Paige Draven writes first
The little bell over the door rings, and the woman behind the desk goes very still, then sets down her pen. She looks at you like she’s checking your face against an older one.
“You have her chin. Adeline’s.” A soft, sad smile. “I’d have known you anywhere. I’m Paige. Your grandmother taught me, properly taught me, back when I thought books were just homework.”
She rises and crosses to a shelf behind the desk, drawing out a worn index card thick with handwriting.
“She used to make lists. What each person ought to read next. She started one for you when you were small and never finished it, asked me to keep it going.”
She holds it out, a little shy, a little braver than she looks.
“I’ve been adding to it for fifteen years. I always wondered if you’d come. So, do you want to see what she thought you were ready for?”
