"Sometimes love is not enough."
With a complicated relationship with her mother, a loud household, an unrequited love and a scholarship to get, Iris Kingston thinks she already has enough on her plate.
But life has a wicked sense of humor, doesn'...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
*Please check out Blooming Iris's Pinterest board 'Wattpad/ Blooming Iris' ,link in my description*
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
See, the amazing thing about Ash is that not only he tolerated my craziness, but my whole family's. He knew how to make Seb laugh, he had conversations with Vicky about Disney princesses, he became Will's role model, and him and Heather already developed their secret handshake. My father hasn't kicked his butt -which meant he liked him- and I'm sure that if I checked my mom's planner I'll find the date of our wedding already scheduled.
And I, well let's say that my face muscles are begging for some rest since I haven't stopped smiling for like, a month.
We argued a few times but it was normal, right?
Now, we were standing in front of the most beautiful vintage book shop I've ever seen. It was Asher's idea to visit it.
The front of the shop was all black, its name "Libreria" written in cursive, a window showed the dimly lit inside. I took several pictures, while squealing internally.
Stepping inside was like stepping into a dream, the smell of old books and leather surrounded me, and I caught a whiff of burning incense. I wished there could be a device that caught smells and turned them into perfumes. I would buy a thousand bottles so everywhere I went, I would feel like I'm back in this place.
Hand in hand, Ash and I traveled through the tunnel of beautiful old books. My index traveled the length of a shelf and it felt like I've traveled half the globe, it felt like soaking up memories, stories and old tales. The covers were majestically elegant, with the gold titles and illustrations, on leather or dark colored fabric. I didn't know why books aren't sold with covers like that anymore. These were art within art, the art of words within the art of hardback covers.
The owner was an old man, sitting in a small wooden desk with a book in hand. He briefly smiled at us and turns back to his book.
I turn to Asher, smiling big, to find him already watching me with an expression that almost made my eyes tear up.
A word for what I felt at that moment came to my mind, and no matter how hard I tried to push back, it wouldn't budge. I turn away from my boy next to me, heart thumping loudly, and cheeks flooding with color.
