The bell above the door jingled, saving Emery from what promised to be an excruciating analysis of her own work. Abe shuffled in, his cane tapping a familiar rhythm on the wooden floor.
“Morning, ladies,” he called cheerfully. “I see you've met our resident scholar, Emery.”
“We were just discussing Emerald Pearl,” Zara said, straightening a stack of books.
Abe chuckled, his face crinkling with amusement. “Best not let Eveline hear you. She's ordered the books, but she's not happy about it. Grumbled something about 'literary standards' when she placed the order.”
“Where is Eveline?” Emery asked, glancing around the shop, hoping her relief at changing the subject wasn't too obvious.
“Upstairs,” Zara said, gesturing toward the ceiling. “She had a call with a supplier about some first editions she's been tracking down. She should be down soon.” She lowered her voice. “She's a bit grumpy this morning. The plumber came again last night, made a bigger mess than before, and charged her double.”
“That explains the extra buckets,” Emery said, noticing several new additions to the leak-catching collection.
Abe shuffled over to his usual chair by the window, easing himself down with a contented sigh. “So, Emery, settling in already?” he said, eyes twinkling. “Not too overwhelmed by our little literary haven?”
“Trying to,” she said, hanging her jacket on a hook behind the counter, only to have it slide off immediately onto the floor. She scooped it up with a sigh, trying again and making sure it stayed put this time.
“You'll do just fine,” Abe assured her. “Eveline wouldn't have asked you to stay if she didn't think so. She's got a good eye for people, even if she pretends not to care. Never seen her warm up to someone so quickly, actually.” He raised an eyebrow meaningfully.
Emery felt her cheeks warm. “I'm sure she just needed the help,” she said, busying herself straightening a display of new arrivals. She arranged and rearranged the same three books, unable to resist asking, “So, um, how long has she owned this place?”
“A few years,” Abe replied, settling back in his chair. “Came over from France with barely more than the clothes on herback, from what I gather. Running away from something.” He hesitated. “Um, not my story to tell, though.”
“Abe,” Zara scolded gently from where she was unpacking a box of bookplates. “You know how Eveline feels about gossip.”
“It's not gossip if it's concern,” Abe said, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously. “Besides, Emery's part of the team now. She should know who she's working for.” He leaned forward slightly. “And between you and me, a friendly face around here might be just what our Eveline needs.”
Emery felt her face grow even warmer. “I'm just here to shelve books,” she insisted, though she couldn't quite meet his knowing gaze.
“Mmmm,” was all Abe said.
Before Emery could respond, footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Eveline appeared. Emery's heart did a small flip at the sight of her, dressed in a simple green dress that somehow managed to look impossibly elegant. She looked effortlessly beautiful in a way that made Emery very aware of her own coffee-stained t-shirt and unruly hair.
“Good morning,” Eveline said, her accent slightly more pronounced than it had been yesterday. Her gaze lingered briefly on Emery, a flicker of something, relief or maybe just recognition, crossing her features.
The shop bell rang. A young man with a clipboard appeared at the delivery entrance, pushing a dolly piled with boxes.
“Morning delivery for The Turned Page,” he announced, grinning broadly. His dark hair fell across his forehead in a way that suggested he'd just got out of bed, and his eyes were bright green.
“Just in time, Ollie,” Eveline said, moving to sign his clipboard.
Ollie lifted the first box. “Three shipments today. New releases, special orders, and…” he lowered his voicedramatically, "…romance novels." He emphasized the last words with a playful grimace.
He spotted Emery, and his expression brightened with curiosity. “New face?” he asked. “Did Clare finally escape to Lisbon?”
“Emery,” she said, waving awkwardly and narrowly avoiding knocking over a stack of bookmarks. “Just started yesterday, actually.”
“Oliver Rodriguez,” he replied, “but everyone calls me Ollie. I bring the books and occasionally wisdom. Sometimes I even deliver them in the right order.” He winked.
“Wisdom is debatable,” Eveline muttered, but there was a hint of affection in her voice as she checked the delivery against her order sheet. “Emery, could you help bring these boxes in? Zara needs to open the register for the day.”
Together, they carried the delivery inside, stacking the boxes near the counter. Emery couldn't help but notice one labeled ‘Emerald Pearl: 20 copies’ and felt a strange mix of pride and panic. Her own books, here, in this shop, about to be handled by the woman who apparently despised everything they represented. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion, terrifying, but somehow impossible to look away from.
“You'll like it here,” Ollie told her as he prepared to leave, gathering his clipboard and empty dolly. “Despite the grumpy facade, this is the best shop on my route. Good books, good people.” He glanced meaningfully at Eveline, who was cutting open boxes with a small silver letter opener. “And despite what some might say, there's a heart of gold under all that French frost.”
“I heard that,” Eveline called without looking up.
Ollie grinned, not the least bit embarrassed at being caught. “See you tomorrow, ladies. And Abe,” he added with a respectful nod to the old man, who raised his teacup in salute.
