The book-brimming haven

We had a consistently chilly weekend characterized by dusk creeping in at half past four in the afternoon, which seems a confident indicator that autumn is here to stay. As a native Southern Californian, I am freezing in the 50-60 degree weather we've had of late. We set out to circumvent the chill by roaming over to the husband's favorite bookshop. It is a tad amusing because his giddiness over books is akin to my fervor for vintage goodies. Any visitor to our little home can automatically distinguish upon stepping into the threshold that I've perhaps an unhealthy predilection for antiques, while the husband nurses an addiction for books. Right before we got married, he excitedly proclaimed, "I can't wait until we're married, because your books will be my books." Our bookshelves groan under the weight of literary tomes cramped together beyond capacity, and it is part of my daily routine to pick up random books strewn across the floor, stacked haphazardly atop side tables, thrown onto the counter, or hiding under couches. It's maddening at times that no matter how I attempt to organize them, there are always more books hiding in some nook or cranny. But then again, there is an unspeakable charm about the printed word. The husband's favorite bookshop, with its endless wooden shelves of books, both antique and contemporary, and cushy seating, invites visitors to lounge for a bit, or in our case, stay half the day (It is such a well-regarded haven for us that we took some of our engagement pictures there last year). The Mister left the bookshop positively beaming, with a jackpot of books to diversify his collection. If God ever blesses us with a house, it shall be an utmost priority to invest in a wall of bookshelves.