Sneak preview of the novel A Fragile Knowing
“You shouldn’t have touched me.”
The words resonated within her mind, echoing like a whisper and scratching at the back of her skull. Amelia had not expected to feel this way. Had not anticipated the crushing weight of emotions that came flooding in when she accidentally collided with a stranger on the street.
Fear flowed through her. Guilt clawed at her chest, a feeling so strong it stole the very air from her lungs. Amelia’s vision wavered, and in a sudden rush, she saw a flash of shattered glass. Blood against a cold road, and the stomach-churning jolt of an impact that felt far too real.
Amelia drew in a sharp breath, her heart thudding violently against her ribcage. Feeling other people’s emotions was nothing new. She had carried the weight of this curse for as long as she could remember. The strange blend of joy, sorrow, and aching regret that so often rolled through her no longer shocked her.
“You’re clairsentient, girl. It runs in the family,” her mother told her on her tenth birthday. Her tone matter-of-fact, as if she was telling her something obvious. It was a word Amelia had never heard before, but hearing it settled something in her. At last, she had an explanation for the strange tide of feelings that weren’t hers.
But as the years passed, her clairsentience became darker. It developed into something more than just emotions. A hand brushing against hers in a crowded train station. A casual hug from a friend. Every physical connection became a link to that person. Amelia didn’t just sense moods. She felt people, absorbed them. Their truths, their shames, their secrets. She felt it all.
And the man she had just bumped into carried something dark, something that throbbed with danger and remorse.
And now, Amelia knew something she wasn’t supposed to…
Chapter 1
The day started like any other drizzly, cold day. Gray light filtered through the curtains of Amelia’s apartment above the bookshop, painting the old wooden floorboards in cold streaks. She sat curled in her favorite armchair by the window, a blanket around her knees and a chipped mug of strong coffee in her hands. Outside, the world was quiet, except for the occasional drone of a passing car and the soft tap of rain against the glass. The familiar silence calmed her. And calm was something Amelia treasured.
She pressed her fingers to the window. The glass was cold, and she watched her reflection staring back: pale skin, a wisp of dark hair pulled into a ponytail, and eyes too tired for twenty-six. It was on mornings like this that Amelia felt most like herself. Wrapped in softness, surrounded by quiet, with no one asking her what she felt, no one looking at her too closely, and no unexpected energies pressing against her chest. Her curse was mercifully quiet this morning.
Amelia exhaled slowly and watched her breath fog the window. Slowly, she traced the outline of a tree branch with her finger. A part of her wished it would always be like this. Quiet and untroubled, just her and the tree branch outside. But another part, the restless part that stirred when she closed her eyes too long, would never allow the silence to last too long. She sighed, pushed the blanket off her knees and padded to the shower to start her day.
***
Amelia loved the early hours in her quiet bookshop. The shop smelled of old books and ink and a hint of cinnamon from the candle she always lit near the register. Comfort. Silence. Stability.
She barely flicked the lights on when Bree wandered in, a half-eaten croissant in one hand and a mug that read Books Before Boys in the other.
“You’re early,” Bree said, balancing the croissant between her teeth while flipping the shop’s sign to Open-ish. The ish added in black pen by Bree herself. “Or am I late? Time is a construct, I suppose.”
“I’m early,” Amelia said, slipping behind the counter. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Ah, insomnia. My old friend,” Bree said with mock solemnity, then grinned. “Was it the existential dread or just the regular kind?”
Amelia smiled despite herself. “A little from column A, a little from column B.”
Bree plopped onto the stool beside her, nudging a stack of returns aside. “Well, fear not, noble coworker. I’m here to provide caffeine, sarcasm, and unsolicited life advice until you either feel better or threaten to throw something at me.”
“That’s oddly comforting.”
“I know. It’s a gift.”
Amelia smiled at Bree. There was something undeniably magnetic about her bookish coworker and friend. She had a calm presence that made customers linger longer than they meant to, confiding secrets about their love lives while buying cookbooks. Her hair was usually in a messy bun held together with a clip, and she dressed like an advertisement, all oversized sweaters and boots with character. Bree smiled back, shoved the last of her croissant in her mouth, and swaggered to the back of the shop to unwrap the stack of new books that had arrived the previous afternoon.
***
The bell above the door jingled. Amelia took a deep breath, preparing herself for another long day filled with emotional people.
“Morning, Amelia!” a cheery voice called.
“Oh, Mrs. Thompson. Good morning. How are you today?”
Edith Thompson shuffled inside, shaking raindrops from her umbrella, leaving a small puddle near the door. She was in her seventies, dressed in one of her usual knitted cardigans, and carrying a large floral tote bag Amelia suspected held more sweets than books.
“I brought you something,” Edith announced, already digging through her bag. “Where is it? Here!”
With a flourish, she produced a small tin wrapped in red ribbon and plopped it onto the counter.
Amelia smiled despite herself.
“Let me guess. Shortbread?”
“Of course. I know you pretend to like my oat biscuits, but I see the way your nose wrinkles.” Edith winked. “A girl needs proper treats.”
Amelia huffed a laugh, carefully untying the ribbon.
“You’re too good to me.”
“Nonsense,” Edith declared, placing a hand on her hip. “If I don’t look after you, who will? You work too hard, Amelia. You need a nice young man to take you out for dinner.”
And there it was. The weekly matchmaking attempt. Amelia suppressed a sigh, her eyes rolling up to the ceiling of their own accord.
“I like dinner just fine on my own,” Amelia said, lifting the lid of the tin. The scent of buttery shortbread made her mouth water.
Edith clicked her tongue.
“That’s not the point. A woman is meant to be spoiled, dear. Don’t you ever dream of romance?”
Amelia smiled, her mind spiraling to her first kiss all those years ago. The hurried and sticky kiss was behind the post office, the young man one of the school’s up-and-coming athletes. Amelia disliked the man and his kiss, and they split up soon after.
She shook the thought away and reached for a biscuit.
“Books have plenty of romance. I think I’ll stick to those.”
Edith huffed.
“Books don’t bring you flowers. Books don’t make you tea when you’re sick. Books don’t…”
“Steal the blankets in the middle of the night?” Amelia grinned. “Or leave socks on the floor?”
Edith gasped dramatically.
“Heavens, girl! So cynical at your age.”
Amelia laughed, and the warmth of the moment settled over her.
The truth was, she liked Edith’s visits. The older woman’s presence was grounding, a reminder that life wasn’t all gloom, doom and strange visions.
“Now,” Edith said, adjusting her cardigan, “I need something new to read. Something with adventure, but not too much kissing. The last book you gave me, that duke wouldn’t stop pawing over the heroine. Exhausted me just reading it.”
Amelia laughed and reached for a book on the nearby shelf.
“I have just the thing.”
The rest of the morning was comfortably busy. Amelia shared her shortbread with Bree, much to Bree’s delight. At midday she left the shop in Bree’s capable hands, her stomach reminding her she was late for lunch. The cool air carried the scent of fresh bread from the bakery down the street, and she walked quickly in that direction, her thoughts already drifting to the warm, flaky croissant she planned to order. But just as she rounded the corner, barely a dozen steps from the bakery’s cheerful striped awning, she collided with someone hard enough to knock her off balance.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she gasped.
The man Amelia bumped into staggered back half a step, muttering something under his breath. His eyes narrowed as he glared at her, his brows drawn together. But the moment they touched, a jolt tore through Amelia. A surge of emotion crashed over her, raw and suffocating. Panic. Guilt. Grief so thick it made her dizzy.
Her breath caught, and in that instant, she knew something had happened. In her mind’s eye she saw blood. A shattered windshield. A woman falling down on the road. The images were fleeting and fragmented, but Amelia saw it clearly.
The man’s brown eyes cut through her, fearful and haunted.
After a few moments of shock, Amelia broke the silence.
“I’m so sorry. My name is Amelia, and yes, I’m always this clumsy.”
The man frowned, debating.
“Marcus. And you shouldn’t have touched me.”
How rude. Amelia opened her mouth to reply, but he turned and walked away without another word.
She exhaled shakily, pressing her fingers to her chest to calm her racing heart.
It had been years since her curse hit that hard. Her clairsentience, her unwanted gift, usually whispered. This time, it screamed.
This man, whoever he was, disturbed the inner peace she worked so hard to protect.
Amelia’s appetite for lunch was gone, and she hurried back to the bookshop.
For the rest of the afternoon, she tried to distract herself with inventory and receipts. Anything. But the images she saw when she bumped into Marcus kept flashing behind her eyes. It wasn’t just that Marcus was suffering. It was that he was hiding something.
By the time the next customer entered, Amelia had plastered on a smile, but her hands still trembled as she handed over a paperback. Bree shot a few sideways glances, but labeling and pricing the new books were thankfully keeping her too busy to ask questions.
The minutes crawled by. Amelia sighed. Marcus did not seem dangerous. She sensed no malice in him, and she knew deep in her bones that he was not the kind of man who would harm others. But the fear in his eyes had been real, and it wasn’t her he was afraid of. She was sure of that.
Instead, Amelia focused on the facts. She’d bumped into a stranger. Her clairsentience had triggered. She’d seen flashes of a memory. Or maybe a feeling so strong it had conjured one. Was it real? Or was it just his guilt?
She didn’t know. That was the hardest part about her ability. Nothing came with a label. There were no subtitles, no dates, no context. Just raw emotion.
Somewhere out there, a man carried the weight of something terrible. Amelia told herself more than once that it wasn’t her problem, that she didn’t need to involve herself in someone else’s troubles. She already had a complicated life. But she also knew she couldn’t simply walk away, her curse would not let her.
Her heart, traitorous thing that it was, kept circling back to Marcus. No matter how many times she told herself to walk away and let Marcus navigate this wreckage by himself, she knew it was already too late.
Fate, or whatever cruel force ruled her life, had pulled her into it.