That wasn’t just generous. It was life-changing.
She noticed my surprise and chuckled. "I’m old, dear." She looked around the store lovingly. "I don’t need to become rich." Her gaze returned to me. "I just don’t want to see my family’s bookstore disappear."
I barely needed a minute to think before I answered, "I’ll do it."
Her smile widened.
"I hoped you would say that."
By the time I walked out carrying my signed contract, I still couldn’t believe my luck.
The following week became unbelievably busy. Every morning I trained until my body threatened mutiny. Every afternoon I worked at the bookstore. Every evening I researched everything I could possibly find about modern bookstores, marketing, reader communities, book cafés, author events, social media promotions, loyalty programs, reading clubs, and customer psychology. Then every night, after all of that, I wrote Chapters for my novel before collapsing into bed.
The first week at the bookstore wasn’t about making money. It was about understanding the place.
I dusted shelves that probably hadn’t been properly cleaned in years. I reorganized genres. Counted inventory. Read through customer records. Learned where every book belonged. I discovered hidden first editions tucked behind ordinary novels, children’s books that hadn’t been displayed in ages, beautiful classics hidden away on upper shelves, and cozy reading corners that had long been forgotten beneath stacks of unopened boxes.
The more time I spent there, the more convinced I became that the bookstore wasn’t failing because it lacked charm.
It was failing because nobody knew why they should visit anymore.
By the end of the first week, I had filled nearly an entire notebook with ideas - hosting weekend reading clubs, inviting local authors, creating cozy reading spaces, changing the window displays weekly, adding coffee, starting online promotions, book recommendation walls, membership cards, seasonal decorations, social media pages.
The list kept growing.
But no matter how nice all these ideas sounded, I soon realized they could only be used as a booster for keeping the business flowing. But to kickstart the bookstore’s business from zero, I needed something else. Something completely different from all these usual ideas.
Something that would instantly put "The Whispering Pages" at the top of entire town’s attention.
Friday night I lay awake staring at the ceiling, mentally going through every possibility. Thinking about one groundbreaking plan that would do the job.
The clock nearly hit midnight and I still hadn’t thought of anything. And considering I still had training in the morning, I decided to stop thinking about the matter for the time being and get the much needed sleep.
I switched off the bedside lamp and got under the cover, closing my eyes to let the familiar darkness pull into a deep slumber. Barely minutes had passed before my brain suddenly thought of something.
The idea was so abrupt that it had my eyes flying open in shock. At first, I was almost horrified by what I had just thought of. But with each minute passing, the idea became more and more solid and I started realizing it might exactly be what I needed. What The Whispering Pages needed.
The plan was perfect. What really made me anxious were the people I needed for this plan to succeed.
They would probably decline the moment they heard it. But there’s no damage in asking. Right?
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