If Roses Weren't Red

Chapter 1

Hi, guys!

Here's my new story :) I hope you enjoy it as much or even more as 'To Love a Fighter', that completely exceeded my expectations with all the votes and comments - thank you!, and help me to grow a little more as an amateur writer.

This time, I'll try to set goals, just to see how many votes and comments I can get, since it's what really keeps me going. I would love to achieve 200 votes (or more, of course) , so pleeease vote ok? I would like to have 10 or 15 votes per chapter. I'll not stop updating if I don't reach the goals though, it will just take a little longer.

Please help me to improve, it's your opinions that make me understand my mistakes and how to write better. However, I'm talking about GOOD and POSITIVE criticism, not just insults and harsh critics to bring me down. I'm only seventeen and English is not my mother tongue so it's really hard to create something in a foreign tongue. Understand that I won't tolerate disrespect of any kind.

I don't bite, you can leave any (respectful) comment or just say 'hi' on my message board, I'll answer to everyone as soon as I can :D

I'll stop rambling now, I get it, it's getting boring.

Anyway, enjoy my first chapter!

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, THIS STORY IS MINE AND I'LL BE REALLY PISSED OFF IF I FIND THIS SOMEWHERE ELSE!

Good reading

Chapter 1

"Bye, Mrs. Scott, enjoy your book." I warmly said to the old lady while I put her new romance book in a plastic bag and hand it over to her.

"Thank you, Aleera, you are a sweetheart." Mrs. Scott replied, smiling at me and slowly walking out of my little bookstore, the age weighing on her bones.

Mrs. Scott was an usual customer, enjoying her historical romances almost as she enjoyed telling me about her grandchildren that lived in Ohio with her daughter and her daughter's husband. She was a sweet lady but very talkative when she was in the mood.

Chuckling, I shook my head in amusement and walked around the wooden counter, heading towards my bookcases, putting some books, that costumers had left on the small coffee tables or on the leather couches, away in their respective places.

I loved my little bookstore. It was not usual for a 25 years old woman own a bookshop, not the normal choice of career but, since I was a little girl, books and music had been my passion. It was why, when the previous owners, a old couple for whom I had worked as a part-time, decided to retire, they sold me the shop for a bargain, knowing that I would take good care of it. Three years had passed since then and I was as happy as the day I got it.

The shop was small, covered in bookcases and shelves filled with all types of books, since Action, to Romance to Sci-fi. I had everything. Small black couches paired with wooden coffee tables were disposed in a corner so costumers could read their books before buying them, to be sure they liked the book they intended to buy. On the other corner, near the door and the two huge storefronts that flanked the entrance, was my counter. "Dreamer's Corner" was my small piece of heaven on earth.

However, despite my every effort to try to make my bookstore a place welcoming and homely to every client, I did not sell as many books as I wished. Many people avoid the neighborhood where my store was as it hadn't the best reputation.