Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It would be an exaggeration to say that Rice has led a charmed life. Everyone has their struggles and those who register as Different have more than their fair share; and Rice, ever since childhood, has definitely been seen as different.

However, given all that, Rice is pretty content with how things have turned out. She got good grades in college, she has a few friends and most of all, she has the Blue Rose. 

When she lets her eyes drift over the shelves she can't help but feel a sustaining warmth. 

This was her doing. This is her store.  At the same time she notes that the Romance corner is a little picked over and probably needs re-shelving; and that display about Summerween horror books is probably a week or two too old.

Still, the neighborhood loves the Blue Rose and, far more surprisingly, loves Rice. The nice lady who runs the bakery down the street visits seemingly every other day and she has a small group of business people who work at the building nearby who stop in once a week after work to chat and pick up something for the week.

In online reviews visitors note that  the store has a unique and relaxing environment. Even visitors to the city come for the black bookshelves and flower ornamentation throughout the shop. It's different, just like Rice, and people like it for that!

Today... though. The shop is awfully quiet. 1PM on a Wednesday isn't exactly peak hours but it's not as bad as, Thursday at 9. Now if it was Thursday at 9, that would make sense. 

Rice snorts at her little joke to herself and glances out the window to see what the issue might be.

And the issue is readily apparent: the street is full of cars. Shiny nice news ones, mostly electric and SUVs, alongside some older models. And parking being full on a weekday is certainly not common.

The other noticeable difference is the building across the street, once an old hardware store, now has a sleek new exterior. Through its large windows, Rice can see from the equipment and lighting that it's a gym. And the main space, or at least what she can see of it, is packed with people.

Now Rice is the definition of 'Roll Over' but she, along with the rest of the  neighborhood businesses, learned from their experience with the novelty ice cream shop that moved in a few years ago and brought parking destruction in its wake.

In the aftermath it was agreed that parking would be sectioned off to ensure businesses could at least get 1 or 2 customers. In addition, high traffic stores or places that encouraged staying longer were urged to find alternative parking solutions. Rice was very lucky book readers often overlapped with those who liked to ride bikes or take public transit. 

Still, car drivers were her bread and butter on weekdays before work let out. And Rice absolutely hated to pigeonhole others but, (and she took a second, closer look to make sure) she was pretty sure that most of her customer-base didn't have  unironic ironic bumper stickers like "Do You Even Lift Bro?” in glittering pink.

The store owner turned around and searched for her employee. "Urara, when did that gym open up?" The short woman with pink hair stopped bobbing around to her own soundtrack as she shelved the new arrivals and turned around with a thoughtful finger pressed to her lips and her ears twitching.

"I think... maybe two days ago? Isn't it so cool! It's all silver and shiny and the woman who owns it is really tall! I saw her sweeping up yesterday! Do you think she can lift a lot? Do you think everyone there can lift a lot? Do you think they can lift a bear?"

"I, uh, don't think so? I haven't met a bear, but they're pretty heavy. I think."

Urara pursed her lips in a pout and resumed her shelving. 

With a deep breath, Rice steeled herself and stepped out of the front door, past the stained glass windows that adorned her store-front, past the signs saying 'Blue Rose parking only', past the cars with bumper sticker depicting stick figure families that all were very muscular and across the street.

Honestly, she was a bit shocked to find herself in front of the  gleaming glass double doors. And in that moment she knew  it would've been so easy to turn around and dip back into the shade of her store and to take deep breaths of air scented with paper and complex floral candles.

Instead, she let her hand rest against the brushed aluminum door and pushed inside. The music was pumping, buoyed on a steady bass beat, and it was punctuated by the sounds of grunts, shouts and clanking weights.

A woman stood at almost too-perfect attention behind the front desk and seemingly honed in on Rice. The bookshop owner barely had time to read “Bakushin O.” on her name page before she was bombarded.

“Hello! Welcome to Strong Bourbon. Please scan in at this reader right here. Unless you haven’t been here before in which case, welcome! Again! We have three different tiers, in addition to various class. The first tier is our Gold tier which includes unlimited acc—“

“Um!”

The woman behind the counter stood stock still and Rice was right there with her. The interjection had just jumped out of her.

“I-I’m the owner of the Blue Rose.”

“Oh, the bookstore! Bookstores are such wonderful places. Did you know that reading is integral to—“

“Anyways!” Another awkward moment of silence. Rice felt bad but she had the sense that if she didn’t step in, she would never get to do what she came here to do. Or worse, she would leave with a membership for a gym she’d never go to.

“I… just wanted to talk to the owner of this place. If she’s here.”

“Oh! Of course. What are you here for?”Rice gulped. “To… say hi?”

She was a coward and she knew it. Unfamiliar situations always put her off kilter and brought out the worst. She had to get this done with as quickly as possible.

“How lovely!” Exclaimed the woman behind the desk and at a pace that almost seemed dangerous inside, she shot off.

The silence pressed in on the black-haired woman, and Rice closed her eyes and counted her breath. She was curious about the gym, but she could already feel her nerve slipping away. It would be so much easier to run across the street and hang out in her empty store.

“Hello.”

Surely that must be yet another customer here for the gym.

“Hello.”

Maybe if she just stayed here she’d merge with the floor.

“Hello, woman I assume to be the Bookstore Owner.”

She opened her eyes and there with her hair let down and a hairband on top of her head stood a tall, and, honestly, quite strong-looking woman.

“Y-y-yes?!”

“I am Mihono Bourbon. This is my gym. Thank you for having me in the neighborhood. The rent is cheap and this building is adequately spacious.”

“Oh, I’m glad it’s still cheap! I’ve been afraid that prices would rise with further development.”

“My father and I used to visit a hardware store here often, and I always had fond memories of the neighborhood. When I realized the same spot was currently available I was unexpectedly nostalgic and responded to the opportunity within the span of a business day . Though it’s nice that the price is on the low end, according to several databases provided by the city government. It lets me price lower, and the customers seem to value that.”

“Oh! I didn’t speak much with the owner of that store but he seemed like a nice man! I didn’t go to his retirement party but I heard he retired to spend more time with his grandchildren. I mostly remember my first meeting with him when I compared him to a kindly old man in one of my favorite series.”

It hadn’t been the first time the woman had used action to allay her anxieties. Books were a layer on the world that softened its harsh realities and granted her deeper understanding. But not everyone was understanding, so even someone who didn’t take notice of the comparison was worth noting.

And Bourbon didn’t seem to pay much mind either. In fact it felt like there was something strange in her eyes, a look akin to… understanding? Which made no sense at all to Rice.

“It is too bad that I missed him before he retired, though I had not seen him in years.” The gym-owner stopped, searching for more to say and then picked right back up. “Is the day going adequately for you?

“Oh! Well, uh…” It would be a drag on the conversation to say that business was slow. Nobody liked negative. “The weather is nice! And we got in new books.”

Rice couldn’t hear the response. With a start she realized she had come here for a reason and had definitely got sucked into a conversation that was very different from what she had come to do. So she screwed up all the courage she had within her and—

“Rice has something to say!” 

Ugh, her worst bad habits were coming out. Everyone was put off by someone who referred to themselves in third person. She knew that. She had been told that again and again. There was no other option than to just follow through, no matter the reaction.

“We, I mean, the neighborhood have an agreement to try and reduce parking congestion and your people who work out here are impacting customers to my shop!”

The gym owner’s eyes didn’t widen, her eyebrows didn’t furrow; her eyes only moved minutely, as if calculating, making an argument and deciding.

“That is right, I remember now. I apologize for my lack of consideration.”

This was not how Rice expected it to go. 

Chapter Text

Some might think that there’s something romantic about living above a bookshop. Even more romantic might be the early mornings; the light of dawn pouring through the stained glass on the front of the shop, all crystallized in purple and blues, the brief silence before business hours, all the tales and essays waiting to be read.

Strangely enough, Rice didn’t feel that way. Living above was convenient and mornings were mornings, each one like the last: same old turn-of-the-century building, same old black shelves, same old children’s corner with the little wooden cartoon cut outs of animals staring out from their shelves. And most of all, same old Rice.

Rice knew that wasn’t a beneficial line of thinking, especially according to her therapist. She just couldn’t help it. Ultimately, as she saw it, the room consisted of her just-big-enough bedroom and her pretty dark-blue sheets and just her, just Rice.

If she had to put a positive spin on it, the thing that changed this monotony was the people. Customers breathed life into the shop and were-ever changing. The books they wanted and stories they loved changed day to day, and each day brought new customers as well as returning regulars.

As she looked outside the second floor window, though, her coffee mug in hand, Rice realized that today was especially different. For she could see, across the street, sitting in front of Strong Bourbon was its namesake. Perched rigidly on a stool, Mihono Bourbon seemed to survey the street like a hawk; head turning perfectly to the left and then snapping back towards the right. It was enough make the bookstore owner snort. 

To be honest, Rice’s adolescence hadn’t exactly been filled with people who went out of their way to do right by her, so she was always touched when it happened. No matter how goofy the person looked doing it.

Yesterday’s conversation with the gym owner had been brief: Ms. Mihono had vowed that she would try and remedy the parking situation and, with that so easily resolved, conversation had pretty much trailed off from there. Ms. Mihono didn’t seem very much a fan of small talk and, in all honesty, Rice had been a bit shocked by her acquiescence.

So they came to an agreement. Or rather Ms. Mihono had said they had ‘come to an accord’, and Rice really liked that she used had a unique vocabulary since she found it really attract— never mind. Once it was clear they were done, Rice retreated back across the street, slumped across the front counter with her heart beating out of her chest.

Seeing that the gym-owner had followed up on her word, a promise made to a relative stranger, meant so much. So much so that Rice briefly considered bringing her coffee before banishing the thought. 

Instead she descended down to the shop portion of the building and surveyed her work. Urara had gotten through most of the new arrivals, but a few more boxes of nice shiny hardbacks stared at her, and so she put a certain well-toned woman out of her head and set to work.

Rice loved the quiet of the store, the sounds the building made as the wood settled and the sun rose. In some ways, if she was to wax poetic, her life had been  this peaceful ever since she acquired the Blue Rose. Ever since her aunt had read her picture books the store owner had been a voracious reader, and setting up this shop had been essentially a dream accomplished.

Yes, Rice’s life had been in a comfortable equilibrium. There were fluxes and shifts, but at the end of everything things were pretty much consistent. And the dark-haired woman couldn’t complain; there were far worse status quos, Rice knew from experience. In fact, she was happy, maybe even ecstatic.

Now, though, it was she could feel her world starting to move and change. Something in the air, something in her bones, something unseeable and undeniable, told her that this parking issue, something so seemingly mundane, was going to change her life.Sure, worrying about profit margins and logistics wasn’t all that fun. Yet things were changing regardless if they were good or bad, and Rice hoped that, if her meeting with Ms. Mihono was a sign of change to come, that it would turn out for the better.

Rice looked at her shop, and it was lovely. Perfect and organized and picture-book. But the shop was also lovely because it was waiting, waiting of people to come and interact and take and rearrange. Sitting in perfection forever was impossible and unfulfilling.

As Rice moved over to the door to flip the sign (another commission from a local artist), she took a good look outside. The sun was almost over the buildings on the other side of the street and Rice decided that Strong Bourbon, with its gleaming steel surface, looked best in the sun.

Rays broke over the horizon, and the morning’s hazy purple-blue gave over to a lighter shade. Rice took one look back at her perfectly ready store and flipped the sign; the day would not wait forever.

When she peeked outside the large front window sometime between opening and noon, she could no longer see the woman: Ms. Mihono had decided to go inside. There had been a morning rush of customers despite the still-spotty parking availability, and so Rice and Urara both had their hands plenty full.

Still, unsurprisingly, Urara found time for her beloved gossip and bounded up to the front counter as soon as the woman searching for the sixth installment in a popular series had left. “So it looks like the gym owner is trying to help with parking! That’s so cool!” She accentuated this point by slamming her hands down on the worn wood of the counter, startling the petite owner and eliciting a small shriek from her: “Urara!” The employee pushed on, undaunted.

“I saw her this morning sweeping the sidewalk and then someone tried to park in front of our shop, BA-BANG!” She threw her arms in the air to accentuate. “And he tried walking across the street to her gym and she just stared at him! When she creased her brow and even I shuddered! So he stops dead in his tracks and turns around and gets back in his car. WAM!” She jumped up and landed with her legs slightly spread, creating a thump on the floor.

Rice couldn’t help but smile. Urara had been prone to dramatics since they met in college, but she liked it. She loved to be the audience that played along with her. And on top of that— She raised her head and Urara was slightly out of breath, smile plastered on, silently waiting. The thing that Rice liked most of all about her friend’s stories is that she always left room of input.

“She did say she would help out. I’m glad to see that she’s taking it so seriously. Though it seem like the parking situation isn’t getting much better. Still, the effort is what matters most.”

“Isn’t she so cool! You should like bond over owning shops and then you’d become friends and get burgers and then— and then—“

The overly excited shop-hand didn’t have the chance to finish as she was cut off by the tinkling of door-chimes. Rice was thankful for whoever had entered when they did. That was a dangerous road to go down. She barely knew the woman, and even harboring an interest (infatuation? Oh three goddesses, could this be considered an infatuation?) would be far too much far too soon.

A voice rang clear from the entrance: “The parking is an absolute disgrace today!” The door swung shut with a hard thud as if to accentuate her point. “I almost couldn’t grace you with my presence today!”

Maybe Rice had been too soon in her thankfulness. The figure rounded a corner, and her guess was confirmed: dressed in a finely-stitched ribbed black dress and an almost-shimmering green jacket stood one of her most demanding regulars.

Ms. Halo was, as her aunt used to call them, a Big Personality. And while her presence could be a bit… overbearing at times, there was more depth to her than most thought.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Halo. I apologize about the parking.”

The customer huffed and then glanced away. “I only get so much time for my lunch break. And—” In that moment the briefest expression of hurt flashed across her face. “You are familiar enough with myself that I believe you should call me King.” Rice had talked with her enough to see those telltale signs of insecurity, the way her tail flicked and she ground her toe into the carpet.

“My apologies, King.” With how strong her personality was, it was easy for Rice to forget that she shared a surprising amount of similarities with king. “I’m also sorry about the parking. We’re experiencing a higher level of traffic on the block. We think it might be due to a new business, and we’re working with them to figure it out.”

The mask slid back on as King huffed and looked out the window, as if her commanding gaze alone could solve the issue. “I wouldn’t have heard the end of her ceaseless prodding if I hadn’t gotten my friend’s silly book. I presume you have it?”

“Let’s see what’s in the system… Okay! A special edition of…. The Oath and the Tower? I’ve heard good things about the full color maps in that one.” 

The woman in green & black paced in front of the counter, pretending to look around at the new releases on display. “Well, if Sky insists on describing these yarns to me, she might as well have a visual aid to make it somewhat bearable.”

Rice suppressed a chuckle and nodded to Urara. “Could you go and bag that, please? It’s in the back, author’s last name is Rounder.” A bounce of excitement, and the employee was gone. After a few seconds, King returned to the counter.

“Lastly, do you have any recommendations on what’s popular for the youth in this last month?”

There was the thing that had first changed her mind on King. The Blue Rose kept a shelf of books for young adults, often with queer protagonists and relationships, that teens could read in the shop or take home in case their family wasn’t supportive or lacked the funds.

And of all the regulars, King was the most consistent donor. The first time she had showed up to buy a trendy new release and had chosen the shop because it was the closest book store to her job as a fashion designer (or at least that’s what Rice had gathered from context clues.) During that visit, King had seen the shelf, declared by a sign in colored pencil made by Urara. Once Rice had explained the concept, the owner of the store saw her eyes light up.

King had been stopping by on a regular basis after that. And while it was always a bit of a dance, while King had never out-and-out said she wanted to buy books for the share-shelf, she put her whole heart into it. The way the designer threw her whole being into it made it clear it wasn’t just to feel good, but simply to share with others.

“Yes! I actually wrote up a wish list if you happened to stop by. A good mix of YA, middle-grade and general audience adult books across all genres. Would you be interested in seeing it?”

“Of course I would be interested! A trendsetter such as myself has to know what the people like.”

So King made a habit of stopping by once or twice a month to make sure the shelf remained stocked. Through her visits Rice had gleaned that King had a strained relationship with her mother; aided by sidelong comments about what books her mother would or wouldn’t approve of and jokes to herself about how she wished her mother could see her putting her money towards this.

It was in these moments, these comments, these spikes of excitement and sadness, that Rice saw the real King. A woman not so different from herself.  And while Rice could picture the designer loudly bragging about these purchases (‘King has always been an ardent supporter of the gays and the lesbians!’) She had noticed the woman often kept these purchases to herself. Maybe it was a rare instance of vulnerability for her.

Rice could appreciate that.

As she produced the list from one of the drawers on her side of the counter, a small, genuine smile took place on King’s face. The owner set it down on the wood and King quickly grabbed it.

“Would you like to go and check these out to make sure they’re to your standard? I’ve written out the sections each is in. Or should I help you out?”

“As if I, King Halo, need help finding books in a shop I’ve been to before! If I can hide a zipper on a fitted bodice I can certainly find a shelf!” 

With a nod, and a thankful expression look behind her eyes, King nodded and stalked into the shelves, her ears twitching and her tail bobbing.

As Rice watched her go, she realized the parking wasn’t just hampering her business. This store and the books inside it meant a lot to the people who came, and in turn those people enriched the lives of others in ways both concrete and intangible. The people who came, month after month, week after week, were the ones who brought something to Rice’s life.

And Rice would do her best to ensure that they could continue to come.

It had been a busy day, despite everything, and so Rice hadn’t had much time to fret about parking. A few customers had mentioned it and every time Rice could feel the anxiety building, but she hadn’t really had any time to look into it. Someone had made a mess of the children’s corner, and if they didn’t re-stock today the shelves would look bare.

As the workday continued, she could see Ms. Mihono across the street. The other business owner had once again dragged a stool out and was seemingly eating a sandwich. For a brief moment the taller woman looked up and Rice tried her best to act like she wasn’t staring. And when she looked back up the gym owner had gone back to focusing on her lunch.

She used her lunch break to watch over the parking. That fact stuck with the bookstore owner for the rest of the day.

Her deep appreciation stemmed from a combination of factors. First was the support: Rice had friends made a few close friends through and after college. In fact, the Blue Rose wouldn’t exist without their endless support. Urara had even offered to work without pay in that first year (which was never ever going to happen).

So Rice had experienced support before, sure. To Ms. Mihono, though, she was a stranger. Yet the other business owner had taken time out of her day, out of running her gym, to do the right thing. And in turn she was helping others on the block; helping rice.

The thing that stuck most with Rice though was how the other woman treated her. Rice had been told that she acted… “Off-putting.” Sometimes she wasn’t even sure what she was doing wrong, but somehow she always felt one step out of sync with everyone else. 

It had become a benefit, in a way. She was the “quirky and charming” owner in reviews.  People came to the Blue Rose for something different, and she was part of that. Yet in her brief interaction with Ms. Mihono there had been no odd treatment, no gap in understanding.

Maybe that was due to the gym owner’s own personality. Rice wondered if anyone had ever brought up Ms. Mihono’s occasionally clipped delivery, or her direct speech style. Somehow, even if someone had, Rice imagined that Ms. Mihono had simply brushed it off.

Yesterday Mihono Bourbon had looked at her, and she had felt like someone understood.  And Rice Shower knew that understanding should be a basic expectation for treatment, but still…

It mattered to her.

These thoughts swirled around, resurfacing and submerging, until all the commuters had gone home and the Blue Rose was an hour and change from closing.

Rice once again looked out the window to see Ms. Mihono, this time behind the glass of her gym, keeping a watchful eye. 

Besides the gym, the sky was turning purple as night crept in. She loved the Blue rose for many reasons, but one of the most selfish was the view of the city it gave her. Rice got a front-row seat to the world as it spun past. 

With one last look out on the street, she drew her eyes back to the computer screen in front of her. Inventory was never fun, but it was a very important part of her job. It was a good thing the store was quiet so she could focus on—

“I was hoping to talk to you about the situation regarding parking.” 

It was a good thing her inventory was digital— Rice knew she would’ve made a huge ink smudge across it as she jumped from her seat. 

In front of her, inexplicably, was Mihono Bourbon. And Rice really only had one question. “H-h-ho-how did you get in the store? I didn’t hear you!”

The gym owner cocked her head as if trying to determine something. “The door made a noise when I opened it. It seems like you were very engrossed in your work. Maybe that caused you not to notice.” No malice or insinuations. Just an observation.

Rice couldn’t help but laugh. It was only a little funny on its own, yes, but it was also just so different. A nice change of pace. Ms. Mihono once again looked at her with some curiosity, so the black-haired woman reined it in.

“I suppose I didn’t! What beings you in, Ms. Mihono?”

With that the other shop owner straightened up. “I came to discuss parking.”  Rice nodded, and so she continued. “Ever since 5PM yesterday, I have been taking stock of parking. With some embarrassment my study has shown that in fact, regrettably, some of my members have been parking in your designated spots. I have been taking various steps to discourage that, including continuous monitoring. In addition I have printed out signs and posted them around the gym encouraging members to park in a garage or to come via transit. I have put them in front of some of the most used stations, since I know when I lift weights I tend to stare at the wall.”

Rice tried her best not to imagine how the other woman would look while she lifted weights. Maybe in a sports bra, working out her triceps while she broke a small sweat, and— Not now, rice. 

“But after interviewing other business owners on the street I also noticed that, even without parking from my establishment, there seems to be a relative increase in demand for parking.”

The way she delivered it made Rice want to smile, but that last bit was a cause for concern. “So something else might be causing this issue.”

“Or at least contributing to it, yes.”

Teeth dug into Rice’s lip as she mulled it over. What could be causing such a strain on local car parking?

Ms. Mihono pulled her out of her own thoughts before she could sink too deep: “I recognize your concern. If there is not one single source of this increase, then that makes it all the more difficult to curtail. Thus, I think we should form an alliance.” It was hard for Rice to curtail her reflexive worry and doubt. Would Bourbon really benefit from being on a team with her? The thought almost made her flinch, nevertheless, with steel in her eye the gym owner plowed on.

“Working together we see more of the street, and you bring your historical knowledge of expected traffic levels. At the very least, it could help us come up with a patchwork solution. Perhaps we could meet on a regular basis to try and figure out preventative measures as well as to brainstorm possible resolutions.”

The other woman, standing tall in the middle of her shop, seemed so resolute that Rice couldn’t help but feel it too. With a small nod, she gave her assent. It could lead to something good, even if it was small. And, if she were being honest, it was a nice excuse to get to know her better.

“T-thank you very much, Ms. Mihono. You must’ve thought this through very well.” “I think through everything. Also, please call me Bourbon. I have been told that being able to call people by their first name puts many at ease and I do not stand on ceremony. A gym isn’t exactly a space for formality.”

“Very well. Bourbon, Please call me Rice. Thank you so much for monitoring parking today, and for inviting me into your alliance. I accept.”

The genuine smile that elicited, and the touch of softness behind it, could’ve melted Rice on the spot right there. It felt so bright she had to look away, shifting her eyes around the shop.

“Thank you, Rice, for your patience with my gym and for agreeing to help me.”

For a moment they stood there, in a silence that floated near awkward, until Bourbon broke the silence.

“I was so preoccupied with discussing logistics I did not take the time to look at your shop. I apologize. I can see why many people come here. The environment feels… warm, I think? I also like the displays. They’re well organized, and neatly spaced out.”

Bourbon slowly roamed around the shop, taking it in. The wooden floor creaked underneath her shoes, tracing her path. Rice could feel hear heart thudding, hoping she found everything alright. It didn’t help that the store was otherwise empty as the day wound down.

The gym owner paused and Rice could feel that knee-jerk reaction, a fear of judgement or reprimand. Bourbon leaned down and, using both hands, gently lifted a book up, observing the front, and then the back, and then the front (with a peek into the cover).

With a calculated turn she made her way to the counter and set it down with care.

“I would like this one. Please.”

Rice knew this one, a classic. “Are you a fan of mysteries?”

Bourbon shook her head. “No, but my father read a lot of them in his spare time.” Bourbon cast her eyes around the shop. “He enjoyed them greatly. Sometimes I felt frustrated, at him and others, who loved books. I often felt I couldn’t understand them. Or, rather, that people saw things in them that I didn’t. That I was unable to.”

The smile on her face had turned lopsided, a half-frown.

“That was when I was younger. I do not tend to read much outside of non-fiction, or essays on kinesiology, but I want to try.”

Rice had felt on edge for a second, ready for the scorning words or for some form of judgement. To be disappointed. Instead, she was more familiar with this tension.

“You don’t have to. Some people struggle with reading fiction or hold no interest. That’s okay.”

Bourbon’s hair fell about as she shook her head. A new smile, almost teasing, was on her face. “A bookseller trying to actively not sell me a book seem anomalous. Please, I genuinely am curious. I would say this serves as payment for interfering with your shop, but I feel that would only make you double down. So instead trust me when I say I mean my words genuinely.”

How could Rice not take such a plea at face value? So she rang it up, inserted a bookmark embellished with a pattern of blue roses, and handed it back to her. Bourbon plucked out the bookmark and seemed to consider the image. For a moment her eyes moved between the store, the bookmark, and Rice.

Setting the book to her side, Bourbon regained her gaze. “I will come back in two weeks for us to talk about the parking. Would that be acceptable?”

The math worked out. The Blue Rose would be more than fine even for a few months of fluctuating business. “That seems acceptable to me.” Bourbon nodded and made her way to the door, and then paused, turning around one last time.

“Would it be acceptable, during that meeting, for me to discuss this book with you? I feel it might be easier with someone else.”

Excitement rose in her cheeks and Rice could feel her cheeks flush. She nodded, trying her best to keep her cool. Bourbon smiled one last time, one that stuck in the bookstore owner’s mind, and the next moment the door closed with a jingle.

The gym owner moved across the street, back to her own establishment, book held in both hands, and Rice watched as she returned, the purple-blue sky of early evening a backdrop for all that was to come.

Chapter Text

A little silver sedan pulled away from the storefront into the early evening . Inside, a young child kicked the back of her mother’s seat, eyes glued to a newly-purchased picture book =, with a small stack on the seat beside her. She’d had had her eye on this one for weeks, and had eagerly shown her drawings of the intrepid bunny to the nice store owner, who had eagerly played along.

About a minute later, a black SUV pulled out from a bit down the block and followed suit. Shortly after that a small red car pulled in its place and the man inside, a frequent patron, got out. He nodded at Rice as he entered, and Rice gave him her customary smile and wave before he disappeared between the shelves.

Her eyes flicked back to the window. Over the last week, if Rice had to guess, she would say 1000 different cars had parked on the street… Or maybe 2000. Or maybe 10000. 

While it was true the owner of the bookstore had been keeping her eyes on the parking, she hadn’t really been paying all that much attention. Counting cars (very poorly) was just a distraction, a way to waste time.

And wasting time had led her up to this moment, Thursday evening, a week since she had formed a partnership of sorts with the strangely charming quite attractive friendly owner of the new gym across the street.

It had started the day after their alliance; her mind raced with how she should act, if Bourbon would find her annoying, if she would make a fool for herself. It hurt. The spirals always did. And that’s why she and her therapist had a tactic, displacement and coping. It started with a red convertible, the woman told herself that she was going to try and get a handle on the parking situation.

And while maybe obsessively staring out on the street when she wasn’t actively working was maybe not the healthiest coping method, it had proved effective. The moments passed by as she immersed herself in the turning of wheels and transfer of books:

Nia wants the hot new romantasy, that silver SUV should pull up more, Christopher gave a recommendation for a few French works in translation, there should probably be spots purposefully dedicated to motorcycles and scooters...

This wasn’t exactly the first time this had happened. During the first few months of the Blue Rose’s existence Rice had taken to obsessively reading and re-reading her favorite romance novel A Wallflower in Bloom. Despite picking it up on a whim in a hope of fantasy fulfillment she’d found it an intoxicating combination of easy to read and full of nuanced emotion. 

Every moment not spent tending or improving the shop, she’d spent reading and re-reading. After beginning the 25th consecutive reading that month and many missed meals, Haru, in one of her rare serious moments, had confiscated it.

(In fact, now that Rice thought about it, she hadn’t seen it since she’d handed it over. Did Haru still have that? She’d ask later.)

The same fear lay at the root of both of these coping methods, I she took a deep breath and considered it. Yes, she wanted the shop to succeed, and yes, she wanted to hit it off with Bourbon and be friends, maybe more. But festering beneath those earnest desires was that lingering doubt that she would somehow, inevitably, mess it all up. That no matter what she did at the end lie only failure and disappointment.

She had worked on this fear, found ways to mitigate and reduce it, but Rice often worried it would always be with her.

For now, though, she tried to ignore it by staring at the street and counting cars. And on the night of their meeting, just as a rare purple hatchback with a broken headlight pulled out, Rice could see Bourbon crossing at the street (at the designated pedestrian crossing, of course.)

Rice tried to swallow the thudding in her chest as the gym owner approached the door and pushed it open with a chime. The black-haired woman could see that Bourbon’s paperback mystery, , which had been new last week, was now clearly well-loved, with its cover bending out awkwardly and cracks running along the spine’s print.

“My apologies for mistreating your book.” Rice’s eyes snapped up at the voice, and she realized that Bourbon had clocked her gaze perfectly. “I recognize that it is common practice to try and preserve the book’s physical status, but I seemingly took it everywhere with me, and I re-read each page because I wanted to understand, and also—“

The bookstore owner was so tempted to interrupt her, to put her at ease and tell her that she loved seeing her investment and that honestly it wasn’t her business what others did with books (even if her personal shelf was largely full of pristine volumes). Still, she couldn’t bring herself to interject, she really wanted to hear what came next.

“I was excited.” Bourbon dipped her head as the impassive mask that usually covered her face broke. When she came back up the mask had taken its place, but her cheeks had the slightest dusting of pink.

This moment, in her diary, if she kept one, would be the moment where she realized she definitely had a crush on Bourbon. Seeing the emotion underneath, her eagerness to discuss the book, and just how darn cute she looked trying to hide it, a jolt of emotion shot right through the bookish woman. 

And that was before the taller woman once again made eye contact and leaned in ever-so-slightly:

“I was interested in the book and — and I was interested in you.”

It all of a sudden so hard to breathe and for a second Rice feared maybe she really had overdone it on counting cars. That somehow her brain had wholly distorted reality. “Interested in m—me?!?” She choked on the words, and oh Three Goddesses, she wished she could go back and deliver that more smoothly. And maybe wipe off her moonstruck expression.

Sensing that the scales had shifted, Bourbon once again caught Rice off-guard with a smirk.

She smirked at her!

“I think it’s only reasonable to want to get to know your neighbors.”

At this point Rice was floundering; in the teasing, in the expression, in the chance to see this different side of Bourbon. So she did what she always did in moments of doubt and grabbed a book. In this case, the book was her copy of the mystery they were planning to discuss.

Holding it up like a shield, cover facing Bourbon, she groaned internally at her own delivery: “S-so-so should we start with the book first? Or parking?”

Urara grooved to the music in her head as she ran inventory. Her finger bopped along to a beat across the shelf as she cataloged each book.

Today was going perfectly! Or it would be perfect, if she was actually had music to listen to. But Rice had left to get a late lunch, and she’d promised that to mind the store. That meant listening for customers, which meant no music. Oh well! 

Just yesterday she’d found her new favorite song of all time (the 28th one this year!), but she had to keep the music in her head for now. The pink-haired woman had made a promise, and she for sure kept her promises.

Sure, Urara knew she had a reputation: of unreliability, of being flighty. And maybe she would agree in some aspects. There were always people who were smarter and sharper and stronger. But she knew she always tried her darnedest on a daily basis, and had lots of fun at it. Was that a bad thing? No, sir!

The clipboard paused momentarily, and Urara stilled. Where was she at again? Oh! Non-fiction, F names.

Some might not think of her the most reliable, but she knew that if one thing was most important to her, it was being true to her friends. And when Rice had asked her to help out with the bookstore she’d been saving all her life for, well, how could she have said no?

Finally, Urara hoped, her earnestness shone through in hard work. For instance, she was way ahead of pace today, which meant maybe she would have time to—

The doorbell chimed. Urara whipped around, preparing to greet a customer, and stepped out from between the shelves.

And there was— that was the woman! The gym owner! Bourbon!

She stood by the counter, gently leaning her body to glance around the shop, and smiled a polite smile when she saw Urara bounding towards her.

“Hi! Welcome to the Blue Rose! Are you Bourbon?”

Maybe it wasn’t the standard greeting, but she and Rice were friends, and Rice couldn’t stop talking about her, so she couldn’t help but feel a sense of familiarity towards the woman. Also, people had said they loved her personality in online reviews, so that meant this was fine!

The owner of the gym took in Urara. And Urara stared right back! There was a lot to look at— Her red gym shorts matched with the gym’s red logo on her shirt, and the outfit was overall functional and well put-together. (She made a note: the Blue Rose could use some merch!)

Bourbon cocked her head ever-so-slightly. “I am. Are you Urara?”

Urara gasped in surprise. “How did you know?”

Bourbon’s hand drew up to her face in a futile attempt to stifle a chuckle. Rice was right: she did have a nice laugh.

“Well, because you are greeting me, I assumed you were an employee.” Okay, that checked out. “Additionally, Rice talks a lot about you, and I am fairly sure you are the only two who work here.”

Urara nodded vigorously. “She talks a lot about you too!” 

...She definitely shouldn’t have said that. In her mind, she could see Rice melting down from the embarrassment

Bourbon registered her comment with a genuine, if bewildered, smile. “Well it is pleasant to meet you, Urara. Could you help me find a book?”

The pink-haired woman practically leapt on the spot. That was her job! She could do that! 

It had been three weeks since they had started their “alliance meetings”, which to Urara mostly just seemed like a book club, but then again she wasn’t a store owner. But! It was clear, just from the way she lit up while talking about her, that Rice had a certain interest in Bourbon. Rice was an amazing friend, and on top of that, the girl rarely made new friends, let alone met possible romantic partners! (They did not talk about her disastrous second girlfriend.) Naturally, Urara was possibly the most excited she had ever been.

“Is the book for your next meeting?”

“I was hoping to further my understanding of the text that Rice and I agreed upon. In order to do so, I determined I should read other thrillers.”

Urara leaned back on the counter, her crooked finger pressed to her lips in thought. “There’s a lot of thrillers out there... Narrowing down a book on just that might be hard.”

“Indeed. A cursory search in most databases returned tens of thousands of titles. As a result, I analyzed the book Rice recommended and determined it should match these criteria: it should have a romance subplot, ideally with two women, be set in the current day, and not involve major supernatural elements.”

“Oh.” Urara recognized that one. Rice had talked about it for weeks after her first read. “How did you find it?”

“My impressions of it do not change the fact that it is what we agreed to read.” She paused. “However, I found the main protagonist charming. She is prone to anxiety and finds many situations stressful and can seem shy and reserved, but she is also smart, kind and quick witted.”

Urara’s ear twitched: those last few points described pretty much any typical protagonist, but the first few seemed too familiar. Anxious and quiet... Wait. No fricking way, did Bourbon like the character because it reminded her of Rice?

Now, Urara wasn’t exactly one for scuttlebutt, but she did love happy endings. Happy endings only, please! So she decided to play matchmaker:

“Oh, wow! Seems a lot like Rice, huh?"

The seemingly unshakeable gym owner shifted from one foot to the other in contemplation, and she bit her bottom lip in thought (how cute!).

“I noticed the same thing. It is an amiable quality of the character, how despite dealing with concerns inside her own mind and challenges from the outside, she stays strong and perseveres.” 

After that Urara’s brain felt totally blank. She opened her mouth but no words came out when she desperately needed to speak. The employee tried again and said just one word: “W-wow!”

It was hard to think of a way to follow that up. The excitement in Urara was now a blaze. Maybe this could really work out for Rice! So with a smile she hopped back to her feet and asked the only question that mattered in that moment:

“Should we go and find some other books with main characters like that?”

Bakushin O was perched right where she belonged: behind the desk of Strong Bourbon, taking in the current situation the gym floor. Attendance was strong for the middle of the afternoon. Several regulars were in their usual machine rotations, and a new member was diligently running the track that outlined the perimeter of the building. The yoga for seniors class was outstanding in its 100% attendance as usual, but acknowledgment was due that this was the easiest time for them to attend classes.

The only thing that really stood out, other than Alyssa’s stellar form or Rashid’s excellent adherence to machine protocol, was her boss. It wasn’t uncommon for Bourbon to run during her breaks. The first time they’d spent time together outside of the gym had been at a coffee shop where Bourbon, then just a gym buddy, had regaled her with her thoroughly-studied health regimen. 

“Bakushin, for truly comprehensive health a survey of available material proves beyond reasonable doubt that balance is the key.”

So, come her afternoon break, it wasn’t surprising to find Bourbon on the track. What was surprising was that she wasn’t on the track. She was on the treadmill.

Now Bakushin knew that routine and consistency were the foundations of success. And also, after a few years of friendship, she would like to believe she knew Bourbon pretty well, and she knew that routine was dearly important to her.

Still, there she was, pounding away at the treadmill. When the workout was done and Bourbon dismounted, Bakushin saw the cause: a book, its pages clad in highlighters, leaned up against the panel.

Bourbon noticed her glance as she turned around and, after properly wiping down and disinfecting the treadmill, she made a beeline for Bakushin, book in tow.

The floor manager wasn’t necessarily worried about whatever Bourbon wanted to discuss, but her sheer focus was so intimidating that Bakushin still played at shuffling and straightening paperwork. 

The book landed on the front desk with a soft thud. Bakushin peeked at it from between her papers. From the font alone, sleek and shiny and all rounded corners, she could tell it was sci-fi of some kind. A cyborg or android, given the machinery visible on their body, sat on a hill with a non-mechanical companion. They leaned against each other, gazing into the starry expanse. Interesting. 

She looked up at Bourbon; her expression was placid, but her eyes shone.

“Bakushin. I have a query.”

The hedging did not inspire confidence. She could only nod.

“One of the most common questions of science fiction, according to my research, is if a robot can experience emotions. Specifically love. But I wonder: if a robot can feel love, how does its code distinguish that?”

Bourbon paused, considering her own question. “I recognize that a robot experiencing love is fantastical and metaphorical. However, how does one sense and define romantic affection, and how does one know it when it is felt?”

Bakushin blinked. “That’s… a difficult question to answer, Bourbon.”

“It is certainly much harder than determining which workout routine to use.”

The floor manager chewed her cheeks, trying to casting her mind back to her few past relationships, but found it hard to grasp on to something.

“I wonder if one of the defining characteristics of love is that it’s hard to pin down, intangible, but still strong and noteworthy enough that we pay fervent attention to it.”

Bourbon nodded thoughtfully, and her face softened. Seemingly that was enough. She lifted the book off the desk, her eyes tracing over the cover, as if looking for her answers in the illustration.

“Is that the book you and Rice are reading this week?”

Their little book club had come as a surprise to Bakushin: Well, first Bakushin was ashamed, that she had not upheld perfection and that their neighbor was dealing with parking issues seemingly brought upon by their gym. Then came the surprise, a bit 

When she had last visited Bourbon, her house had been full of books; tomes on daily objects, books on science, plenty of books on fitness and even a hearty selection of history books.

Fiction, though? That wasn’t really to Bourbon’s taste and that was perfectly fine. Variety makes us strong!

So when she’d heard that the gym owner had agreed to meet weekly to talk about the parking situation and to discuss a variety of works of fiction, well, surprise didn’t begin to describe it.

Still, a month and change later, it was clear how much Bourbon was enjoying these meetings. Sometimes Bakushin was tempted to call out to the bookstore owner, Rice Shower, when she saw her across the street; at this point she felt like a friend, given how much Bakushin knew about her.

“Affirmative. We have been covering one genre a week, and this week’s is science fiction. I realize that language is imperfect, but at times it feels as if there is not a 50/50 split between the science and the fiction.”

Bakushin looked over her shoulder: in cases like these, sometimes it was necessary to truly observe Bourbon in order to determine the meaning. While most people might take such a statement at face value, the draw of her shoulders and the slight tugging at her lips suggested this was a patented-Bourbon joke.

And with that recognition, she spoke before she could reconsider:

“I take it Rice is a fan of your humor.”

This was the first time Bakushin had really approached asking whatever was going on between them, even sideways. She felt nervous; she didn’t really expect Bourbon to push her away or to reprimand her, but still, this was unknown territory.

For a second the silence hung heavy, but—

“In my estimation, 60% of the time I have received a genuine, adorable smile. 30% of the time she laughed loudly in a way that reminds me of bells. Though, given how much she blushes after, I worry for her circulation and heart rate.”

“I’m happy to hear that things are going well.” Well... at this point, why not push her luck? “You two seem pretty close. Is it friendship or… something else?”

A relationship wouldn’t be too earth-shattering: over their 6 years of friendship, Bourbon had gone on several dates with people, and had even had two stable partners (who Bakushin now retroactively disapproved of). 

Sometimes strangers assume that, with Bourbon’s sometimes-utilitarian approach to interpersonal affairs, that she might find romantic relationships difficult, but they would be incorrect. For the last year or two, though, gearing up to open a gym had taken precedence.

“Something else?” Bourbon tilted her head in apparent confusion.

Bakushin panicked. She was no spring maiden, but spelling out her insinuation outright still felt somewhat daunting.

But then the owner laughed, and again thoughtfully eyed the book’s cover.

“It would make me happy for it be something else, I think. She sees me for who I am and, despite all the worries she seems to keep inside, she feels so open. So, I hope it will become something.”

Bakushin could only smile. That was enough for her; it was time to go back to safer waters.

“So the idea of life in space is interesting?”

Bourbon turned the book over and over in her hands in thought.

“There is much to love on this earth. But the idea of leaving, going somewhere completely new, to a different world, with different expectations… there is an appeal. Though I would want you there, of course.”

Bakushin couldn’t help herself. “And Rice?”

Bourbon smiled one of her biggest smiles Bakushin had seen in recent memory.

“Rice would be nice.”

“Wow, Suzuka, Look at this! I didn’t know my favorite cookbook had a special edition!”

“It’s certainly quite the find, Spe.” Suzuka gave a small nod of appreciation to Rice, and she couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride.

“The publisher wasn’t sure if it would sell, so they didn’t make that many. But the second I saw the announcement, I knew someone who might like it.”

This was Rice’s favorite part of the job. Meeting, connecting with customers and getting to know them. It was important from a purely numbers angle to build up a base of regulars, yes, but Rice deeply valued having regular customers who trusted the shop, customers who she could make smile; that was far more important. Sourcing books from independent publishers, securing special editions, reading picture books to children and giving out recommendations filled a niche in her community that the internet never could.

Interacting with other people used to always feel so scary. It felt as if others were always throwing out signals Rice could never quite catch, and then she’d talk too long, or not enough, or singlehandedly ruin the conversation in some other unknowable way.

As a result her thoughts would often circle back to a repeating, stinging phrase: “there’s something wrong with me.”

Then, however, Rice found a sphere in which she knew the rules and could excel: she started recommending books . That lead to the Blue Rose, and from there she learned how to branch out beyond just books. Small talk was its own genre with commonalities she could dissect and reassemble.

These moments were a result of all that pain and growth. This couple had found their shop because it was the only shop in the city with a truly accessible entrance (Rice had thrown a bit of a fit about the angle of the ramp during renovations), and they just kept coming back.

Suzuka liked fantasy, and Spe liked just about anything involving baking. And when Suzuka expressed interest in what was happening in the world of dance, Rice made sure they got in a shipment of the newest specialty releases.

“It even includes a limited edition apron! The carrots have little dog faces!”

“Spe… We have about 6 aprons back home. I even bought you that nice canvas one for your birthday.”

Spe pouted, and Rice couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Is there anything else I can help you ladies find?”

Mrs. Silence smiled up at her and waved her off.

“We should be fine, thank you! My wife is right where she's meant to be," she smiled as she glanced towards the other woman, reverently flipping through the cookbook, "and I know where Arts and Entertainment is. Thank you again for pointing this out.”

“Of course, and I’ll be at the desk if you have any questions. We close in about 40 minutes, but you know that. I’ll keep the register open.”

Rice turned and, stepping out of the small alcove, walked back towards the entrance. What she saw there made her brain and body come to a halt: Mihono Bourbon was waiting for her in a chair in the main room in not her usual gym wear but a beautiful sleeveless dress.

“You have a facility with your customers. It was nice to see; you sounded quite charming.” Her usually-impassive eyes gained something.

Rice could feel a hot blush wash over her cheeks.

“B-bourbon! You’re… early.”

“We just finished onboarding a new employee, which means that I no longer am required to work floor duty during the evenings. It is a nice reprieve, and meant that I could come here somewhat earlier.”

Rice nodded furiously as she roughly swallowed. Her collar felt too tight, and she was certain her ears were producing some kind of teapot whistle.

“That makes sense! You. You look really pre— I mean! That dress. It’s pretty. A nice dress.”

Bourbon dispelled her tension with a smile. “Thank you, Rice.”She stood, and walked to the counter.

“By my estimation, more than 80% of my outfits in the last two months have been gym wear. However, I consider it beneficial to occasionally wear something else. It is an unfortunate possibility that if I don’t wear a dress for long enough I would forget how to wear one.”

Rice felt herself laugh, loud and unmeasured. It felt good. Meaningful. This, the thing they had between them, was different than talking to customers, and somehow even easier. After 7 meetings, Rice felt that she knew the gym owner’s sense of humor pretty well.

“We still have some customers, but would you like to sit behind the counter? You can have the stool while I wrap up.”

“I feel that Bakushin O would disapprove of workers from two different establishments behind one desk.” Bourbon said, as she nonetheless rounded the desk corner. “She isn’t here, however” and she casually sat on the stool without looking, as if to emphasize her point.

Bourbon’s face was as impassive as ever but Rice could feel the lightness behind it.

“If it puts you at ease, we have some recommendation cards you could laminate and tape up on the shelves.”

Another small smile: she liked being teased back. Rice made a note of that.

“I believe I have the proper training to do that.”

And so the last hours of the day unfolded, with Rice ringing up customers while Bourbon diligently fed cards into the desk-top laminator. The machine hummed gently while soft golden light poured into the Blue Rose.

There was one wrinkle, though: Bourbon’s dress was good. It was too good.

The sleeveless cut perfectly showed off her sculpted muscles as she made the cards. Rice couldn’t take her eyes off of them, stealing glances as she finished her workday— she marveled as different muscles activated when Bourbon reached across the desk, or when she ripped tape, or yanked a card from the uncooperative laminator.She made a mental note that she really needed to ask Bourbon what they were called. In a discrete and subtle way.

Maybe she could help move crates when the next shipment came in...? Okay no that was too far.

Any thoughts of propriety fled her mind, though, as Bourbon stood up and leaned over the machine, flexing her very-well-toned back muscles ever so slightly.

When Bourbon sat back down and looked knowingly at Rice, the bookstore owner had a feeling that she’d been led along on a leash.

“I am glad you appreciate my hard work.”

Rice had checked her out. Oh no. She definitely had. Was that okay? Bourbon teased her, and showed up early, and read all these silly books. That didn’t mean it was okay to act this blatantly. Once again she had done something wrong—

“Rice.”

And just assumed maybe Bourbon might like her. Well, there went any chance of that—

“Rice Shower, come back to me. You’re okay. It’s okay.”

The next moment she was back at the Blue Rose, and back in her body. A sharp exhale.

“It’s okay. It was perfectly fine. I should not have sprung that on you.”

“No, it’s—“

In that moment she thought of how hard it had been before the Blue Rose, and how she had grown. A new Rice, a changed Rice, was possible, and she tried to imagine what would lead to that.

“Okay.”

It was the first time Rice had sensed something even close to true unease in Bourbon. She could do this.

“Your muscles are… very impressive. Uh, I found the ones on your back distracting — in a good way! They’re nice.”

“Oh. Thank you.” The gym owner took a breath herself. “Like the dress?” Bourbon was clearly looking to lighten things up and Rice was happy to give that other her.

“Nice like the dress she said with a chuckle and a flush on her cheeks. 

It was time to steer back to safer waters. Her eyes searched around the shop and landed on Bourbon’s work.

“Would you like to make a recommendation card?”

“I would be honored; however, I am not an employee.”

“Well, you helped out today, right? I think that merits one. Maybe I’ll start a series of recommendations from people around the neighborhood. You could be the first.”

Bourbon nodded, and Rice’s unease dissipated. She was seeing so many new & vulnerable sides of this woman who had originally seemed so inscrutable, and Rice only wanted to see more sides of her. Every side.

“That is reasonable. And I just… choose whatever I please?”

“Yeah! If there’s a non-fiction book you love, you could feature that. We’d have to make sure we have it, but we probably do. Or you could choose one of the books we’ve read together.”

The tall woman nodded as Rice handed her a card and a pen and set to work. 

A bit later, the floor was swept and the “OPEN” sign was reversed as the last of the customers left, books in tow.

Every minute of the close Rice had been thinking about Bourbon: hoping that she was feeling okay after everything, but also curiosity around her card.

So she bent over the counter to get a look.

“Oh, An Age Without Stars! The fantasy book we read a few weeks ago. I’m honestly a little surprised.”

Bourbon raised her eyebrows.

“Just, it’s a little indulgent. I expected you to pick something less character-driven.”

Bourbon looked at Rice, and her eyes shot off in thought.

“It was reassuring, in an unexpected way, that in a world of magic and prophecy and unnatural creatures, the protagonists struggled with the same problems anyone would; confidence, doubt, conviction.”

“I really liked that too.”

“Additionally, the magic system was exceptionally detailed and logically laid out.”

With the store empty, Rice could laugh as loud as she wanted. In that moment she realized it wasn’t just a crush. She really liked Bourbon. She had feelings for her.

The issue, now, was telling her. The bookish Rice would never have considered herself the best at reading people, but even she knew she had a chance. Rather, the issue was finding the push to be open, transparent.

She could feel that welling of anxiety in her chest rising up eager to consume. But she’d been to therapy: anxiety was a known quantity, an old friend. She could work past it. Rice looked out the windows, onto the emptying parking spots and the beautiful sunset. And she looked at Bourbon, taping her laminated card to a display case.

Rice was certain: change was possible, good things were attainable, and she was worth happiness.

Chapter Text

To Rice, books were like a well remembered dance. She had gone through the beats so many times; all the variations and riffs. Not every book was the same of course, and bless the experimenters. But Rice felt like she could deconstruct a story pretty well.

In fact she was so familiar with common narrative structures that it was hard not to view and deconstruct her own life as a story.

For so long, the story of her life, The Story of Rice, had seemed to be one of setbacks, not understanding people and feeling like a disappointment. Or, in a more positive light, it was a story of learning to let go of the anxieties and doubts that so often plagued her.

And she wanted that to be her story. 

Rice wanted to change. It was a rather new development but Rice believed she could change and, as she moved her sheets aside and rolled out of bed, something told her that whatever this was with Bourbon could possibly be the end of this long-running story of falling short in so many ways.

Looking out the window of her second apartment she saw the sun and smiled. As pat as it was, it was a new day. Not only that, it was the day she had promised to tell Bourbon just how she truly felt. 

With that on her mind she let her eyes trace over the gym across the street. Rice would’ve never expected all this to come from the opening of a new business on the street.

Maybe it was a little silly to think this way, but with how Rice was feeling and the way the sun was shining, it truly felt like the day to confess… and all signs pointed otherwise yes, right? The way Bourbon made excuses to come and talk to her. The way she took up a sudden interest in fiction and that dress she wore a week ago. That dress!

Sure the bookstore owner didn’t exactly have a stellar history when it came to reading either romantic or overtures but this, at least, felt pretty clear. And that in turn made her feel even lighter. 

Was it still nerve wracking to think of confessing? Yes! Of course! But as Rice descended the stairs she found herself humming a tune and looking forward to the end of the business day.

Honestly it was a good thing Urara was off today, Rice was sure she made for an embarrassingly smitten sight. Bouncing over to the computer to turn it on and eagerly flicking on the lights.

As she wrapped up prepping the store for the coming day Rice’s mind wandered to the past. If this new confidence and encouraging romantic prospect was possibly the end of.this story, then was the beginning? This was a topic she had visited many times with her therapist. Where did this anxiety come from? How did this doubt in regards to her self, painful and sharp, become so stuck?

Her finger traced along the top of the counter and Rice imagined she was tracing back through her life, going backwards from now to the source. Where did all of this start?

Maybe, the start of everything that was wro- different about Rice started early on, decades ago when Rice was much younger. There wasn’t necessarily a day or minute that sparked this. Instead it was more a general, ever present feeling. Maybe in some ways it was like a the prelude to a fairy tale. 

Once upon a time Rice had been born and, from the start, been found wanting. 

An indicator of this might be that her earliest moment she could clearly remember was at the store. She might've been five? The lights were bright and shining and the linoleum squeaked beneath her black shoes. 

A nice woman at the register handed her a sucker; cherry. Rice looked at it, examining the way the paper folded over the confection. 

It took her a few moments to realize her mom was (lightly?) shaking her arm. She looked up at her and she asked:

“What do we say?”

And… Rice wasn’t sure. She tilted her head and thought. This was the first time something like this had happened. Or at least that she could remember. Still she tried her best to think. 

Her mother asked twice. Thrice. Rice felt a little nervous so she gave her best shot. She held up the sucker and said:

“Sucker.”

The woman at the register laughed and her mother’s face fell and she sighed. For a long time it was a funny story. It was just Rice being Rice, but in hindsight…

Her finger lifted off the counter. She took a deep breath to center herself and inhaled the scent of wood and ink on paper. 

One of the reasons she had chosen this building for the Blue Rose was because most of the original wood was still intact and she had always liked the smell of wood. 

Unfortunately, the smell of wood was probably the thing that Rice liked the most in her early years of school. She remembered being so eager to meet others and make friends. 

Over time though the friends she made started to drift. She was alway so eager to talk with them and be with them. It felt as if she was missing something but she never quite knew what she wasn’t doing for them. 

So instead she sat alone at her desk and drew loose pictures of the sky, blue colored pencil scribbled against white paper page. She lost herself in the motion and the smell of the old wood in the classroom. 

Sometimes she would look at picture books before she read and she would recite the story to herself in her mind. Or her finger would follow the outlines of the drawing. 

And then in third grade Rice learned to read. And reading?

Reading was for Rice.

In books the most incredible and implausible things could happen. One particularly favorite book Ms. Miller’s 30 Room House was about a house that appeared mundane on the outside but was filled with rooms that defied logic and the laws of physics; jungles and oceans, rooms filled with sides and rooms filled with stars. 

Rice would sit on the carpet of her room and spend hours making images from the words and thinking what it would be like for her to go through each of them, tracing her finger through the fabric of the floor as she imagined what route she would take.

Reading was a good way to pass the time and, at least for a moment, ignore her frequent solitude. Parents too busy after work? That’s okay, Rice had a book! Nothing to do on weekends? That’s okay, Rice wanted to read anyways.

Beyond that books were contained; books made sense. Even from a young age she could pick apart the workings of a narrative, seeing how beginning connected to middle connected to end. Characters’ thoughts were often explained.  

Admitting it now would make her blush (and seemed deeply sad in a way she did not want to get into) but unlike others who got into reading, she did not want to live in the world of a story because she wanted to exist in a fantastical world. She wanted to live in the world of a book because something told her she’d fare better.

The jingle of a bell interrupted her thoughts. In came two parents (assumedly) with their child leading the charge. Twenty minutes later they returned to the desk and the young boy insisted he could get his stack of books up onto the counter.

As they exited Rice waved to them and smiled. She remembered days like these when she first started reading. When she first took to reading voraciously her parents were beyond pleased. They eagerly asked about her interest in reading and her progress in understanding more and more. They encouraged her and took her to bookstores in malls and came back with plenty of books each time.

It was easier to see in hindsight, but Rice gleaned a lot from this reaction: She had finally done something right, figured out some unspoken problem.

Or so she had thought. By the time she was in middle school Rice had become more attuned to the reactions of her peers and parents in the hopes of forming closer connections. However this also meant she was more aware of the myriad ways she disappointed her parents.

And so it was clear that, to them, her love of reading had become one of them.

One night stuck out particularly; she had been asked to “put your book down and join us in the dining room.” When she arrived her parents were sat on both sides of the table with a chair near the end pulled out for her.

The clock ticked as her father cleared her throat and she listened to the Autumn wind blow leaves around outside.

“So, we saw your report card.” She had given it to them. 

Rice wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say to that so silence filled the room. Her father cleared his throat again.

“And while they’re decent we know you can do better.” “Not that there’s anything wrong with B-pluses but…” “However the B-minus in algebra is troubling, Rice Shower.” 

Another pause and then her mom breached the silence while leaning over, placing her hand on Rice’s. They only gave comfort when they wanted something.

 “We just know you can do better.” “You read so much you clearly have the aptitude we just think you’re maybe reading a bit too much.” 

Rice could feel the nerves rising and tried to tamp them down. Getting upset would do her no favors.

“Honey we’re just… worried. We want you to have an amazing future and well—“ “We’re not sure if these books you’re reading are contributing in the long run. Sure they’re fun but wouldn’t you be happier with sports? Or making friends?”

“And we’re not going to ban we just really think you should take this into consideration, okay? Rice Shower we know you have so much potential in you but instead of shining for the world you just keep to yourself. Don’t you want to show everyone and make us proud? ”

The rest of the conversation went round and round in circles until Rice half-heartedly said she’d try harder and consider what they said. Only then they let her go and lavish her with praise.

They never banned books out, that would be cruel, it was only an “ask.” A command given through concern.

At the time she didn’t realize that. What she had internalized, though, was a lifelong lesson she had yet to completely unwind: love was earned and not making the right choices could leave one a disappointment, insufficient of others.

Rice’s hand stilled as she straightened a toy on the front counter. All of this still hurt to think about. It was a prickly little burr of thought that still occasionally called out to her.

As if trying to push it out Rice took a deep breath and sighed. She was getting better, that was for sure. And as she rolled her shoulders and looked around she noticed the clock on the wall.

Wow? Was it already noon? Huh.

With a quick look to make sure no one was in the store Rice dipped into the back to retrieve her lunch and returned to the front; just in case someone came. 

The top of the container came off with a pop as Rice looked at the salad that she had prepped last night. 

Well, one thing was for sure, she had certainly gotten better at making salads over time. And with the thought of salads came another narrative to follow.

Maybe the actual start of this story, her fear of interaction with others and being enough, began in the dining room of a student union at college. 

It was funny, Rice could remember that day pretty well. Winter had finally thawed and Spring was on its way and as a result many students were out and about. Most of the tables she could see were packed.

Meanwhile Rice sat on her own, a book to her left and a hastily made, slightly-wilted, salad to her right. 

By college Rice had become accustomed to spending most of her time by herself, though she was blessed to have made a few friends, like Urara. 

So it came as a bit of a surprise when another student she didn’t know sat down across from her at the two-top. A woman with blond hair down to her shoulders plopped into the chair, setting down her backpack on the floor with a soft thud.

The unfamiliar woman gave her a sunny smile: “Hey! Sorry. Could I sit here, with you? I didn’t really think things would be so busy.”

From the start a small part of Rice envied her. Socializing clearly came to her easily and the future bookstore owner could immediately feel the magnetism. 

Still all she did was nervously hum her assent and nod her head. She forced her eyes back to her book and tried to pay attention.

“Whatcha reading?”

“Uh— um— It’s just some fantasy book.”

“And what is this just a fantasy book called?” Rice looked up at her and she was smiling, but not in a mocking way. She just was engaging with her… it was nice. A nice change.

“It’s called A Spell in the Wind. I really liked—“

“Oh my god is that the sequel to A Curse in the Water? I had no idea that was out already.”

“I, um, I just picked it up from the bookstore upstairs I put in a special order for it.”

“That is so smart! Tell me does Avanora— wait, actually I don’t want to know. Ignore that”

The woman seemingly brushed away the thought, swiping at the air. She seemingly put all of her intensity in all of her actions. Rice felt light and before she knew it her hand was somewhat covering her mouth as she laughed.

“Hey! Don’t laugh at me just for caring about the fate of strong, somewhat foolish, female characters!”

In college Rice had become better at reading people and with the smirk on the woman’s lips, the pitch of her voice and her exaggerated gestures it was clear that she did not truly mean it. Rice had done nothing wrong.

So Rice gave her a big genuine smile. “Well, it’s nice to meet another fan of such women.”

And at that the stranger gave her a smirk. “So you’re a fan of women huh?”

“Wa—wait I, uh—“

“Hey! It’s okay, I was joking. I’d say I’m a fan as well.” With that she winked at Rice and the uma could feel heat in her cheeks. “Beyond that, it’s nice to meet somebody whose read those! I wouldn’t say I’m the biggest reader but I saw the film adaptation of her other series a few years ago and decided I had to read everything she wrote.”

It was a different feeling from when she met Urara. First off there was a nervous fluttering feeling in her stomach. Beyond that though Urara admired her but this other student, whose name turned out to be Anis (“not like the spice!”), seemed like she saw something valuable in Rice. She saw the good things instead of where she came short.

And so from there they became friends. The week after Rice got the same table at the union and there she was again. It quickly went from once  a week to a few times each week. They expanded from having lunch together to hanging out between classes to hanging out at their respective homes.

Sometimes she’d bail last second but that was okay. Sometimes unavoidable things happen. And they were both seniors so there was plenty of career and graduation related stuff  to take care of. So beyond that she loved being Anis’ friend and found herself fostering a small crush.

Things shifted one night when they were watching a filk, some French thing from the 1990s that Anis had read about in a book. Ani was leaning against her and occasionally shifted. Then she turned her head during a quiet scene with something in her eyes, as if she was considering something. Then she leaned over and kissed Rice.

And Rice kissed her back, pressing in as the other woman wrapped a hand around her waist. With a slight shift of weight Rice leaned back on the couch and Anis followed. It felt amazing and more beyond that she felt wanted. She could feel it each time the blonde kissed back.

Just as suddenly Anis had pulled right back up. “Sorry, I got carried away, you just looked really good.” By now Rice’s head was spinning, trying to make sense of it all. So she sat up and started watching the movie again. It’s so tempting to say she didn’t know why she didn’t ask. Why she didn’t seek for clarification.

But Rice knew why she didn’t. It was so nice to be wanted, to be pursued, even for just a few minutes, that she didn’t want to rock the boat. So she sidled next to Anis and glued her eyes to the screen.

Despite the strange ending, it kept reoccurring. Anis would invite her to a party and an hour later they’d be down a hallway with Rice against the wall. And then thirty minutes after that Rice would happily be against a wall, Anis mouth on her neck. 

It wasn’t just the attention and desire. Rice liked it. Sure she wanted emotional connection as well, but she was no fragile flower.

And after several very confusing week Anis asked her to be her girlfriend. Rice was so excited she told all two of her friends.

All the excitement made it easy to ignore how… strange that conversation felt. Rice wasn’t expecting a grand declaration but it… it wasn’t an after thought. It just felt… obligatory.

Even now it was hard to find the words. Not that finding them mattered. It was tempting to believe that if she could perfectly dissect this period of her life.  It wouldn’t but she os badly wanted to— something. 

A shiver ran up her body and she picked at her nails to ward away the discomfort. It was easy to think about her Year of Anis in broad strokes. It was much harder to go through it beat by beat.

Rice drummed her fingers on the counter and decided to work out some of the nerves. As she straightened the books her mind returned to where she left off.

Anis wasn’t overtly horrible to Rice… but she wasn’t particularly good either. Often it felt to Rice like she was jockeying for her attention and quickly on she learned she had to strike a balance. If she didn’t reach out at all it could be days without hearing from her. Reach out “too much” and Anis would grow uncomfortable, even if it was just to say ‘hi’ or ask how she was doing and her ex would either brush or her off, or, worse, insinuate that Rice wanting to talk and see her with some frequency was an issue:

‘I’m sorry but I have other friends and plenty of things to do, too.’

But when she wanted Rice, when they spent time together that was lovely… often. It felt like the sun and Rice wanted to soak it up. So she acted like all the other ways she treated her were normal. The now-bookstore owner tried to adjust her behavior and be what her ex wanted.

When she told Urara about this, who had practically zero dating experience, even she was concerned. Some par too Rice knew deep inside… but it was hard to give up that attention and that care, when she could get it.

It ended up that Rice didn’t need to make that decision. It was late Fall and Anis had invited her out to a coffee shop. Unlike when they first met it was empty save for two employees behind the counter. The blonde at a table by the window. 

It was still hard to think of it beat for beat, to re-live the exact details. The bottom line was that Anis asked her what book she was reading, they made idle chatter and then… she broke up with her.

And that wasn’t the issue. No it was—

“You’re amazing Rice but I think you’re a bit… needy. You’re like that one author you mentioned, Jenisal? An acquired taste. You’re special but not for—I just... I can’t give you all my time and attention Rice.”

Rice tried other pipe up, her voice was quiet, it was hard to believe what was happening.

“But I didn’t think I was—“

Her ex kept on going.

“I mean that’s what it felt like to me. I don’t know. I should've let you know from the beginning I just thought maybe... I don't know what I thought."

Anis sighed.

"You’re a special girl, Rice and someday you’ll find the girl for you.”

And about ten minutes later it was over. Anis got up and left. Rice stayed until the shop closed. She left a ten dollar bill in tip jar and went home.

‘Needy.’ It stuck with her for years. Too much. She said it as if it was a fact. And it was so hard at the time to believe that Anis wasn't wrong. She couldn't be at fault. Anyways, there was already proof from others before in her life that Rice was lacking.

Even when Rice left that college town and moved here it stuck with her. As she stepped into her car, with boxes in the back she did so believing that she ruined the relation.

And over the years these threads and experiences all intertwined; she was needy, made the wrong choices, was not enough. Rice was wrong. Something was wrong with Rice. 

It took nearly a half decade and a very tenacious therapist for that idea to loosen and even still it whispered to her, occasionally, in the dark.

Rice took a deep breath. The corner of eyes pricked with tears she, probably let that go too far. So she took several deep breaths and tried other shake out the tension in her body. She had to remember what her therapist had told her;

That nothing was intrinsically wrong with her and that it was okay to have expectations. That it was understandable to seek time with those you cared about and to pursue the hobbies you loved.

Another breath, deep. In. And out.

Rice looked out the window at the setting sun. The day had gone pretty quickly. Her eyes lowered from the sun to the gym across the street and she tried to fill herself with confidence again. 

Maybe that story of pain, of “being too much” had ended along with her relationship with Anis. Rice had tried dating a few times after and it was nowhere near as bad. Instead perhaps today, when she went to talk to Bourbon was the start of a new story. A far better and more gentle story,

While she knew it was dangerous to anticipate what their relationship might be like before she had even asked the other woman out she felt like it was okay to fantasize a little bit about how it might be better. How it might be what she was looking for.

Bourbon, it felt, understood her in a way few others hadn’t. Even over the last months she had never made Rice feel like she wasn’t enough or that she needed too much.

Right after the work-day ended Rice would march over there and— and— and she would tell her how she loved Bourbon’s humor and that she made her feel safe and she was perceptive and smart and also that she obviously looked great and had nice muscles and then she’d tell her how glad she was that she moved across the street.

And then she’d ask her to be her girlfriend. And hopefully Bourbon would say yes.

After that Rice would lean up onto her tiptoes and press a kiss to Bourbon’s lips. That would be pretty good.

She only had to wait only a few hours. Or so she thought. Her eyes drifted again to the window and the sun had fully set, had nothing really happened in the time between? Huh.

Still Rice couldn’t complain. She made her way over to the sign on the door and flipped it from “Open” to “Close.” With hat action she stilled.

There had been practically no customers afternoon. No one had stopped into the shop between the beginning and end of sunset.

This was an issue. And the second she thought about it she knew why; parking. She opened the door and stepped outside and every slot was filled with cars despite it being early-evening. Given the leaves on some of the cars it was quite possible some of these cars hadn’t moved in days. And none of these cars were for her regular, Nor did they look like they belonged to the gym…

How long had this been going on? Rice had assumed having Bourbon address her gym members would help but did it even matter if the problem wasn’t the gym? And sure they had met to come up with ideas but none of those really accounted for if the problem lay elsewhere. They were thinking prevention when they should’ve been taking another tact.

Hurriedly Rice stepped over behind the counter and opened her book keeping records on the computer. Rice tried to look at them with some regularity but she wasn’t always the best and now with Bourbon in her life she had often been awaiting to meet with her instead of… making sure her business wasn’t dying.

In that moment all the whispers, all the things she had worked so hard on to let go of and to believe in herself came back with a roar.

Some part of her was desperately pleading that it was okay to be distracted and to want and to do things beyond business. That this was something that could be figured out and wasn’t cause to castigate herself or cut herself off from others.

Rice promptly squashed that. Her eyes flicked over the numbers and… they weren’t good. They were nowhere near “close the bookstore numbers” but they were far from great.

A lot would have to change for The Blue Rose to get back to where it was financially and in Rice’s mind, that started with her. While she had been day dreaming, for weeks on end, swept up in excitement and a crush, the shop had been losing money because people couldn’t get to it. Rice had wanted too much and had, once again, chosen wrong.

It was sad to have that realization. Rice looked across the street once more. Her eyes took in the people working out, the shining chrome finishes on the inside and the neon sign that Bourbon had told her she was proud of. Her lips curled into a small smile. Going over and asking Bourbon out wasn’t going to happen now. Things had gotten this bad because Rice had gotten distracted. Rice had chosen incorrectly and there had been consequences.

She’d probably be too needy for Bourbon anyways.

But maybe she could ask for… no.

Turning away from the window she made her way over to the light switch panel. Before doing so she took in the store; all the books and the black shelves and the stained glass. The children’s area with its toys and cutout. Urara’s recommendation shelf for not-too-spooky books. 

The Blue Rose meant so much to her.

She couldn’t lose it.

Looking at it only made her remember all the good moments she had experienced here and all the happiness her books had brought people. It wasn’t something she could lose.

In a moment of self-proclaimed weakness she looked out again at the lit up gym. Rice took let go of a deep sigh and wondered if some broken hopes left with it.

Across the street the double doors opened and there she was, Mihono Bourbon, toting a duffel bag and about to make her way to her transit stop. Instead of moving she stilled on the steps of the gym’s entrance and looked over at Rice’s store. 

Bourbon seemed to spot her and raise a hand in greeting and Rice, with some hesitation and sadness, softly waved back.

Without waiting to see what Bourbon did next she turned off the lights and made her way upstairs. 

Rice would have to come up with a solution for all this and move past whatever tales she had told herself about what was going on between them. There wasn’t time for romance stories and happy endings. She had to come up with a plan to fix all this. Reality was difficult and that fact was clearer than ever today.

Because the fact of the matter was, no matter how Rice’s story started, this was how it always ended; with Rice not being enough.