I pull the velvet cloth.
The cover is beautiful—a lighthouse at sunset, a couple on the beach, the title in elegant script:Between the Lines, named after Jessica’s penpal name.
“This is my new book. It's the most honest thing I've ever written. It's about a man who's so scared of being vulnerable that he almost misses the love of his life. It's about learning to let people see you—really see you—even when it's terrifying. And it's about...” I take a breath. “It's about a woman who changed everything. A woman who read my books and saw through my walls and made me want to be braver than I've ever been.”
Jessica's hand lifts to cover her mouth.
“It's about you, Jessica,” I say directly to her. “It's always been about you.”
The crowd makes a collective “awww” sound. Penelope looks like she's swallowed a lemon.
“Preorders go live tonight,” I add, because I'm still a businessman somewhere under all this emotion. “Twenty percent of proceeds go to the Twin Waves Library Fund.”
Mrs. Ziegler cheers.
“And that's—” I step back from the podium. “That's it. That's the reveal. I'm V. Langley. I write romance novels, cry at my own happy endings, and I'm desperately in love with the woman in the front row who's probably going to kill me for doing this publicly.”
The crowd starts to applaud. Then someone stands up. Before long, everyone is standing and the applause becomes a roar. Grandma Hensley is dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief, and Grayson is doing that slow-clap thing that looks sarcastic but is actually sincere.
But my main focus is on the woman I love, who's pushing her way to the stage with a look on her face that I can't quite read.
“Jessica—”
She climbs the steps. The crowd goes quiet again, sensing drama.
“This—” She stops. Takes a breath. “You writing about me and donating the proceeds to the library is the most romantic and terrifying thing anyone has ever done. And I already told you how I feel in private, but I think the whole town deserves to hear it too.”
“You don't have to?—”
“Scott.” She takes my hands. “Shut up.”
I obey.
She turns to face the crowd, still holding my hands, and raises her voice so everyone can hear.
“For months, I've been falling in love with this man. First through letters I didn't know he was writing. Then through arguments I didn't know I was enjoying. Then through moments of kindness he tried to hide because he was scared of being seen.” She squeezes my hands. “Well, I see all of you, Scott Avery—the grumpy businessman and the secret romantic.”
“Jessica—”
“You hush. I'm not done.”
The crowd laughs softly. I shut up again.
“Has everything been perfect? Absolutely not. But has it made me happier than I’ve ever been? A thousand time yes.”
She turns back to the crowd.
“I'm in love with Scott Avery, who is apparently V. Langley, which explains so much about those letters. I love that he writes about feelings and cries at his own books and can't tie a tie when he's nervous. And I'm choosing him—publicly, permanently, in front of all of you—because that's what you do when you love someone. You stand beside them.”
She turns back to me. “I love you,” she says, softer now, just for me. “And I'm done being scared.”
And then she kisses me.
Right there on stage, in front of the entire town, with Grandma Hensley cheering, the book club sobbing, and Penelope furiously recording everything on her phone.
It's a kiss like a promise and a beginning and every happy ending I've ever written, except better, because it's real.
When we finally break apart, the crowd is going absolutely wild. Someone—I think it's Mr. Sanders—is whistling with two fingers. Mrs. Ziegler is fanning herself with a program. The entire book club is on their feet, hugging each other and crying and looking at us like we've just personally validated every romance novel they've ever read.
