Author's Note: Hey, guys! You all probably won't see this note until I write a new chapter and TELL you to come read (haha) but I wanted to let you know that I'm rewriting this! Most of it is still the same, but I'm adding some more description, making it more plausible and trying to add more humor so I do hope it makes you laugh! Thank you all again for all the nice reviews, they truly make me smile

I'm moving to London- London, England to be exact. I'm single, twenty-six years old, and I've heard that London has an excellent array of antique books! Now I know that may sound just a little weird to you, but my love for books has grown since I was only a little kid and I've always had a peculiar passion for books from every decade or era. So I've decided to open up an antique book store there. For me, I'm pursuing a career, but to my friends, they think I'm having a mid life crisis twenty years early.

But to hell with them because I've already found the most perfect, quaint, little place to use as a store and rented out a cheap, but sleek two-bedroom apartment which I would be sharing with a roommate. The plane ticket has been bought and all my belongings packed and sealed, already being shipped over. I've said all my goodbyes (as sad as they were) and now I'm sitting all alone on a plane (beside a very smelly, very nasty looking old man) which will not land for nine hours. Every few minutes or so, the man fidgets in his seat, shaking the entire row with the strength of his movements and grunting as he settles back in.

Three hours into the flight, I had had enough. I had been trying to sleep, only to be woken moments later by the pudgy, old man, grunting and shaking. I got up from my window seat (which was rather hard, seeing as I had to get past the chubby man and he didn't even try to move the slightest inch, making it very difficult to pass by) and walked up and down the aisles looking for an empty seat. Unfortunately, there were none. I went to the bathroom, trying to bide my time so I wouldn't have to go back and sit so soon. Though everyone on the plane probably thought I had come down with a horrible case of constipation, I tried to say in there as long as possible. That is, until a loud banging startled me. I opened the door, a sheepish grin already plastered on my face. An angry looking woman was waiting outside and as soon I had stepped out, she pushed me out of the way and slammed the door—or at least tried to—behind her. I got back to my row reluctantly and once again, tried to walk past the man. This time, though, was very unsuccessful. I ended up falling into his lap. He gave me a grin that I think was supposed to be naughty, but only managed to be totally creepy.

"I knew you wanted me as much as I want you, sugar," He whispered in my ear. I shivered from the pure shock of what he had just said. It was enough to turn a girl's stomach.

"Ew!" I gasped, scrambling off his legs and to my own seat. For the remainder of the flight, I faced the window and hoped to God that my bladder would realize the horror of the situation and not cause me to get up.


My roommate is a sex-crazed freak. No, really. Her name? Amelia. Her hobbies? Calling guys up at the dinner table and asking them to come over. To our shared apartment. A paper thin wall divides our two rooms. I've only been here for two days, and Amelia has had some random guy over both those nights. I have to lie awake, listening to their every moan and groan, and every creak of the bed. Sometimes Amelia goes as crazy as to start banging the walls. It is not enjoyable, I tell you.

"Scarlett! "creak" Do you "creak" have an extra condom?" Amelia yelled.

"NO!" I yelled back rather harshly, stuffing the pillow over my head. But, of course, the pillow did little to drown out the sounds. My theory was that Amelia had serious commitment issues.

Or she was just a really horny girl.

Early the next morning, I was sitting at the kitchen table, admiring my apartment—excuse me, our apartment. Though the paper thin walls were quite horrible, the rest of it wasn't so bad. The living room was an admirable size with enough room for a love sofa and an amazingly comfy armchair that I always envied at other people's houses. Amelia did well for herself, being an aspiring architect in London and had a beautiful television set with TiVo by the balcony door. Ah, yes! There was a balcony! It overlooked the apartment's garden which wasn't as great as overlooking London, but it was a lot better than what I had feared. For example, having a creepy old man from the window of the apartment meters away from yours watching. Oh yes, that has definitely happened before. The bathroom was lovely, with a nice bath and shower. Though Amelia had countless guys over, she was impeccably clean, which was really the most important thing I could ask for. If she could throw in some good food too, that'd be a plus.

I dressed, ate breakfast, and was out the door by eight. I walked to my new store; I had named it 'Hummingbird Antiques'. It was placed on a tourist attraction street, which obviously, would be very good for my business. It was in between a coffee shop and a pizza shop, so every time I go to my store, a variety of delicious smells drifts their way to my nose. I'm really quite happy that I've managed to find such an excellent place. The inside, though, when I first saw it, was absolutely revolting. Cobwebs dangled from every inch of the store, a window had been broken, there was a little rat's nest, and I had even found some form of animal poop in one of the darkest corners. But now, after I was done with it, had exterminators come in and clean out everything, it looks absolutely amazing! In the very front, is the cashier's counter which is just a really tall table with the cash register placed on it. All the walls are covered with turquoise shelves of all sizes, filled with all the books I had managed to muster and in one corner, there are really pretty black sofas with a glass coffee table in between. I had even managed to find a very spectacular coffee machine from a thrift shop back home. There were several tables all around the shop too, covered with more books. All in all, I think, for a one-woman job, I had done pretty well. Today was my official opening day. At precisely nine, I opened the door, letting in a nice, cool breeze, feeling very, very excited. At first, a lot of people came and went, some looking interested when they walked in, and then bored when they walked out. It's not like I was putting a gun to their head, telling them to come in here!

It had turned out to be a pretty uneventful first day. I had expected people to be popping in and out, buying books and looking very happy. But nothing of this sort had happened. So I blamed it on first day nerves. Not every store gets sales every single day. But then, they at least sold something. And it was as I thought this, when he walked in.

A man—a very handsome man, by what I could tell of his face-wearing a red t-shirt and dark blue jeans, with a black ball cap and dark black sunglasses, came in. For a moment, I stood there, mesmerized. I couldn't see his eyes or even his hair, but he had such a chiseled jaw, with the prettiest lips I had ever seen on a guy, that I couldn't help but stop and look. In a way, he seemed vaguely familiar.

"Hello," He said and my heart just about melted. He had the most wonderful accent I had ever heard. It seemed almost... magical.

"Uh.. er... hi," I managed to say. He frowned for a moment, as if I had done something wrong.

"You're foreign, aren't you?" He asked me with a cautious smile.

"Yup. Just moved here from Illinois."

"I don't think we have an antique book store in this neighborhood," and then he added, "I've always loved ancient books."

"Really?" I breathed. "I do, too! There isn't many back at home and I had heard London had so many, so you know, I just had to move here, but—" I cut myself off, embarrassed to be rambling. I could feel the blush seeping through my cheeks. My parents had a reason for naming me Scarlett. I was born with fair skin, dark hair, and blue-green eyes and even as a little baby, I blushed incredibly easily. Then it was cute. Now it just made me look like a huge, red tomato.

"Yes, I have quite the collection myself." For a moment he said nothing and walked around the store. "Hmm," he muttered as he looked at the cover of 'Lazarus' Black Sky'. I stared at him, confused as to what was wrong when he suddenly turned around.

"I've been looking for this book for ages! How did you come about this?" He asked me, excited.

"I-I.. er. I found that in Scotland last summer when I visited."

"Scotland?" He asked, perplexed. Obviously in his world, no one bought books in other countries. "How much?"
"Oh! Um, twenty-five pounds." He fished through his pockets, and then looked down at the things in his hands glumly.

"You know, I always have tons of money. But then the one time it's urgent..."

"Well," I began, "I won't mind if you took it. You know, today. And then, well, you know, paid me tomorrow." I didn't know what had come over me. I would never have given this privilege to any other customer. Maybe it was the accent...

"You're kidding." He looked at her, amazed. "Oh, you are wonderful! I'll be back tomorrow, you can count on it!" And with that, he ran out the door, the bells jingling behind him.

Yup. It was most definitely the accent.