“Of course,” I breathe. “The woman in the photo. That’s who she reminded me of.”
“Right,” Elliot says. “Who did you think I was talking about?”
“Wait,” I reply, leaning forward. “So, Katie Hunter is related to Evie Snow. Your mystery woman.”
Elliot nods.
“Uh-huh,” he says, his mouth twitching with the ghost of a smile. “Did you really think she was my girlfriend?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I reply quickly, too relieved to be embarrassed by my mistake. “But… how did you find out, Elliot? I thought it was going to be impossible to track Evie down?”
Elliot stares guiltily down at his food.
“I, um, hired a private detective,” he says, still not looking at me. “I just wanted to know, Holly. You know how much it bugged me, not knowing. And it turns out that nothing’s impossible if you throw enough money at it. Who knew, huh?”
I take in the expensive wristwatch he’s wearing, the designer cologne that keeps wafting over to me, the sweater that looks like cashmere.
I guess being on the bestseller list every Christmas really does pay well.
“But… after all this time?” I reply at last. “You still wanted to find her so badly you paid someone to do it? But why? You already wrote the book. You gave her a story.”
He gave hermystory, is what I mean to say. In the pages ofThe Snow Globe, Evie and Luke became me and Elliot. We didn’t know their story, so Elliot gave them ours, instead. And now he’s telling me there’sanotherstory, just waiting to be told.
And suddenly, everything clicks into place.
“Wait,” I say, my voice tight with emotion. “Is it true, then? You really are writing the sequel? You finally found the story you were looking for, and now you’re getting to write it?”
Elliot doesn’t reply, and in the silence, another realization dawns.
Katie Hunter, laughing up at Elliot, the same way her great-grandmother looked up at his great-grandfather; that’s who they reminded me of yesterday. Luke and Evie. Katie and Elliot.
She may not be his girlfriend — yet — but I think I know who’s going to be the inspiration for Evie Snow in the long-awaited sequel toThe Snow Globe. Because wouldn’t it make sense that the man obsessed with recreating their story on paper might also want to recreate it in real life, too?
I’ve been well and truly replaced.
“Wow, is that the time?” I say, glancing at the spot on my wrist where my watch would be if I hadn’t forgotten to put it on this morning. “I have to go. The bookstore will fall apart without me.”
This is blatantly untrue, as anyone who’s ever met Paris would testify. I’m ‘doing her dirty’ here, as she would say herself. Nevertheless, I start gathering my things as if I know everyone’s going to be desperately waiting for my return, then rush out of the cafe with the same haste, leaving Elliot at the table behind me.
Okay, so he might notactuallybe dating someone’s great-grandmother, and that’s definitely a relief, don’t get me wrong. But his obsession with the people who inspired his book is only slightly less weird than that, and I think I’ve heard more than enough about it now. Even watching Levi hang books on a Christmas tree would be better than this.
“Holly, wait.”
Elliot catches up with me just in front of the village Christmas tree, which I see has been hung with dozens of miniature snow globes this year.
This place.
I mean, seriously.
The Christmas market is in full swing, and there’s a line of people waiting to have their photos taken in the snow globe. They all watch with interest as Elliot grabs the sleeve of my coat, turning me to face him.
“The publisher does want me to write a sequel,” he admits, ignoring the onlookers. “They’ve been putting a huge amount of pressure on me, actually. It’s been … well, it’s been really hard.”
I shrug, not really caring how ‘hard’ the life of a world-famous author is. It’s kind of hard to feel sympathy for him, all things considered.
“They want to announce it at the book festival,” Elliot goes on, looking desperate. “But I don’t want to do it. I still don’t have the answers. Katie doesn’t know anything about Evie and Luke. She’d never even heard of him; I guess that, whatever happened between them, Evie didn’t tell anyone. So I still don’t know how it ends.”
“Elliot, this is insane,” I tell him firmly. “You know that, right? You’ve been chasing this story for over a decade now. You don’tneedto know how it ended for real. You just need to decide how youwantit to end, then write that. You’re an author. I’m sure you can do that.”
