“You’re doing it again with the book puns,” I say, laughing. I don’t care, though, because, instead of answering, he just leans forward and kisses me, and it’s the kind of kiss that makes me feel like he might be right; that we can figure this out.
And maybe our story won’t have to end after all.
15
PRESENT
It’s called ‘ insta love’ according to Paris. It’s her least favorite trope.
“It’s love at first sight, basically,” she tells me, pausing in the act of shelving a new delivery of romantasy novels the morning after the book signing. “When the two main characters meet and they instantlyknowthey’re destined to be together.The Snow Globeis one example of it, obviously, but there are loads more. It’s, like, super popular, for some reason.”
She looks at me as if she might be about to hold me personally responsible for this; which honestly wouldn’t surprise me.
“Was that what it was like, then?” she asks, curiosity getting the better of her, and forcing her to drop the ‘cool girl’ act for a second. “With you and Elliot? Was it just like in the book? Did your eyes meet across the bookstore, and then, WHAM! That was it?”
I take the books from her and start organizing them according to the color of their spines, even though I know she’ll just put them back into alphabetical order again as soon as I’m safely in my office.
“No, of course not,” I reply, my eyes fixed on what I’m doing. “We didn’t meet in the bookstore. And I don’t believe in love at first sight, anyway. Or ‘insta love’ or whatever you want to call it. It’s definitely not what happened to me and Elliot. Everyone knows howthatturned out.”
“We don’treally, though,” points out Paris bluntly. “No one knows. In the book, he waits for her in front of the Christmas tree in the village square, like they agreed, but she doesn’t turn up. We never find out why. It’s like he meant to write a sequel at some point, but just never got around to it.”
“The thing with the Christmas tree didn’t happen,” I tell her, still focused on the books. “Elliot just made that bit up.”
The question of whatdidhappen hangs in the air between us, like a piece of mistletoe on an unsuccessful first date. Strangely, not even Levi has ever dared ask me about therealending of my relationship with Elliot. No one has; not even Dad. Which means Elliot is the only person who knows; because, God knows, it’s as much of a mystery to me as it is to anyone else.
“Is it weird?” Paris asks, having allowed a respectful amount of time to pass between this question and her last one. “Him being back here?”
“Yeah,” I admit, pulling my hair back and securing it with a pencil I grabbed from my desk earlier. “It’s pretty weird. I wish I’d had some time to prepare for it, you know?”
“To, like, get your hair done and stuff?” Paris says, watching as I wrestle with the hair in question, which continues to evade my attempts to wrestle it into submission. “I totally get that. That’s what I’d do too, if I was going to be seeing my ex. And I’d make sure I was wearing something, like,superhot.”
“Um, I just meant time to, you know,mentallyprepare,” I reply, a little taken aback. Now that she’s mentioned it, though, I suppose if I’d known I was going to be bumping into Elliot that day, I might have taken a bit more care with my appearance.I probably wouldn’t have worn the ‘Jane Eyre’ dress, for one thing. And maybe Ishouldstop using stationery as hair accessories?
“Paris,” I say suddenly. “Whatwouldyou wear if you were going to be seeing your ex? If you were me, I mean?”
I add this last bit because Paris is very much a ‘Gen Z’ dresser, which means she’s currently wearing jeans so wide I’m pretty sure I saw Ed the cat hiding under them earlier. She always looks amazing, but I’m not convinced the same would be true of me if I decided to try to ‘slay’ like Paris.
Paris takes a step back and looks at me critically.
“It depends what kind of direction you want to take, really,” she says seriously. “Like, are you thinking clean girl or cottage core? Edgy or party girl?”
“Um, I just want to look likeme, but better,” I reply, making a mental note to look up all the things she just said later, so I can finally start to understand what the hell she’s talking about. “Just so I can look him in the eye when I see him at the book festival and not have to feel like he’s the only one who’s moved on since … well, you know.”
“Okay, so what I’m hearing is that this is as much about confidence as clothes,” says Paris. “It’s about living your best life. Empowering yourself. Embracing your authentic self.”
“That’s exactly it,” I reply, too relieved by the fact that she hasn’t just laughed at me to question what embracing my ‘authentic self’ might involve. “That’s what I’m trying to do. But what do Iwear, though? To empower myself um,authentically?”
Paris bites her lip thoughtfully.
“I’m thinking a kind of crossover,” she says. “The dark academia thingkindof works for you, but you need to sex it up a bit. You know? Because it’s one thing to love books — that’s whywe all work here — but that doesn’t mean you have to dress like a Brontë sister. You know?”
I absolutely donotknow, but I nod anyway, pretending to know exactly what she’s talking about. Paris, however, is not fooled.
“Holly, do you want me to take you shopping?” she asks, with the air of someone offering to do me a huge favor. “Or do you feel like you understand the assignment here?”
I glance over at her. I hadthoughtI ‘understood the assignment’ as she puts it, but it’s becoming increasingly clear that I don’t understandanything, really; and definitely not ‘the assignment’.
“Shopping, please,” I reply meekly. “That would be amazing, Paris, thank you.”
