We stand there for a moment, not quite looking at each other, not quite looking away.
“Tomorrow,” Scott says finally. “I’ll bring coffee.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” He holds my gaze. “See you then, Jessica.”
He leaves, and I’m left standing alone in a bookstore full of romance novels, wondering when my life became one.
I waituntil closing to check the brass mailbox.
There’s a letter with Coastal Quill’s handwriting. My heart does something complicated as I carry it upstairs.
Austen is waiting by his food bowl, radiating judgment.
“I know,” I tell him. “I’m late. It’s been a day.”
He blinks at me with the air of a creature who has never experienced inconvenience and cannot fathom why I’m making excuses instead of providing salmon.
I feed him, pour myself a glass of wine, and settle into my reading chair.
Dear Between the Lines,
Yes. I’ll come.
My heart lifts.
He’s coming.
He’s actually coming.
I’ll finally meet the person behind these letters—the anonymous author who’s been writing to me for months. The one who asks questions about storytelling and second chances and whether characters can truly change. Whose letters make me feel like I’m talking to someone who understands what it means to love books so much they become part of you.
I pull out my stationery. Time to write back. Time to tell Coastal Quill I’m glad he’s coming, that I’m terrified too, that August ninth feels like a countdown to something I can’t name.
Dear Coastal Quill,
I’m glad you said yes. I’m also glad I’m not the only one who’s terrified.
August ninth feels very close and very far away. I keep counting the weeks and wondering what it will feel like to put a face to your words. To hear your voice instead of imagining it. To finally know who’s been writing these letters that have meant so much to me.
I started this program because I thought local authors deserved to hear directly from readers. I didn’t expect to find a correspondent who made me think so deeply about stories and why we need them. Your letters have been a gift.
I hope I don’t disappoint you in person.
I spent my evening planning your reveal event with someone who makes me want to argue about seating charts. He’s infuriating and unexpected and he made me a column for wild cards in his perfectly organized document, which might be the strangest act of kindness anyone’s ever shown me.
Maybe we’re all more complicated than the versions we show the world.
Maybe that’s what makes the real versions worth meeting.
Four weeks. I’ll try to be brave enough to deserve whatever comes next.
Yours in mutual terror and stubborn hope,
Between the Lines
I seal the letter and set it aside for tomorrow’s mail.
