Wendy stared at the bookstore with the brightly painted red door. Situated in the downtown area, the new and used book shop occupied the first two stories of the red brick building. The other four floors were being rented out as apartments. A small plastic Open sign hung in the window next to a display table full of children’s fairytale books.

The last few days had been a daze. She couldn’t bring herself to leave the area, leave her family. But she was running out of money and needed to find a way to keep going. She couldn’t afford any more cheap hotels. The headaches hadn’t eased up, but she’d suffer through them any day if it meant she wouldn’t go back to the clinic.

She stood with the newspaper ad in her hand and scrutinized it one more time.

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Wendy looked over her shoulder at the stone clock tower in the park. 1:50. Well, it was always better to arrive early to an open interview. Most of the full-time jobs had been filled months ago, and this was the only part-time job even remotely interesting.

Wendy opened the front door, and bells, attached to a leather strap, jingled softly above her head. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed happily. There was no greater smell than that of books…and the older the books the better the smell. Other people might cringe at the slightly musty odor and the dust, but not her. It filled her with a sense of belonging. Wendy knew she was home.

Then she opened her eyes and noticed the number of people already there. At least three other people stood waiting or asking the man at the checkout desk questions about the job. The door jangled again, and two more girls entered and walked up to the desk—one with red hair so bright it obviously came from a box, the other with a loose brown braid. “We’re here for the job interview,” they said almost in unison.

The clerk wearing his black apron with a giant Saint Bernard logo on the front held up his hands and said. “Okay, okay. Quiet down, everyone.” The man scratched his head. “Well, a lot more of you showed up for the job than I originally expected. I’m happy that so many of you are interested.”

Wendy heard the dark-haired girl comment under her breath to her friend. “Yeah, so excited that all of the good jobs in this pathetic town were already taken.”

The redhead nodded in agreement. “It also smells funny in here.”

“I’m Mr. Bernard, the owner,” the man continued, oblivious to the girls’ snide remarks. He looked to be in his late fifties, with peppered gray and white hair and a thick mustache that lined his small upper lip. It was obvious that large crowds made him uncomfortable, and he wasn’t sure what to do with the group of slightly desperate potential employees.

“Ah, I know.” He clapped his hands together and his face beamed. “If you brought a résumé, put it here, and I’ll start with those and interview you each one by one.

Wendy’s stomach dropped as four in the room surged forward to put their résumés on the counter. She didn’t think she’d needed one for a part-time job.

Mr. Bernard looked over the rest of the waiting group, and he reached underneath the counter and pulled out a pad of tear off employee applications. “The rest of you, take a moment and fill this out, please.”

The pad went around the room. As soon as people got their forms, they retreated to a chair or a table and began working on the form.

Wendy tore off the white paper and took an empty seat next to the two girls who had come in after her. She watched as they pulled pens out of their purses and started filling in blanks. Name, address, education. Their heads bobbed, and they giggled and talked softly between them.

“Do you think he would hire us both?” the girl with dyed red hair asked her friend.

Wendy picked up a discarded golf pencil from a bin by the register and began to fill out the form.

First Name: Wendy

Last Name:

She stopped and felt that familiar plummeting in her stomach. This was never going to work. They’d find out who she was for sure if she wrote in her real name. Her breathing had quickened, and her grip on the pencil intensified until she snapped the tip and left a small rip in the application.

The two female heads at the end of the table turned to look at her, and Wendy mumbled an apology.

Last name. Okay, if she couldn’t write Owens, she’d have to make one up. Her eyes scanned the bookstore, and her eyes came to rest on the small plug-in teapot and the green box of Darjeeling next to it.

Wendy Green? No. Darling—her mom always called her that anyway. So it wasn’t a total lie.

Her hand automatically entered in Darling as her last name.

When it came to her current address, she stopped again. She didn’t know how to proceed. She moved down to her education, hesitated, and finally wrote in a rival school, not Timber Valley.

Wendy heard the frenzied scratching of the girls’ pens on paper, and her heart stuttered. There was no way she would get the job. She needed to stop fooling herself. But just to give herself something to do, for home address, she wrote Kinderly Park.

Mr. Bernard picked up the first application that was turned in and called the person over to a side table for a small one-on-one interview. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She folded the application in half twice, stuffed it into her brother’s green jacket, and walked to the back of the store, hoping for a quiet place to wait until nightfall. This was stupid. How could she have thought she’d get a job with no address?

Wendy wasn’t surprised when she found herself in the children’s section surrounded by kiddie tables, large stuffed animals, bean bags, a small puppet theater, a reading stage with a curtain, and a large rocking chair.

Overwhelmed and exhausted, she sat in the blue beanbag chair and folded her hands across her chest.

A soft huff to her left made her start. What she had originally thought was a large stuffed animal was actually a real life St. Bernard lounging across the stairs. The dog noticed Wendy and made another huffing noise before it crawled forward and placed its large square head on her lap, begging for attention.

“Oh, what a sweetie,” Wendy cooed softly as she began to rub the dog gently behind the ears. The dog butted its head against her hand when she stopped her scratching. “Yes, I see that you’re a bit spoiled, too.”

This time when Wendy stopped scratching the dog, it proceeded to crawl across her lap until she was nearly covered. The dog was very heavy, but she enjoyed being surrounded by its warmth. Wendy saw the glimpse of gold and reached for the tag to read the dog’s name.

Nana.

“Oh, so you’re a girl? Doesn’t surprise me one bit. I think you’re a lovely, sweet-tempered girl.” They sat like that, curled in a bean bag chair, hidden in the children’s section, and Wendy thought this was the best day she’d had in a long time. She felt safe and warm and soon became lost in her thoughts.

Wendy counted the times the door jingled as it opened and closed and figured almost everyone had already left, but she had no desire to abandon the bookstore just yet. “Do you like stories, Nana?”

The dog’s ears rose slightly. Wendy wondered if that was because she had stopped her petting.

“Well, I think you are in for a doozy.” Wendy curled up and slowly and softly told one of the wildest tales she’d ever told. It was true she didn’t know how much of her tale was true and how much was false, since it was based on her nightmares. But it felt nice to tell someone everything.

“And then the dark shadow flew into the young girl’s room through the window. It stood over her bed and reached for her.”

A soft cough interrupted her story. Wendy tried her best to turn to the person, but the weight of the large St. Bernard proved an impediment.

A young man leaned against one of the old wooden columns that supported the upper floor. Her heartbeat quickened at the sight of Peter. His tousled brown hair had hints of red. His eyes were a deep, mischievous green that twinkled with silent laughter as she struggled beneath the dog. He wasn’t moving toward her or threatening her, so she decided it was best to play it cool, not let on that she recognized him as the one who saved her from the monster.

“She’s quite taken with you.” He chuckled softly, gesturing to Nana.

“Well, the feeling is mutual,” she replied, watching him carefully.

“Didn’t you come in for the job? I think everyone has already had their interview. You’re up.”

Wendy looked away and tried to deny it. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “No, I’m not here for the job,” she lied. “I, uh, came here to be a dog bed.”

He scooped up the folded paper that had fallen out of her pocket and that now lay out of reach on the floor. One of his auburn eyebrows rose in skepticism.

His eyes scanned the paper, and they lit up at something he saw. “So, Wendy, you’re not interested in the part-time job?” He waved the paper in front of her and she reached out and tried to snatch it away.

He laughed and continued reading. But then disappointment marred his expression, and her stomach turned. It was obvious he was a bit displeased by her lack of answers. He folded up her application and shoved it in his pocket.

Why would he do that?

Nana chose that moment to yawn and butt her head against Wendy’s chest.

“Oof.” Wendy responded when the head butt hit her a little too hard.

“I think she wants you to continue your story.”

“No, that’s okay. Maybe next time.” Wendy tried to sit up, but the dog refused to budge so she just sank farther into the beanbag.

“Well, if you won’t continue for her, maybe you’d do it for me,” he said gently. “I like stories. Especially ones told by beautiful girls.”

Peter’s smile disarmed her and made her feel at ease in his presence. Nana seemed to like him, anyway. Her tail wagged when she looked up at him. And she was obviously a good judge of character. “Um, okay.” Wendy blushed and tucked a strand of her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear and tried to pick up where she had left off. But she couldn’t remember.

“So, once upon a time…”

“No. Not that one.” Peter frowned and kneeled next to her. He reached out to bury his hand in Nana’s soft dark fur and began to scratch. “The other one.” His deep green eyes lifted up and met hers over the dog’s head, and her breath caught.

“I don’t remember where I was.”

He glanced down at her lips quickly before looking back up and she felt herself trapped. Trapped under a dog and trapped with his gaze. His eyes searched hers, and he nodded his head encouragingly. “The shadow. The shadow had reached for you and…”

“No, not me. The girl,” Wendy corrected. “It is a story after all. The shadow reached for the girl.” But the way he changed that one word made her extremely nervous. She didn’t want to finish the story. She wanted to escape the mesmerizing gaze of Peter and run away.

She tried to push Nana off, but the dog refused to budge.

Peter pinched his lips and made a soft commanding whistle. Nana’s ears perked up, and she moved over to sit by his feet.

“So now…about the ending of my story. The shadow reached for her and…” he trailed off, offering her help up out of the sunken bean bag.

Wendy took his hand and he pulled her up until they were nose to nose. He didn’t release her hands immediately. She had to pull away—gently though. She didn’t fear him. Honestly, it was weird how safe she felt with him near, when she should be running away. She idly brushed off the dog’s hair from her pants as she tried to regain her thoughts.

“The shadow?” he coaxed.

She usually spun her stories differently, always promising a happy ending, so she was going to give herself one here as well. “The shadow promised freedom, adventure, and love…if she’d but take his hand and fly away from there.”

“Away from where?” His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer.

She inhaled and released the answer in a whisper. “Never mind, it’s just a story.”

He frowned before turning away from her and stalking over toward the counter. Had he been angry? Why? It was just a stupid story. He was the one who wanted her to finish the ending. Now she just felt embarrassed. She yanked up her backpack and slung it over her shoulder, heading toward the exit.

All of the interviewees had left, and the bookstore was empty. Mr. Bernard, the owner, was looking at the stack of papers and notes in front of him, still overwhelmed, from the look of it. Peter was leaning over whispering to him.

Her stomach dropped, as doubt filled her mind at what she saw. What was he telling the owner? Was he telling him not to hire her? Was it because her stories were a little odd? That she was odd?

He pointed in her direction and the owner gave her a surprised look. Yeah, he probably was. Wendy gripped her pack tighter and opened the door.

“Hey!” Peter yelled, but the door slammed and its jingling bell cut him off.

Wendy kept a brisk pace away from the shop, head low. Infuriated tears formed in the corner of her eyes, but she held them back. She heard the bookstore door jangle open down the block accompanied by another shout of her name. Without missing a beat, she ducked into the closest shop, which happened to be a secondhand boutique. She moved behind a rack of clothes and watched out the window as he ran down the sidewalk searching for her. Wendy gritted her teeth in frustration, because as much as she loved that store, she couldn’t see herself going back.

Especially if he was there.