Chapter Text
The peace of the morning is shattered as the door to the block of flats bursts open and a blonde woman wearing just a few too many rainbows comes rushing out.
The groundskeeper tips his hat and waves. "Late again, Aubrey?" he calls out.
Aubrey throws a wave back over her shoulder. "Sorry!" she calls. "No time!"
"Obviously!"
Aubrey sprints toward the bus stop, something made much more difficult by the several heavy books she has stashed in the rucksack slung over her shoulder.
It's not that big of a deal if she's late. Grace herself has always said that their hours are more of a suggestion than hard and fast rules. And as chronically spaced out and late as Aubrey can be, she's grateful for that.
Still, she's been late every day this week and she feels horrible. The least she can do is try to show up on time for her last shift of the week.
She makes it just on time, scrambling through the doors of the bus just as they're closing. She flashes the driver an apologetic grin as she taps her card.
The driver, familiar with her and her antics, just shakes her head and waves her along.
Aubrey finds a seat near the middle of the bus and sets her heavy rucksack down at her feet and pulls it open, removing one of the thicker books from the collection inside.
One of the best parts about working in a small bookshop is being able to take books home and read them for the shop's staff recommendation display.
It's just that Aubrey gets a little too enthusiastic about this, and often ends up bringing way too many books home.
"Your back is gonna be worse than mine, and you're half my age," Grace tells her on a weekly basis.
She's not quite finished reading her current book—a recent release about nonbinary genders—and she misses her stop.
It's only when one of the other passengers, an elderly woman who takes this same route everyday, nudges her and asks if she was supposed to get off at the last stop that Aubrey realizes where she is.
Blushing deeply and balancing her book in one hand and her still-heavy rucksack in the other, she gets off at the next stop. She's not quite done reading, so she slings her rucksack over her shoulders and walks with her nose buried in the book.
She spots the flowers out of the corner of her eye and snaps her book shut, turning to look at the bookshop on the other side of the road.
The Love Abides bookshop may only be a few years old now, but the shopfront itself has been here for decades. Grace kept the original facade, painting it a deep blue to replace the ugly peeling green paint that had been here before. The name of the shop is painted in each of the two large windows, and a string of small pride flags is stretched across the top of each window. A chalkboard sign is propped up out front, welcoming people to the shop.
Aubrey crosses the road and opens the door.
Stepping into Love Abides feels like coming home, like a warm hug after a long day. The lighting is soft, the music quiet. Armchairs are scattered all over, designed for people to sink into and relax. A large pride flag (the intersex-inclusive progress flag) hangs on the wall behind the checkout counter, where Grace O'Brien herself is standing.
"Hey, Grace," Aubrey says.
Grace, an older Black woman with her hair done up in braids and a tendency to wear the softest, most huggable jumpers in existence, smiles at her. "You made it," she says.
Aubrey throws her arms out to the side. "I made it." She ducks into the back room to hang up her coat and rucksack, replacing them with a dark blue apron embroidered with the shop's name. "So what's on the agenda for today?"
"We got a new shipment in," Grace says, gesturing to a small pile of boxes by the counter. "If you could go ahead and sort that, I'd be grateful." She looks over at Aubrey and raises an eyebrow. "What have I told you about carrying around so many books?"
"I know, I know," Aubrey says.
"Use the cart, Aubrey."
She playfully sticks her tongue out at Grace as she grabs the rolling cart and starts piling books onto it.
It's not long before the first customers start coming in. Aubrey keeps to herself, rearranging the shelves to fit the new books in. She likes talking to people, but she's also quite socially awkward and sometimes that can scare people off. Especially people who are new to the shop or new to themselves.
Grace has enough people skills for the two of them put together, anyway.
She's just about finished putting all of the new books away when something outside catches her eye. She looks over to see a young person standing just outside the shop window. She watches as they take in the row of pride flags stretched across the top of the window, as they wrap their arms tightly around themself. She can see a pride bracelet sticking out from under the sleeve of their denim jacket.
Everything about them screams closeted or newly out queer person, and Aubrey's heart goes out to them.
They stand there for a few more minutes, obviously waging a battle in their mind over whether to go inside. Finally, head bowed and shoulders sagging, they turn and walk away.
"Poor kid."
Aubrey jumps and looks back to see Grace approaching with a stack of books. "You saw that, too, huh?"
"Yeah. Poor dear looked terrified." She sighs. "Well, at least they know we're here. Sometimes it takes a while to take that first step."
Aubrey smiles, albeit somewhat stiffly. "I'm almost done here," she says. "Do you mind if I do my note thing?"
"Of course not, love," Grace replies. "I'll give you a shout if I need your help."
Aubrey finishes up with the books, returning the cart to its place beside the counter. Then, she rummages in a drawer behind the counter for a stack of notecards and a pen and makes her way to the back corner of the shop, where Grace has set up a little reading nook.
Here, the shelves are full of books designed for people who have just started their personal journey. Whether they've already realized their identity or are searching for the right words, this is a place for them to sit and read and not be bothered by anyone.
Aubrey picks out a stack of books and sets them down on the floor, then flops down into a beanbag chair. She pulls the cap off of her pen with her teeth and grabs the notecards.
On each notecard, she writes words of acceptance—you are loved, you are beautiful, the world is brighter with you in it—and signs it with a little heart. She places one notecard in each of the books she's chosen, just inside the front cover so that whoever's browsing through the book will see it.
It's a tradition that Grace started. Aubrey found one of those cards the first time she was in this shop. But Grace has hand tremors and chronic pain that makes it hard to write now, and notes printed out from the computer just don't have the same personal feel, so Aubrey has taken up the mantle.
The rest of the day passes uneventfully. Grace can't be on her feet for too long, so she retires to the back office around lunch, leaving Aubrey to man the front counter. There's a small rush just after one o'clock, but for the most part, Aubrey just sits in one of the armchairs just to the side of the counter and reads.
The end of her shift rolls around and she heads into the back room, exchanging her apron for her coat and unloading the books from her rucksack to give her back a break.
"Aubrey?"
Aubrey looks up from her bag to see a harried-looking Grace approaching her. "What's up?" she asks.
Grace presses a hand to her forehead. "I made a mistake with the schedules," she says. "And now I've got no one to help me with the meeting tomorrow afternoon."
The meeting. Grace runs a book club every second Saturday—or at least, that's what she calls it, in order to protect any vulnerable people in the group. In reality, it's a group of queer people who get together to talk about whatever's going on in their lives and in the world, to find solidarity and acceptance, and advice if they need it.
That was actually how Aubrey came to work here; after finding the note in the book, she'd attended one of Grace's book clubs, and happened to overhear her talking about needing some help in the shop.
Aubrey loves books, and the chance to be openly, unabashedly herself sealed the deal.
"I know I've had you working all this week," Grace says. "But is there any way I could ask you to help me with the meeting?"
"Yeah, of course," Aubrey says immediately.
Grace gives her a suspicious look. "Just like that?" she says. "You're sure. I don't want you canceling plans."
Aubrey shrugs. "I'm not doing anything tomorrow," she says. "Honestly I was thinking of dropping in, anyway."
Grace looks at her suspiciously, but finally gives in. "Thank you, love," she says. "I'll make it up to you, I promise." She squeezes Aubrey's shoulder and hurries off.
Aubrey heads to the front door, stepping aside and smiling at a young couple—regulars—as they enter. Then, with one last look around the shop, she steps out into a warm Sheffield evening, already thinking of what snacks she'll bring to the meeting tomorrow.