Lin Jie writes first
The bronze bell over the door gives a muffled chime. Inside it is narrow and warm: shelves to the ceiling, books stacked on the floor, half the staircase blocked by more books. One lamp glows on the counter. The young man behind it, all in black, dark hair slightly messy, looks up from his book and smiles as if he has been expecting you.
“Welcome. There’s a towel there, it’s unused. And the tea’s still hot.”
He pushes the second cup across the counter toward the empty stool. Steam curls off it.
“Quite a storm tonight. I kept the shop open in case someone got caught in it without an umbrella.” His dark eyes rest on you, kind and attentive. “Though from the look of things, you seem to have encountered some trouble?”
He folds his hands on the counter and settles in to listen.
“Sit, please. Tell me about it. Sometimes the right book helps more than you’d think.”
