CHAPTER 1
Bookstores are the happiest places on earth. They are sanctuaries of collected knowledge and house a multitude of worlds—some created from fiction and others from opinion. The shelves are lined with printed pages wrapped in pretty covers and filled with stories that can take you all over the world—and sometimes even into outer space. If the story is told well and the writer is lucky, that very tale will be passed down through generations of the human race. It can become that author’s legacy.
Matter of fact, if I wasn’t so busy running my family’s restaurant, Ho-Lee Noodle House, I’d probably own a bookstore. I have that daydream all worked out in my mind. Me and my best friend, Megan Riley—who wants to one day own a bar instead of managing one—would go into business together and combine our ventures. The store would be called Books and Booze. I like alliteration, what can I say?
In this bookstore, we’d have a fancy bar with clever drinks named after fictional characters and titles of novels. For seating, we’d have a lounge setting. Lots of plush, velvety couches, some leather arm chairs for our more distinguished guests, and nesting tables. I love a good nesting table set.
Megan, who is always a big supporter of my dreams, did happen to mention that there could be a lot of potential damage to our book inventory. Which, even though I didn’t want to admit, was a valid point. Especially when there are full martini glasses circulating the room.
So for now, Lana Lee (that’s me), would remain manager of the self-proclaimed number one noodle shop in all of Cleveland, Ohio. It hadn’t been where I saw things going at this stage of my existence, rapidly approaching my thirtieth birthday, but alas, it is where I found myself.
I’ve really had to do a lot of inner work to go with the flow and accept where this wacky thing we call “life” has taken me.
But that’s not to say my job doesn’t come with perks. For one, I eat pretty well because I’m always around one of my favorite things: noodles. And our restaurant is located inside of an enclosed Asian shopping plaza called Asia Village. This sets the stage for our little community to operate like a giant dysfunctional family. Right next door, one shop over from us is Shanghai Donuts (which specializes in my second favorite food group). And across the way, just on the other side of the koi pond that sits in the middle of the plaza and is sort of shaped like a giant foot without toes, is my little slice of heaven, the Modern Scroll. It is the only Asian-owned bookstore in the entire city, and the owner, Cindy Kwan, takes great pride in that fact. Half the store is stocked to the brim with books written by authors from every Asian ethnicity you can think of, which provides a nice platform for the voices of my culture to shine.
Before going forward, I should note for the record that my Asian side consists of only fifty percent of my genetics. The other fifty percent is derived from England. My dad, Mr. William Lee, is the only one in our little family of four who is one hundred percent Caucasian. My older sister, Anna May, and I both took most of our physical features from our mother, Betty. Although I’ve been told by quite a few people that I do have my father’s nose.
But anyways, back to the perks of my job. So, because I work in said plaza—and am basically friends with all of the shop owners, including Cindy Kwan, and happen to be one of her best customers—an opportunity presented itself. An opportunity I simply could not refuse.
In an effort to generate more business, Cindy had decided to start hosting author signings in her shop. Naturally I weighed in on the possibilities of who her guest list could entail. And as luck would have it, one of my top five favorite authors, Charlene Chan, was releasing her latest book, The Mystery of General Tso. The timing could not be more perfect. On top of that, Charlene happens to be a local author. And since it was such an easy request for her to fill, Charlene readily agreed to come by and do a two-hour book signing.
But to sweeten the pot just a little bit more, Cindy asked yours truly to be Charlene’s handler. I didn’t know exactly what that meant at first, but Cindy explained that they’d need someone to keep the fans moving through the autograph line. So my job was to stand next to Charlene the entire time to make sure that each customer didn’t take up more than two minutes of our local author’s time.
Needless to say, I fangirled all over the place, immediately had my hair dyed and cut and my nails manicured, and sprung for a new outfit because not only would I be keeping Charlene company during her signing, but Cindy had been generous enough to invite me to their dinner afterward.
I pinched myself on the arm like ten times in a row just to be sure that I wasn’t imagining my good fortune.
And while I was flying high on cloud nine, Cindy was a nervous wreck. Charlene would be the first author to do a signing in her shop, and she wanted everything to be absolutely perfect. Charlene had a huge fan base on social media and was known to bring a crowd. If things went well, it could help put the Modern Scroll on the map, which seemed to ramp up the pressure for our dear, sweet bookshop owner.
It didn’t help matters that Ian Sung, property manager of Asia Village, was buzzing around like a gnat hovering over a bunch of ripened bananas, giving his unsolicited advice on getting the store ready for our upcoming guest.
Cindy had been running her business long enough to know what to do without any guidance from him. The shelves were fully stocked with a variety of books to encourage people to browse long after the signing. Charlene’s entire series was well represented and placed front and center so they would not be missed. The windows were sparkling clean, the carpeting was freshly tended to, and the countertops were spotless.
I’d spent a lot of time with Cindy in the days leading up to the signing and tried helping out where I could, but I kept getting sidetracked by all the new titles she’d recently stocked. I probably wasn’t the best person to stay on task in a bookstore with so much literary eye candy lying around everywhere. (Another problem Megan pointed out in reference to my entrepreneurial dream.)
Though, managing a business myself, I understood Cindy’s sharp attention to detail and the need to impress a large gathering. But I ended with the same sentiment that I led with: Bookstores are the happiest places on earth.
So, what could really go wrong?
CHAPTER 2
I don’t often wake up at the drop of a dime. Normally there is a lot of hubbub around me getting out of bed in the mornings. On a regular day, my black pug, Kikkoman—Kikko, for short—has to paw her way up from her end of the bed all the way to my face. She then has fitful snorts and seemingly attempts to confirm that I am the same person as the day before by sniffing my hair and sometimes the inside of my ear. After that production—which does cause me to stir—she promptly settles one of her dainty paws anywhere on my face she deems necessary. Sometimes it’s the tip of my nose, sometimes an exposed cheek—and when she’s feeling especially frisky, my eye. Afterward, I let out a few mumbled groans that it’s too early to be awake, and she grunts, hops off the bed, and proceeds to scratch at the door. At that point, I often fling myself out of bed and protest that no one lets me sleep around here.
But today was the day. Charlene Chan day. There was no need to coax me out of bed. Seeing as I had the entire day off from work, on a Friday no less, I really didn’t need to be awake at seven o’clock in the morning, but who could sleep with all this excitement lying in wait?
Since I didn’t have to rush around, I took a leisurely pace while I prepared Kikko for her morning constitution, making sure to push “brew” on the coffee maker before heading out into the brisk March morning.
Once we shuffled back inside, Kikko went about eating her breakfast while I slurped my coffee, trying to come to terms with reality. I don’t read the newspaper in the morning because, frankly, who needs all this news in their life? Especially when every single event going on in the world has become “breaking news.” As Megan often likes to say, “It’s not that serious.”
Usually I piddle around for a little while, skimming through the latest Woman’s World, attempting to do the crossword puzzle in the back but quickly realizing that I’m not that good with trivia. Or I’ll read a few pages of whatever mystery book I’ve got my claws dug into at the moment.
I’d just finished Charlene’s latest book, The Mystery of General Tso, the night before. And just in the nick of time. If I was going to have dinner with her and Cindy later that evening, I wanted to be able to say honestly that I’d read the book and loved every page. And I really had. I’m relieved to say so, because generally people can tell when I’m not being truthful about my feelings, and I wouldn’t want to offend one of my favorite authors.
Instead of wasting away the minutes with whatever arbitrary task I could drum up for myself, I decided to get ready for the day. I’m a night shower type of gal, so the mornings are for primping my hair and face. Thanks to my aforementioned mixed genetics, I don’t have the silky, lustrous black hair that other Asians are born with and known for. Nope, I have this weird concoction of deep brown hair with an unruly, wiry wave that really goes off the deep end when it’s humid or rains. Which meant that if I want to avoid looking like I stepped into a lightning storm, flat ironing was a must.
Somehow, Anna May managed to escape that fate. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg on how polar opposite we are from each other.
But with the good mood I was in, I didn’t really want to think about my sister and her shampoo ad–ready head of hair. I could save that for a later date.
Instead, I busied my mind with all the things that I’d like to discuss with Charlene as soon as I got the chance. Sitting down with an actual author was going to be a first for me, and I could hardly wait for the signing to be over and the dinner to begin.
Copyright © 2026 by Vivien Chien
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