Secondhand Stories

Dakota woke up feeling like shit.

She lay there for a minute, staring at the water stain on the ceiling, then reached for the bottle of ibuprofen on her nightstand. She dry-swallowed two and stayed still until the worst of the cramps eased enough for her to move.

She dragged herself out of bed and padded down the hall in nothing but her raggedy t-shirt. The apartment was quiet when she reached the kitchen, but Taylor was already there, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee.

Taylor looked up and gave her a small, slightly sheepish smile. "Morning. You're up early. We didn't wake you, did we?"

Dakota shook her head and opened the fridge. "Nah. My alarm barely did the job this morning, so you guys are safe."

Taylor huffed a quiet laugh, looking relieved. "Good. Long day ahead?"

"Double shift," Dakota said, pulling out the leftover Thai carton with her name written across the top in Jess's neat handwriting. Typical. Jess really was the mom of the house. She leaned against the counter and ate a few bites cold.

Taylor made a sympathetic face. "Oof. That's rough. I don't know how you do it on your feet that long."

Dakota shrugged, chewing. "Pays for what I love."

Taylor tilted her head toward the coffee pot. "I know you work at a coffee shop, so you're probably all coffeed out, but if you want some, I'm happy to pour you a cup."

Dakota glanced at the pot, then nodded. "I would love some, actually."

Taylor grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured her a cup. Dakota took it with a quiet "thanks," leaned back against the counter, and drank while she finished the last few bites of cold Thai.

She put the carton back in the fridge. She'd finish it at lunch.

When she was done, she rinsed the mug and put the leftover carton back in the fridge before heading into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, then went back to her room and got dressed. She pulled on the green coffee shop polo with the logo on the chest and her usual black jeans, grabbed her bag, and headed out.

On her way to the door, she grabbed the leftover Thai from the fridge. She looked out the window and saw it was raining. For a second she considered getting an Uber, then decided against it. The walk was short, and there was no point spending money she didn't have to. Dakota stepped outside with her umbrella and started walking. The rain was steady but not too bad.

Dakota had been walking for maybe eight minutes when she saw the familiar green awning up ahead. Secondhand Stories. The rain was coming down harder now, drumming against her umbrella like it had a personal grudge. She slowed down without really meaning to.

She still had time before her shift. Not a lot, but enough. And she was already soaked from the knees down anyway.

Fuck it.

She pushed the door open with her shoulder, the little bell above it giving its usual half-hearted jingle. The smell hit her first — old paper, dust, and that faint, comforting scent of whatever they used to clean the floors. It was warm inside. Not warm like comfortable, but warm like the heat was actually on, which already put it above most places she spent her time.

She shook her umbrella out just inside the door and wiped her boots on the mat. The older guy behind the counter glanced up from his book. Dakota raised a hand in a quick wave.

"Hey, Steve."

Steve gave her a small nod and went back to his book.

She wandered toward the shelves, letting her fingers trail along the spines. She wasn't looking for anything in particular. Just killing time, she told herself. Avoiding the rain. Avoiding thinking too hard about the night before.

She made it almost to the back wall before she stopped and let out a quiet breath.

Okay. Fine.

She turned around and walked back to the counter. Steve looked up as she approached.

"Not finding what you're looking for?" he asked.

Dakota shifted her weight. "Yeah. Do you have that new C.K. Sterling book? Forces of Nature?"

Steve gave her a long look. Not unfriendly, just surprised.

"That's not your usual," he said.

Dakota shrugged, trying to look casual. "Just curious."

Steve closed his book and came around the counter without another word, tilting his head for her to follow. He led her over to a small display near the romance section. A handwritten sign in purple marker read:

"BookTok made me buy it" – Staff Picks

Dakota stared at it.

Of course.

Steve stopped in front of the shelf and gestured at the row of books. There were five or six different titles by C.K. Sterling lined up together, all with similar moody, dramatic covers.

"Sterling moves pretty well for us," he said, voice low and a little gravelly. "Not huge numbers, but steady. The people who like these books really like them. Dark romance crowd. They go hard for the angst, the possessiveness, all that high-drama emotional stuff. Sterling's got, what, five or six out now? All in the same vein. Formulaic as hell, but it works for the audience. Whole BookTok accounts dedicated to annotating them and fighting over which love interest is the most unhinged."

Dakota looked at the row of books, but her mind had already slipped back to the booth. The way Callie had pushed back on every note she made. The way she'd defended lines that were clearly tropey and overwritten like they were personal.

Fucking fangirl behavior, Dakota thought. That explained a lot, actually.

She cut in before she could stop herself.

"Who's even reading this stuff? Straight housewives?"

Steve gave a small, knowing shrug.

"Some, yeah. But also a lot of lesbians and bi girls. One of your exes bought one the other day, actually."

Dakota tried to keep her voice even.

"Lauren?"

Steve shook his head. "Nah. The one before Lauren. Singer's name? Starts with a J."

Dakota felt her shoulders drop a fraction.

"Oh… Jules."

She glanced around the store without meaning to. It wouldn't even be that weird if Jules was here. The local pool of lesbians was small enough that running into an ex in a bookstore wasn't exactly a shocking turn of events.

Steve didn't seem to notice her scanning the aisles. He just crouched down and pulled a slightly battered paperback from a lower shelf. The spine was creased from being opened wide, and there was a coffee ring on the back cover, but the pages themselves were still clean and white.

"Three bucks," he said, holding it out.

Dakota took it. She turned it over in her hands, feeling the weight of it. She could have just downloaded it to her phone like a normal person, but she liked the feel of a real book in her hands. Something solid. Something she could actually mark up if she wanted to.

She pulled out her card before she could talk herself out of it.

While Steve rang her up, Dakota flipped through the first few pages. Someone had dog-eared a couple of them. There were a few lines highlighted in bright pink, and on page twelve there was a small, neat annotation in purple pen that read:

This is what real devotion looks like.

Dakota stared at it for a second, then made a face.

Yeah, sure. Because nothing says devotion like treating someone like an emotional support hostage.

She closed the book.

"Thanks," she said, taking the bag.

Steve gave her a short nod as she headed back toward the door.

Dakota tucked the bag under her arm, popped her umbrella open again, and stepped out into the rain. The book felt heavier than it should have in her bag. Like it was taking up more space than a three-dollar paperback had any right to.

At first it was just to get familiar with the story. But after a few chapters, she found herself actually getting into it. The writing wasn't great, but it was better than she expected from the snippets they'd been reading. And the more she read, the more she started imagining how she would deliver certain lines.

Then it hit her.

In a few months, people were going to be listening to her voice saying these words. Not just in some student film or unpaid workshop. Not just for her own ears in the mirror. Actual people. Strangers. Paying customers. They were going to hear her as Mary. They were going to hear her and Callie together.

The thought sent a little thrill through her chest.

This wasn't just a paycheck anymore.

This was going to be her first real audience for something that actually mattered to her. Her first paid acting work that people would hear without seeing her face. It made something in her stand up straighter.

She slipped the book back into her pocket as she reached the coffee shop, already feeling more awake than she had all morning.

She was going to do this right.