Daisies and Daffodils

Chapter 1

The morning starts off raining, grey clouds gathering in gangs to block out the sun. Raindrops slide down the window effortlessly, and of course, Tess is watching them with delight. She's meant to be helping set up for some gloomy book reading today, but she couldn't find the motivation. She looked across the quaint little bookshop, and down from the second floor. The ground floor had old, worn-out wooden floorboards, the tables that students use for studying (or that's what they call it) were defaced with crude drawings and messages, and the bookshelves which have been meticulously organised are pushed against the walls. The book reading has taken front and centre of the shops, so onlookers can peer in front of the dated windows but those who paid for tickets can sit and listen to the author. Tess couldn't help but roll her eyes. She's seen this all before when it comes to these 'doom-and-gloom' books and the authors behind them. They were mopey, border-line exhausting be around, and just generally a dampener on any atmosphere.

That was most certainly not like Tess.

Tess like action-filled romances, with a sprinkling of comedy. She liked to lose herself in the world of literature, rather than diving further into existential dread. The thrill of wondering how the hero saves the day, whilst overcoming so many obstacles whilst spouting inspiring words. Of course, there needs to be a happy ending. People began to gather, and Tess stayed on the second floor of the shop, peering down on everyone there. They looked exactly like she thought they would. They were mostly middle-aged, and there were a few students littered into the mix, and all of them busily talking to each other. Their voices held no tone that could give away any sign of emotion, it was just a cacophonous drawl. Then, the room fell silent as Tess's boss, Jeanette, an older, chubbier woman with grey wire-like hair and light grey eyes which twinkled with a devious manner, entered.

"Ladies and gents, the artist herself is on her way," Jeanette called out, and shuffling feet made their way to cheap plastic chairs. Tess leaned over a little, to get a better look, and watched as the woman stepped out from her boss's office. The clacking of her heels stood out from the shuffling. This woman commanded the room. She sat down behind one of the cleaner tables, where a few stacks of, presumably, her books were skilfully placed. One of them had an upright book on top. It showed a man, with his back turned looking over a graveyard. How drab.

"Well, it's certainly nice to see such a crowd for my humble book," the woman said, graciously but lacking any expression that would suggest anything 'nice'.

"Won't you introduce yourself?" A man from the back of the crowd called. The woman regarded him over her blood-red spectacles, and her brown eyes seemed to bore a hole into him as he slowly settled back down.

"My name is on the book, surely you can read if you're here?" There was a short pause before she sighed. "Well, I suppose it won't hurt. My name is Anna Harrison, and I wrote 'The Ghost of A Traveller.'" There was a round of clapping, which Miss Harrison seemed disturbed by it but forced a smile that only looked slightly pained. Her hands glided gracefully to one of her books and opened it up to the first page. She gulped before reading. Her voice was gentle, like freshly washed clothes. It did not sound nearly as lifeless as the words would make it seem, making Tess sit down and listen as well. Whilst the chapter was about the main character arriving back in his hometown that he had not seen in over 20 years, Tess was still captured in the words. It was not her usual taste, and she noted that it did not seem like it had a happy ending, but she listened, nevertheless.

Once the author finished reading over the first chapter, without any notable slip up, the was a standing ovation. Tess joined in from her little hiding spot, and she could have sworn that Anna had seen her, but the glance was so quick she wasn't sure if it was real or imagined. When the line began for book signings, there was the usual polite form on the author's side. She said thank you when she was told what a masterpiece her book was, or how fascinating it was, before handing back the newly signed book. After the calamity of it all, and Anna was still sitting at the desk, looking like she was collecting herself after too much interaction. Tess came up behind her, slipping a black cup of coffee onto the table. The older woman, as Tess could now see her clearer and it was obvious, she was about 5 years older and with a wedding ring on her left hand, gasped at the sudden movement.

"For you," Tess encouraged, gesturing towards the cup.

"Oh...uhm," the hesitation was clear, and when Tess verified that she wasn't going to get mad for saying she didn't like coffee, she gently said, "I like hot chocolate." Tess tried to hide a smile.

"Okay, well then, one hot chocolate coming right up." Tess then disappeared to rectify her mistake and Anna looked around the downtrodden shop. Part of her is beyond confused as to why she decided to make this her last stop on her book tour, of all places. Of course, she knows exactly why this had to be the last place. When Tess came back with a mug of hot chocolate and insisted Anna sit whilst Tess got the shop back into its usual set up, they got to chatting.

"So, how long have you been into writing?" Tess's question was slightly muffled as she lifted a table herself. Anna watched nervously like she was intimidated, but her body didn't show that. Only her eyes.

"Well, I've always liked creative writing. I was that student that made sure they were always early to English class. So, I wrote obsessively in my spare time, submitting whatever I could into any and all competitions I could find. I actually started off as a university student with a joint degree in law and business."

"That's impressive. I barely made it through college," Tess commented quickly, before allowing Anna to continue.

"Then, out of the blue, one of the novels I sent away got picked up by a publisher, and they really liked it. It's not as well-known as some of my later books." Anna was cradling her mug in both hands, resting it on top of her thighs as she gazed at somewhere on the floor dreamily, remembering the past.

"How did you meet your husband?" Tess asked, carrying some of the new books to their respective shelves. The nonchalant words made Anna flinch, and look down into her cup, swirling the light brown liquid around.

"One of my book tours, it was my murder mystery series. He was there for the media presence and he saw me. We chatted, talked, drank and it felt...appropriate." Anna's voice had gone from sentimental to professional like she was reciting a monologue. Tess looked at her strangely.

"Appropriate? Not like overwhelming or butterflies in your stomach, just...appropriate? We are talking about a romance and not a business transaction." Tess looked over at the brunette, her darker skin glowing with foreign background in the golden hour. She scoffed, and then she put down her mug, gathered her things and then opened the shop door to leave before she turned over her shoulder and said, "I'm a thriller / psychological horror writer, I don't do bubbly romance." Then the bell chimed, and Anna left the shop, but also took something else with her.