Cambria warnedu's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The next Saturday, Cambria opened her shop with her sketchbook tucked under one wing. She still felt the sting of the train station, and the worry that someone, somewhere, was building a copy of her store. She would not be caught off guard again. When the bell chimed at dawn, she stepped out from behind the counter ready to face the stranger head-on. The stranger stood in the doorway, smaller than she remembered. A wicker basket dangled from one talon, packed with burgers, pretzels, and a melting ice cream cone. A camera hung from a strap across their chest. Cambria squared her shoulders and reached for the hood pulled low over their face. She tugged it back. Beneath it was a soft brown owlet in a naturalist's cap, big yellow eyes blinking up at her. Not a thief. Not a designer. Norwin Featherly, the field naturalist who wrote about wild things. "You," Cambria said. Her feathers settled flat. "You're not building a shop." "Goodness, no," Norwin said gently. "I was documenting you. A barn owl who built her own habitat. I brought lunch, in case you'd sit for an interview." They lifted the basket. "My article runs next month. Readers across three counties." Cambria stared at the basket, then at the camera, then at the sketchbook still clutched in her wing. Her rival was no rival at all. She was about to be famous. She pulled out the maroon chair and gestured for Norwin to sit. The fight she had braced for was gone, and in its place sat a much bigger question: when those readers came, would her one small shop be ready for them?