Twice The Trouble Book 2 of 2: Twice The Love

Chapter 21: Misadventures

Sophia

Saturday morning found me dressed in a charcoal gray hoodie pulled way over my head, teamed with a pair of light blue skinny jeans ending in smart sneakers. Dangling over my shoulder was my long brown hair in a wavy braid, and I put on a simple pair of black shades just before I stepped into the vast book store, where a cold gust of air brushed past my face as I entered.

I've been a regular patron of National Book Store since I was six years old. Whichever branch I visit, either for mere browsing or a ridiculous shopping spree, all the employees knew me, so when I walked into the red-coated haven dressed furtively in a gray hoodie and suspicious shades, nobody questioned the ensemble that practically screamed "potential criminal."

Ever since I came out as the elusive author, S. Green, the public began to recognize me from television, where I held a book signing session which was aired worldwide. More than a year had passed since I finally decided to reveal my true identity,and with my third book being released just a few days ago, my publishing agent, Liz, was confident this would be another bestseller, same as the first two novels I wrote a couple of years prior.

I had a habit of popping by N.B.S. whenever I had the chance. And to avoid any risk of fans besieging me for photos and autographs, I usually swung by in the guise of a random citizen.

Don't get me wrong. It's not that I dislike my fans. I love them. But I need a breather sometimes.

Casually, I strolled between two shelves flanked with books of English literature. There were two guys opposite me, quietly arguing over something, while one girl garnered my attention.

Tall and slim, with waist-length black hair, dark eyes,she was clad in a modest pale red tee, and her denim shorts reached her flawless knees, accentuating her long porcelain legs, seemingly endless in a pair of purple slippers.

She looked humble and elegant, like sophisticated royalty swathed in normal fabrics.

And she was reaching for a copy of "My Name Is Siren" by S. Green.

My heart leaped with childlike joy. She was interested in my book!

I should have been used to this by now, after my first two works rating millions of readers internationally, but it still brought a smile to my face and a glow to my heart when I would glimpse someone displaying fascination with any of my three published novels.

The long-haired girl swept her dark eyes over the blurb of my book.

After a few seconds, she suddenly peered up and looked at me. Oh nuts, look away, I told myself firmly. Don't look at her. Pretend to study the wall or the floor.

"Hello."

I jumped, startled by the young girl. She had approached me, her hand grasping my thick book.

It was then, I noticed, that her voice was incredibly soft and feminine.

"Um, hello," I greeted her, wondering if my disguise was effective: A pair of shades and a non-descriptive hoodie were innocuous enough, weren't they? A head scarf would have been overkill.

The tall girl flashed me a gentle smile. "Were you planning to buy this?" she asked me, tapping her delicate finger on the front cover of My Name Is Siren.

My cheeks tinged pink in embarrassment. "I.. well.. uh.." I gabbled, mentally smacking myself for my lack of articulation. Great going, Sophia. You're making a fool of yourself!

"There are more copies over here," she said in a helpful tone before she ushered me to the nearby shelf of fictional books, all in different colors and sizes and paper aroma.

"Y-yes. Thank you," I stammered, then I grabbed a copy of my own novel and glanced up at the long-haired girl in a red shirt and denim shorts and slippers.

She continued to smile kindly at me. "Hi, I'm Vivien," she introduced herself, offering her hand.

Before I could even consider conjuring up some fake name, I accepted her handshake and supplied: "Sophia."

Vivien tilted her head, a quizzical frown on her amiable face. "Now that I think about it, your name and features ring a bell.." She leaned closer. I stiffened. "Could you please remove your shades?" Her dark eyes were pleading. "And your hoodie.."

She gasped loudly when I slowly took off my shades. A few people gazed in our direction, but I quickly clapped my hand over Vivien's soft lips and led her to another aisle of books.

"It's you!" She gingerly pushed my palm away from her mouth. "You're S. Green!"

Her voice rose with each word, and more bystanders were starting to gawk at us.

"Oh My Gosh, it's S. Green, the author!"

"Tad, hurry! Get my phone!"

"It's really her!"

My brown eyes were wide and panicked as they stared at Vivien's contrite smile.

"How fast can you run in those slippers?"

"Enough," she answered sheepishly.

I clasped my hand over her slender wrist.

Then we broke into a sprint.

Stacy

Ah, I love Saturdays.

While my kooky twin headed to the mall--checking out the bookstore, most likely--I opted to drop by the family bakery, Sentimental Sweets.

Pushing open the door, I was welcomed by a chilly breeze, gleeful smiles, and the scent of fresh bread wafting through the pink-and-white confectionery loaded with chipper customers.

"Ace! Oh Thank Goodness," breathed my 23-year-old cousin, Jolene Hernandez.

Ate Joey worked two jobs, not that she needed more than one.

Both a baker and event planner, my brunette cousin was already a wife and a mother.

Her husband is Marcus Young, currently on a concert in Europe.

And cute little, one-year-old Megan, their only child, is sound asleep in her lacy pink stroller.

"Oh," I said, a bit surprised when the fragile baby fluttered her eyes open. I couldn't help but see the resemblance. Her eyes were the same golden yellow shade as her mother's. And she inherited her father's appealing Korean features, the contours of her face incredibly stunning.

My sky blue gaze flickered on Ate Jolene's hassled expression. "Ate Joey, do you need help?"

"Yes please." She was deftly placing some eclairs and donuts into a crisp pink paper bag.

In brisk tones, my 23-year-old cousin gave me basic instructions before she resumed her work.

"Alright, I can do this," I told myself as I clasped my hands over the handles of the lacy baby carriage. For a moment I surveyed the design with a critical eye. Interesting. I've never thought about baby fashion. And little Megan's outfit could use some work, if I'm being honest. She wore a cream white dress with scallop sleeves and a thin ribbon sewn into the chiffon white belt.

All of a sudden, Megan began to make raucous noises, which quickly bothered the customers in the bakery. Everyone fixed me with reproachful glares and reproving scowls.

I craned my neck to see Ate Jolene anxiously biting her lower pink lip. I pushed the girly stroller forward and out of the crowded confectionery.

Taking care of a one-year-old shouldn't be too difficult, right?