January 10th, 2026 — A Day Worth Remembering

I just knew it was cold and clear when the day started, and that the rain would show up later, the way it sometimes does.

By the time I stepped into Half Price Books, that feeling started to take shape.

There is a certain comfort in a real bookstore, the kind that has been lived in, browsed through, and lingered in. The shelves do not feel staged. The air smells faintly of paper and time. Even before the event officially began, the space felt ready to hold stories that were not just on the page.

Outside, winter had sharpened the air enough to wake you up. Inside, everything felt warm, not just in temperature, but in tone. People wandered in slowly at first. Some knew exactly why they were there. Others were curious, passing through, pausing when they noticed the table and the books waiting.

Nothing felt rushed. Nothing felt forced.

The staff had everything prepared before I had time to get nervous. The author table and chairs were already set, which allowed me to arrive a little early and get settled. There was a quiet confidence in the space that said, You are in good hands.

As the afternoon settled in, the store found its own rhythm. Most people were not there for a signing at all. They were there to browse, to wander, to spend a little time among the shelves. My table sat just past the checkout counter, close enough to catch a glance, far enough not to intrude.

Some people passed without a second look. Others slowed. A few stopped. It did not feel like focused attention, but more like being present in the natural flow of the store and meeting people where they already were.

What made the day even more meaningful for me was having my young son there alongside me.

He was not just there. He was watching and learning how things worked. How transactions happened. How conversations started and ended. How you greet someone who is curious, answer a question thoughtfully, and listen without rushing to speak.

We handed out bookmarks, and that simple exchange of something passed from one hand to another, opened the door to real conversations. No pressure. No pitch. Just curiosity meeting curiosity.

He saw the operational side of the day too. The setup. The flow. The quiet problem-solving behind the scenes. How preparation matters. How awareness matters. How being present changes the tone of every interaction.

More importantly, he saw the human side. How to be kind. How to be respectful. How to meet people where they are.

Those are not lessons you get from a worksheet. They are learned by standing in the room and watching how adults move through the world with intention. For a homeschooler, it was one of those days where learning did not announce itself. It simply happened.

What stayed with me most from the event were not the sales or the logistics. It was the people.

I spoke with teachers who care deeply about helping kids discover that reading is not a chore, but a doorway. One conversation in particular stayed with me, about students who do not yet see themselves as readers and how the right story can quietly change that. Those are the moments that remind you why stories matter beyond the page.

There were readers who told me they had drifted away from books and were just finding their way back. Writers working quietly on their own projects. People who did not quite know what they were looking for until a conversation helped them name it.

And then there were the bookstore folks. People who understand what it means to keep spaces like this alive. In a world that moves fast and digital, their passion for community and curation still runs deep. These places are not just stores. They are gathering points. They are safe spaces for curiosity. They are where stories still get passed hand to hand.

The Half Price Books staff deserves more thanks than I can fit here. From the moment I arrived, they were welcoming, attentive, and genuinely kind. Not hovering. Not distant. Just present, smoothing out the details so I could focus on connecting with people.

That kind of support changes everything.

By the end of the day, the cold outside did not matter much. What lingered was the warmth of shared conversation. Strangers becoming familiar. Stories overlapping. A room briefly stitched together by a love of books.

This signing did not stand out because it was perfect. It stood out because it was real.

Events like this remind me that stories do not only live in chapters and covers. Sometimes they happen between shelves, in passing conversations, in the quiet moment when someone says, “This meant something to me.”

And sometimes, they happen when a child watches closely and learns how to show up in the world.

Some days do not announce their importance. They just leave a mark.