-4-

I smiled at a customer as I rang up a purchase. "Okay, Mrs. Cole," I said to the woman who was standing across the counter from me. "Two copies of 'Oh, All the Places You'll Go.' Good choice of literature." I handed the woman her change and wrapped the books in paper before slipping them inside a plastic carrier bag.

"The books are for my nephews," Mrs. Cole said as she accepted the parcel. "They're graduating from University soon and this seemed like the right thing to give them."

"They'll love it," I told her. "Oh, wait! Are these for Chris and Carter?" I remembered Mrs. Cole had twin nephews whom she was very find of. "They're graduating from university already? Oh, that makes me feel so old!"

"Gwen, they're only a year younger than you so you are certainly not old!" Mrs. Cole laughed at my distress. "You just graduated from University early." She waved goodbye as she made her way to the door. The bell above the door frame made a familiar tinkling sound as she closed it behind her.

I sighed and stepped out from behind the counter. It was an unusually busy day in the store, people were coming in and out since we opened at nine this morning and it continued well into the lunch hours. I wasn't complaining, though. We had just bounced back from what seemed to be a never-ending string of bad luck. We had nearly sold the business twice, but somehow managed to find ways to keep out heads above financial ruin.

I ran my fingers across the gleaming wood bookshelves as I walked through the aisles that were ripe with literature. I grew up in this store. I remembered afternoons spend behind the counter with my grandfather as he cherfully greeted every customer who came to see what new titles made it to Tomes. We had been in danger of losing it a couple of times, and the second one really put us the wringer. It was only with a lot of pleading with banks and friends were we able to keep on going. The debts have been repaid since, and I will be damned before I give up this store.

We were by no means wealthy, and even with the bookstore, I remember times when we barely scraped by. But my brother and I were raised by our family to not be ashamed of our blue-collar background. We did good, decent work-me as an accountant, Elyan as the owner of his own motor shop-and we were all proud of what we had achieved.

I was shaken out of my reverie by the tinkling of the door bell and a voice that called out, "Hello!" I moved away from the back shelves and made my way to the front of the store. I was greeted by a young man who looked to be at his wit's end. He was tall and just a little to pale than what I was used to. His brow was furrowed and he was worrying his lower lip when he saw me.

"Good morning," I greeted him, a little amused at how out of sorts he was. "How can I help you today?"

"I need a book," he blurted out.

"You've come to the right place," I moved to the counter and moved to the computer that held our database of every book that was in the store as well the titles that scheduled for delivery. "Do you have the title or the name of the author?"

"Umm," he exhaled loudly and ran his hand through his hair. "Not exactly. What I need is a book that will tell me how to write a book."

I blinked at him. "Excuse me?" I got a lot of strange requests at the bookstore, but this was kind of bizarre. "A book that can t...oh!" I practically ran to the stacks and found what I was looking for. I came back and handed it to the man with a smile and a raise of my eyebrows. "Here," I told him.

"Writing a Novel and Getting Published For Dummies?" he gave me a sideways glance.

"Don't let the title fool you," I said. "A lot of people find that book helpful. And as it seems like you're starting from scratch, you could probably do with simple instructions."

"Hey," he exclaimed, although he smiled as he said it. "But honestly, do you think this will help?"

I nodded. "It should," I told him. "People rate it very highly." Then I furrowed my brow at him. "Although I would put off sending my manuscript to a publisher until after I've had a lot more experience, but that's just me." I backtracked, damning my lack of mind-mouth filter.

"No such thing for me, I'm afraid," he said laughing. He put the book down on the counter and proceeded to reach for his wallet. "It's just," he hesitated. "I sort of made a bet with a friend that I could write a story about her."

"Oh," I said. "Well, then it's all good, I suppose." I took the credit card he offered and ran it through the machine. "Emrys," I murmured as I handed him the sales slip to sign. "That's an unusual last name. Are you related to Dr. Hunith Emrys?"

His face was split by a wide smile. "I'm her son," he said. I swore his chest puffed up with pride when he said this. The way he identified himself wasn't lost on me, it implied that he put his mother over himself. I was charmed.

"Wow," I breathed. "That is so impressive." I took the sales slip from him and handed him the wrapped book. "Thank you for coming to Tomes, Mr. Emrys. I hope you visit again. And," I gestured towards his purchase. "Good luck with your story. I hope your friend likes it."

He offered his hand and I shook it. "Call me Merlin and thank you," there was a slight pause and I realized that he didn't know my name.

"Guinevere," I said. "But call me Gwen, my full name is a mouthful."

"Guinevere," he smiled. "Gwen. It suits you." He tucked his book under his arm and moved to the door. "Thank you for your help. I'll be sure to drop by to let you know the result."

I waved goodbye and soon he was out the door and I was left smiling at the counter. Everyone's a writer, I mused.