“The tie that remains is financial,” he continued, the words tumbling out as if he had to say them all before she walked away forever.“Messy, stupid, legal debris. She thinks there’s a way to salvage something from the wreckage. A client, a project. I know it’s hopeless. I’ve been ignoring her because every conversation is just… a excavation of a grave I’m trying to leave behind.”
He took a step closer. She could feel the heat of him, the tension radiating from his body.
“I am not hiding here, Élise. Not from her. I am building here. What I have with you… this silence, this understanding… it’s the first solid ground I’ve felt under my feet in two years. She is the oubliette. You… you are the library.”
The metaphor, so perfectly tailored to their shared language, cracked her resolve. A single tear escaped, tracing a hot path down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away.
Slowly, she turned to face him. The raw anguish on his face was unmistakable. He was laid bare before her, all his defenses gone.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, her voice fragile.
“Because it’s ugly,” he admitted, his shoulders slumping.“And what is growing between us is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known. I was a coward. I didn’t want to bring the ugliness here. To you.”
He looked at her, his stormy eyes begging for understanding.“The man I was with her… he’s gone, Élise. The man who comes here, who draws you, who writes about ghosts and silence… this is who I am now. This is who I want to be.”
The library was utterly still, holding its breath. The fracture in the silence was still there, but his words were like a salve, slowly sealing the crack.
She believed him. She believed in the pain in his eyes, in the truth of his words about this place, about her. The legal and financial ties to Camille were one thing. But the romantic ones? She saw now that they were indeed part of the rubble.
“Don’t let her be the monster in your story, Luc,” Élise said softly.“Or in ours.”
The relief that washed over his face was so profound it was almost painful to witness. He took the final step to the counter, his hand covering hers where it still gripped the wood. This time, she didn’t pull away. His touch was warm, solid, real.
“Never,” he vowed, his voice a low, fervent promise.“That chapter is closed.”
The silence settled back around them, but it was different now. It was not the easy quiet of before, but a silence that had been tested, a silence that had acknowledged the shadows and chosen the light. It was stronger for having been fractured, and in its mending, their bond felt deeper, more resilient, than ever before.
Chapter 19:
The First Dinner
The air cleared, the library felt sacred again. The following days were a return to their rhythm, but the melody had changed, deepened by the minor chord of Camille’s intrusion. There was a new tenderness in Luc’s glances, a protective warmth in the way he now watched her work. The unspoken understanding between them had been tested and had held firm.
On Friday, as the afternoon light began to soften, Luc approached the counter. He had been writing with fierce determination all day, but now he closed his notebook with an air of finality.
“The chapter is done,” he announced, a quiet triumph in his voice.“The one with the listening silence. It’s the best thing I’ve written.”
“I’m glad,” Élise said, her smile genuine.
“I’d like to celebrate,” he said, his gaze steady on hers.“With you. Not coffee. Dinner. A proper dinner.”
The request sent a jolt of nervous excitement through her. Coffee was a brief, daytime interlude. Dinner was a different world—a world of wine and lowered lights, of time stretching out without the structure of opening hours.
“I’d like that,” she heard herself say.
“Tonight? I know a place. Quiet. Not far.”
“Tonight,” she agreed.
He gave her the address—a small restaurant tucked away on a side street near the Seine—and a time. As he left, the usual nod felt charged with a new, thrilling promise.
Élise flew through her closing duties. At home, she stood before her modest wardrobe, a flutter of anxiety in her stomach. What did one wear to a "proper dinner" with a man who had seen her soul? She chose a simple, dark green dress she saved for rare occasions, its color a quiet echo of the forest. She left her hair down, softening around her shoulders.
The restaurant, Le Temps Perdu, was as he had promised: small, warm, and hushed. The walls were lined with bookshelves, a detail that made her smile. He was already there, waiting at a corner table. He stood as she approached, and she saw the appreciative flicker in his eyes as he took her in.
“You look…” he began, then seemed to search for a word worthy of the moment.“You look like you belong here.”
It was the perfect thing to say.
