The Bookshop Step

A soft bell tinkled as someone entered the corner bookshop, letting out a rich scent of aged paper and vanilla. I stepped past the door onto the dark oak floorboards. Near the window, a low revolving wooden rack held folded canvas tote bags. I paused, tilting my head to watch the soft sway of a cream-colored strap. Then I took two careful steps and pressed my whole flank against the thick, stacked canvas. A soft, steady hum vibrated up from a brass floor heating vent right beneath my paws. I rested my chin upon the folded hem, listening to turning pages.