Three hearts, one home (Dayasco)

Bedtime stories

"Bosco, this is Daya," Nicky called out. "Your new co-worker."

Bosco looked up from her book, her eyes lighting up as she gracefully slid off the stool and approached them. "Welcome to the bookstore family," she said, extending a hand. Her grip was firm, her smile warm and genuine.

"Thank you," Daya replied, feeling a jolt of excitement at the prospect of working alongside someone so vibrant. "I'm really looking forward to it."

Bosco's eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. "Well, let's get you started with the most important part of the job—the tour," she said, her voice a delightful blend of confidence and playfulness. She led him through the store, pointing out the different sections with the ease of a seasoned tour guide. The way she spoke about the books, her voice filled with passion and enthusiasm, made each title seem like a treasure waiting to be discovered.

As they strolled past the children's section, Daya's eyes caught on the glittery pink nail polish adorning two of his fingers. He had done it to match Molly's for a school talent show the week before, and hadn't had the chance to remove it. Bosco noticed, her curiosity piqued. "So, you're a daddy with a penchant for pink?" she teased, her smile widening.

Daya felt a flush creep up his neck as he chuckled, a bit self-consciously. "Not quite, I'm my siblings guardian now," he said, holding up his hand to show her the half-hearted attempt at a star pattern. "It's my little sister, Molly. She's 10. And she had this talent show at school, so I painted her nails and... well, she didn't want me to feel left out."

Bosco's eyes softened. "What a sweet big brother," she said, her voice warm. "I take it being the height of a giraffe makes you comfortable enough in your masculinity for nail polish?"

Daya laughed, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease. "Yeah, I guess something like that," he said, flexing his fingers. The pink glitter caught the light, a small, defiant spark of color in the dusty bookstore.

"Well, we can always use a bit of glamour around here," Bosco said with a wink. "Now, let's get you familiar with the inventory system. It's a bit of a beast, but I've got a knack for taming it."

Daya followed her into the back room, where the computer was set up on a small desk. She booted it up, her movements efficient and practiced. As she began explaining the ins and outs of the system, Daya found himself captivated not just by her knowledge of the store, but by the way she talked about the books. Each title was a story unto itself, filled with a life that she brought to the forefront with her vivid descriptions and infectious enthusiasm.

"This is the heart of the store," she said, gesturing to the wall of books behind them. "These are the stories that keep us going, that give us hope, that make us feel less alone."

Daya nodded, feeling the weight of her words. He had always found solace in books, especially after his parents' accident. They had been a way to escape the pain, to slip into the lives of others and forget about his own for a while.

As the day progressed, Bosco proved to be an excellent teacher. She showed him how to shelve books, organize the returns, and even how to handle the occasionally grumpy customer with a smile and a gentle suggestion. Her confidence was inspiring, and he found himself drawn to her easy charm.

In the quiet moments between customers, they talked about their favorite authors and books. Bosco spoke passionately about the power of words, her eyes lighting up as she described the books that had changed her life. Daya felt a kinship with her, a shared love for the stories that had shaped their worlds.

As the afternoon sun painted the bookstore in a warm glow, a young couple with a baby in a stroller wandered in. The baby's eyes grew wide as they took in the colorful children's section, and Daya couldn't help but think of Molly's excitement at the sight of books. Bosco knelt down, cooing at the child and offering a gentle smile to the parents. "Let me show you our newest arrivals," she said, her voice as soft as a lullaby.