Brief
Beck was born on December 3rd, in 1990, to Edward Beck and an unnamed mother. She was born and raised on Nantucket Island. She has two siblings named Clyde and Anya.
Beck's father was an addict during her childhood. She found him in the midst of an overdose when she was 12 years old. Following Edward's overdose and his departure from her family, she made the decision to cut her father our of her life, choosing to tell others that he died due to his addiction.
She went to Brown University where she majored in literature, there she would meet and become friends with Peach Salinger, Annika Attwater, and Lynn Lieser. She then went on to a university in New York to get her Masters in Fine Arts, where she would earn a spot as a TA under Paul Leahy.
Opening Scene – Beck’s POV Mooney’s Rare & Used Books Late Afternoon
The bell above the door chimed as she stepped inside. The air was cooler here, dense with the smell of old paper and something woodsy—floor polish or forgotten cedar shelves. The kind of place that felt like it had its own gravity.
Beck paused just inside the doorway, letting her eyes adjust. Outside had been loud, humid, sticky with the usual Manhattan rush. But here, the city seemed to fade behind her, replaced by rows of spines and silence.
She tugged at her sweater sleeve, suddenly too aware of the way it hung off one shoulder. She hadn't planned to come here, not exactly. She was supposed to be writing, or reading, or answering one of a dozen texts she was avoiding. Instead, she’d wandered.
It wasn’t the first time.
There was something about this place—warm but quiet, worn but not sad. The kind of store that didn’t rush you. That let you browse without questions. Without expectations.
She drifted toward the fiction aisle. Her fingers brushed a few titles, pausing on a dog-eared paperback. She liked the weight of it in her hand. Solid. Familiar. Real.
She could feel her phone buzzing softly in her bag—probably Annika or Lynn trying to lock in plans she didn’t want. She ignored it.
I should be writing. I should be doing literally anything else productive. Instead, I’m here pretending I’m the kind of girl who wanders into bookshops and finds herself.
She turned toward the front, half-ready to leave. But then she noticed him—leaning slightly behind the counter, hands tucked into his back pockets. Watching her. Not in a creepy way, not yet. Just… watching.
He had the kind of face you noticed too late. The kind you didn’t think was attractive until you realized you were still looking.
Beck shifted the book in her hand. Smiled, barely.
She took a few steps forward. Okay... maybe it’s the lighting. Or maybe he’s actually kind of—no, not here for that. Focus. Still... that’s a nice jawline for a guy surrounded by Bukowski and broken A/C. “Hello,” she said, lifting her chin. “Do you work here?”
