In the heart of the bustling city, bathed in the soft evening glow, Madison stood behind the counter of her quaint bookstore, a sanctuary for book lovers.

The melodic jingle of the doorbell announced the arrival of a visitor, and she reluctantly set aside her phone to greet the customer. 

Her face with the same warmth she extended to all who entered her shop.

He was a man of intriguing presence, Prof Michael, as she would come to know him. 

At forty-seven, he possessed an air of quiet confidence. His medium height was accentuated by a physique that suggested athleticism, complemented by wavy blonde hair that framed his face.

His enormous eyes held an enigmatic allure, and he wore a neatly tailored suit that spoke of sophistication. 

But it was his charismatic smile that set him apart, a smile that seemed dark-ish. 

The allure of his dark smile invited Madison to the danger. A danger she assumed irrelevant. 

Madison’s face lit up upon seeing this four-eyed gentleman, her customary bookstore composure momentarily giving way to genuine delight.

As Prof. Michael approached the counter, Madison’s keen observational skills went to work. 

She had learned to judge her customers by the types of books they sought. Most were mothers, in search of the finest literature to nurture their young ones.

 Men, especially those of Prof. Michael’s caliber, were a rare breed in this part of the city.

“Evening,” he greeted warmly, confirming Madison’s initial impression of him as a true gentleman. 

His large discerning eyes couldn’t help but notice a charming gap between her upper teeth.

“Hi,” her saleswoman’s smile unwavering. 

“What may I assist you with today, sir?” she inquired politely, eager to discover the literary desires that had brought him here.

Prof. Michael’s gaze wandered, his expression tinged with a hint of shame. “I’ve find myself drawn to crime writings lately,” he admitted.

Madison’s bookstore wasn’t spacious, and it was far from the type where customers could wander and pick their selections. 

Intrigued by his choice of genre, she teased, “And here I thought you were a gentleman.”

Flirting lightly, the middle-aged gentleman responded, “You might be surprised at what young minds... like you, crave these days.”

Madison, ever captivated by intriguing personalities, couldn’t resist the urge to delve deeper. “Do tell,” she encouraged, her curiosity piqued.

Prof. Michael, caught off guard by her genuine interest, felt his cheeks flush.

 Before he could find the words to match her curiosity, Madison pressed on, " Young minds uh. Your daughter's?" 

Prof. Michael stood behind the counter of Madison’s quaint bookstore, his fingers idly tapping on the wooden surface. 

The warm evening sunlight streamed in through the window, casting a gentle glow on the shelves lined with books of all kinds.

Madison, the bookstore owner, had a knack for knowing the right questions. And looking at the gentleman in front of her, he didn't have a face of late bloomer fuckboys who sleep with younger girls. That's why she kept her quest family friendly. 

It was his first venture into the world of dark novels, an interesting choice for a man who appeared mannered. And so, out of shame he said, "Yes. But I might take a look."

With a Ph.D. in strategic planning and a lecturing position at a nearby college, Prof. Michael was a man of intellect, despite his youthful appearance.

 Madison couldn’t help but be curious about his preferences. She suppressed the thought. 

When she finally mustered the courage to speak, Madison asked, her voice sweet “Do you lean more toward romantic thrillers or books about serial killers? “

Prof. Michael’s face froze at the mention of serial killers. 

Madison quickly, her eyebrows slanted like antennas, clarified, “We serve a wide range of enthusiasts here, sir.”

He hesitated for a moment, then replied, “I’d rather avoid something too graphic.”

“Romantic crime it is then,” Madison's eyes scanning the shelves for options. 

The reality was, that there weren’t as many readers as there used to be, and she wanted to make sure Prof. Michael left with a book he’d enjoy and feel intrigued by to come back for more.

Madison was hooking him up, she wanted to retain him, the only reader interested in, by her words, ‘the best genre’.

As she searched for the perfect choice, Mr. Michael grew impatient. “I’m new to the genre; you can pick any novel for me,” he said.

Tapping her chin thoughtfully, Madison finally said, “I think I’ve found the one.” She passed the book to him over the counter, “There aren’t many people killed in there, so you should be fine reading it.”

Mr. Michael studied the cover art and couldn’t help but smirk. “ Interesting.”

“Hope I didn’t spoil it for you, sir,” Madison said politely as she swiped his credit card for the purchase.

“No,” he confirmed.

Madison wrapped the book up neatly, placed it in a paper bag, and placed the credit card on top passing them to him, “Thanks, sir.” 

His face composed, Mr. Michael accepted the wrapped book, “You’re welcome.”

Eager to leave a good impression on her new customer, Madison couldn’t help but say happily, “Hope you come back for more.”

Mr. Michael had turned to leave, but he faced the bundle of happiness in front of him and said firmly, “One is enough.”

Noticing his seriousness, Madison couldn’t resist a playful quip, “That’s what all serial killers say.”

Her joke was well received, and Mr. Michael was in good spirits again as he said, “Call me Michael.”

As Michael turned to leave, Madison smiled and nodded, “Right, Michael.”

His praise and appreciation had left her feeling valued and appreciated. Madison watched as he exited the store, a pleasant warmth settling within her. 

Alone. Madson couldn’t help but think about his simple yet intriguing response, “One is enough.”

As Madison went about her days, her thoughts kept circling back to that phrase. 

Was Michael referring to reading just one book, or was there a deeper meaning behind his words?

If it was what she suspected, then she wholeheartedly agreed with him: one was indeed enough.

Madison had one thing on her mind, one obsession she had nursed and nurtured for years. It wasn’t a book or a story; it was a person.

Charli?