Chapter 167: The Anniversary Gift

On their wedding anniversary, Louis gave Freya a key.

She stared at it.

"We already own a house."

"It's not for the house."

"Office?"

"No."

"Secret bunker?"

Louis looked offended. "Why would that be your third guess?"

"Your family history."

He could not argue.

The key belonged to a small storefront in an older neighborhood.

Louis drove her there after dinner.

The space was empty except for exposed brick walls, dusty floors, and large front windows.

Freya turned slowly.

"What is this?"

"A lease."

"For?"

"You tell me."

She immediately became suspicious.

Louis explained that the building owner wanted the space used for a community business rather than another chain store. He had secured a one-year lease but had not signed any renovation contract.

"If you don't want it, we walk away."

Freya studied the room.

She could already see shelves.

Reading tables.

A small coffee counter.

A children's corner.

A wall for local authors.

"You bought me a project."

"I leased you a problem."

"Much more romantic."

The idea formed quickly.

Awake Stories had always been digital-first. Sunroom designed physical spaces. A bookstore could connect both sides of Freya's life.

But she refused to treat it as a vanity project.

The next week, her team conducted a neighborhood survey.

There was demand for a bookstore and reading space, especially one that hosted children's programs and affordable used books.

The numbers were not spectacular.

The store might never produce huge profits.

Freya liked it anyway.

She named it The Open Page.

Sunroom designed the interior.

Awake Stories provided programming.

Independent publishers were invited to stock titles.

Freya insisted the store carry books beyond her own catalogue.

Louis attempted to pay for the renovation.

She rejected him.

"The lease was the anniversary gift. That's enough."

"You're difficult to give things to."

"Give me books."

"I did. You turned them into a company."

The Open Page took four months to complete.

On opening morning, Freya stood outside before the doors unlocked.

The sign was simple.

The windows were bright.

Inside, the original Freya's framed apartment sketch hung near the community table, unnamed as always.

Louis joined her.

"Nervous?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Why good?"

"Means you care."

At ten o'clock, Freya unlocked the door.

The first customers were three children from one of the literacy centers.

They ran directly to the reading corner.

Freya smiled.

A novel had once trapped her inside someone else's ending.

Now books had become one of the ways she built places for other people to begin.

The bookstore also created an unexpected partnership with nearby schools. Teachers could request themed reading boxes, and The Open Page offered discounted classroom sets. Freya liked that the least glamorous part of the business—inventory planning—made some of its best community work possible.

Freya made a note of the development and returned to the practical work in front of her. She had learned that a complicated life became manageable only when she separated what she knew, what she suspected, and what she could actually do next. Louis respected that habit, even when his instinct was to solve everything immediately. For now, they chose the next useful step and left the unanswered part where it belonged.

Freya made a note of the development and returned to the practical work in front of her. She had learned that a complicated life became manageable only when she separated what she knew, what she suspected, and what she could actually do next. Louis respected that habit, even when his instinct was to solve everything immediately. For now, they chose the next useful step and left the unanswered part where it belonged.