Amara flipped the business card in her hand, the edges slightly damp from the rain last night. Logan Myers, Architect. Beneath his name, a handwritten address was inked neatly in black pen. The words felt heavy in her palm, heavier than a card had any right to be.
She set it down on the counter and returned to shelving the new arrivals. The shop was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath her feet. Outside, the rain had stopped, but the city remained wrapped in a gray haze, the streets glistening under the streetlights.
Her gaze kept drifting back to the card. She'd met hundreds of people since opening the bookstore, many of them forgettable. But something about Logan lingered, the image of his tired smile flashing in her mind like the echoes of a half-forgotten dream.
"Enough," she muttered, giving herself a small shake. Business cards were for networking, not musing.
---
The next morning brought the usual rhythm of her life. Amara arrived early to prepare for the day, the smell of brewing coffee filling the small space. She liked the quiet moments before the city fully woke, when the bookstore felt like an island untouched by the chaos outside.
Her routine was interrupted by a loud bang as the door flew open, the bell jangling wildly.
"Tell me you have tea!" Mia's voice rang out like a gust of wind as she strode in, her oversized tote bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. She dropped it onto the counter and flopped into the old leather armchair by the window.
"No tea," Amara replied with a smirk, pouring her friend a cup of coffee instead.
Mia groaned, accepting it anyway. "Fine. But you better have gossip to go with this. I'm living vicariously through you, and I need something juicy."
Amara rolled her eyes. "I live the most boring life imaginable. You know that."
"Boring doesn't exist," Mia countered. "It's just poorly told stories. So? Spill."
Amara hesitated, then sighed. "A guy came in last night. He dropped this." She reached into her pocket and slid the business card across the counter.
Mia picked it up, her eyes widening as she read. "Logan Myers? The Logan Myers?"
"I'm guessing you know who he is?"
Mia stared at her like she'd just announced she didn't know what pizza was. "Are you serious? Logan Myers is one of the hottest architects in the city. He designed that rooftop bar with the crazy glass floors. You know the one! And he's loaded. Like, Manhattan-penthouse loaded."
Amara arched an eyebrow. "Sounds like you've memorized his biography."
"Oh, that's not even the good part." Mia leaned in conspiratorially. "Last year, he was all over the tabloids because his fiancée dumped him for her personal trainer. It was messy. Like, 'exclusive interviews and paparazzi stalking' messy."
"I don't read tabloids," Amara replied flatly, though she couldn't deny the flicker of curiosity that sparked in her chest.
"Well, you should! Because this—" Mia waved the card in front of her face—"is fate. You need to return this and see if sparks fly."
Amara snorted. "It's a business card, not a marriage proposal. He'll probably come back for it."
"And when he does," Mia said, leaning back with a smug grin, "you'll thank me for planting the idea."
---
Amara didn't have long to wait.
By late morning, the doorbell chimed softly, and she looked up from her spot behind the counter. There he was, Logan Myers, looking far more put-together than he had the previous night. His coat was neatly buttoned, his hair carefully styled, but his expression still carried that same air of quiet intensity.
"I think I left something here last night," he said, his voice low but steady.
Amara nodded, already reaching into her pocket. She held up the card, watching as relief flickered across his face.
"Thank you," he said, stepping closer to the counter. He took the card, his fingers brushing hers briefly—a fleeting touch, but enough to send a small jolt up her arm. "I thought I'd lost it for good."
"Easy to misplace things when it's raining," Amara replied, surprised by how casual her voice sounded.
Logan smiled faintly, slipping the card into his wallet. "True. Though I think I've been misplacing more than just cards lately."
Amara tilted her head, curious despite herself. "What do you mean?"
He hesitated, his gaze drifting toward the bookshelves as though searching for an answer there. "I don't know. Just... life feels scattered, like I've been running too fast and forgot to keep track of where I was going."
Her lips curved into a small smile. "Bookstores are good for slowing down."
"They are," he agreed, his eyes meeting hers. There was something in his expression—a quiet vulnerability, like he wasn't used to letting people see this side of him.
An awkward pause settled between them, broken only by Mia's exaggerated cough. Amara had nearly forgotten her friend was still there, perched by the window with her coffee.
"Well," Mia said loudly, standing up and grabbing her bag. "I'll just leave you two to... whatever this is. Don't mind me."
Amara shot her a glare as Mia walked out, the bell jingling behind her. Logan chuckled softly, the tension easing from his shoulders.
"Your friend seems... spirited," he remarked.
"That's one way to put it," Amara replied, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks.
Logan lingered, his gaze sweeping over the shelves again. "This place is amazing," he said, his voice quieter now. "It feels different from most bookstores. Less... corporate. Like every book has its own story, even the ones on the shelves."
Amara leaned her hip against the counter, her curiosity piqued. "That's the goal. I've always wanted this place to feel personal. Not just somewhere to buy books, but somewhere to... I don't know, belong."
Logan smiled at that, a soft, genuine smile that made him seem less like the polished figure Mia had described and more like the man who had stumbled in last night, drenched and tired. "You've succeeded. It feels like a safe place."
The compliment caught her off guard. She cleared her throat, trying to shake the warmth creeping into her chest. "So, since you're here, are you looking for another book? Or just retrieving your card?"
Logan chuckled, glancing toward the fiction section. "Actually, I could use another book. Something hopeful, if you have it."
Hopeful. The word settled in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. Amara nodded and stepped out from behind the counter, motioning for him to follow.
"I think I've got just the thing," she said, leading him to a shelf near the back. Her fingers brushed over the spines until they landed on a particular title.
Logan took the book from her hands, his fingers grazing hers for a second time. The contact, though fleeting, left her feeling unexpectedly exposed. He looked down at the title: A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman.
"It's about finding hope in unexpected places," Amara explained, crossing her arms loosely as she watched him study the cover. "The main character is this grumpy, lonely man who slowly reconnects with the people around him. It's... warm. Uplifting."
Logan traced the embossed letters of the title, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I think this might be exactly what I need. Thank you."
Her heart stuttered at his tone—sincere, almost vulnerable—but she quickly pushed the thought aside. "You're welcome. Let me ring it up for you."
They walked back to the counter, and Amara wrapped the book in a simple paper bag before handing it to him. He slid a card across the counter to pay, but her eyes lingered on him instead of the machine.
"You know," she ventured, her voice careful, "if you're feeling scattered, maybe you're just in the middle of figuring things out. That's not a bad thing."
Logan paused, his gaze lifting to hers. For a moment, the air seemed to shift, charged with something she couldn't quite name. "You might be right," he said softly. "Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between being lost and just being... in transition."
Amara nodded, her fingers brushing absently against the counter. "Books help with that too. They're like... maps for the soul, I guess."
A low chuckle escaped him, rich and warm. "That's a good line. You should put it on the window display."
"Maybe I will," she replied, a smile tugging at her lips.
Logan tucked the wrapped book under his arm, his gaze lingering on her for a beat longer than seemed necessary. "Thank you, Amara," he said, his voice gentle.
Her name on his lips startled her. She hadn't told him her name, had she?
"I saw it on your badge," Logan clarified, as though reading her thoughts. He gestured toward the small wooden pin she wore on her sweater.
"Oh. Right," she murmured, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks.
He smiled again, and it was softer this time, less guarded. "I'll see you around."
Amara watched him leave, the door chiming softly behind him. The store felt quieter in his absence, the air heavier, as though the space he'd occupied still held a trace of him. She turned back to the counter, her fingers brushing against the wooden surface absently.
The bookshop door had closed, but something told her this wasn't the last time she'd see Logan Myers.
---