“The feminist undertones are subtle but unmistakable,” Zara continued, oblivious to Emery's discomfort. “The way she writes about desire from the female perspective, without shame or apology, it's revolutionary, especially in a genre that's been so dismissed by the literary establishment.”
Emery nodded, a strange mixture of pride and embarrassment washing over her. She'd never heard her work discussed so earnestly before.
More club members arrived, and soon the back of the shop was filled with lively conversation and laughter. Emery busied herself pouring wine and distributing pastries, trying to blend into the background as much as possible.
Eveline reappeared, now wearing a dark blue blouse that brought out the warmth in her skin. She surveyed the gathering with a resigned expression, nodding politely to the club members who greeted her. When she caught Emery's eye, her lips quirked in what might have been a small smile.
???
Eveline watched from behind the counter as Emery charmed the entire Romance Book Club without even trying. She'd changed her blouse, but could still smell the faint trace of wine, a reminder of Emery's endearing clumsiness. It should have annoyed her, it would have annoyed her from anyone else. But with Emery, it was somehow charming.
She shook her head, trying to dislodge the thought. This was ridiculous. Emery was her employee, nothing more. An employee who seemed to know an unusual amount about publishing and had a disturbing tendency to knock things over whenever Eveline came near.
And yet, Eveline couldn't help but notice how the soft lighting caught in Emery's curly hair, giving it an almost halo-like effect. Or how her blue eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed at something one of the club members said. Or how her hands moved expressively as she talked, somehow managing to convey more meaning than her words alone.
“Stop it,” she muttered to herself, turning away to reorganize a display that didn't need reorganizing.
She'd spent years building walls around herself, creating a life that was orderly and predictable, safe from the kind of betrayal that had driven her from France. The last thing she needed was to develop feelings for someone who probably saw her as nothing more than a grumpy bookshop owner with an accent.
“Eveline?” Maya's voice interrupted her thoughts. “Are you going to join us? Mrs. Hampton is about to lead the discussion.”
“I think I'll observe from a distance,” Eveline said. “This is your domain, not mine.”
“Nonsense,” Maya said, taking her by the elbow. “You ordered twenty copies of this book. The least you can do is participate in the discussion.”
Before Eveline could protest further, she found herself being steered toward the circle of chairs, and deposited directly beside Emery, who looked up with a startled expression.
“Ladies,” Mrs. Hampton, a formidable woman in her sixties with a penchant for bright scarves, called the meeting to order. “Before we dive into this week's discussion ofWhen a Bride Meets a Groom, I want to thank Eveline for graciously hosting us on such short notice.”
There was a smattering of applause, and Eveline nodded stiffly, acutely aware of Emery's shoulder nearly touching hers.
“Now,” Mrs. Hampton continued, “we left off with Victoria discovering Edward's secret identity as the Duke of Westmoreland. Thoughts on her reaction?”
“I thought it was completely justified,” one woman piped up. “He lied to her for weeks.”
“But he had good reasons,” said someone else. “His family's expectations, his own desire to be loved for himself, not his title.”
The discussion flowed around Eveline, who found herself strangely drawn into the analysis despite her skepticism. These women weren't simply swooning over romantic fantasies; they were engaging with themes of identity, self-determination, and the nature of honesty in relationships.
Beside her, Emery remained uncharacteristically quiet, her fingers fidgeting with the pages of her copy.
“What about you, Emery?” Mrs. Hampton suddenly asked. “You've been quiet. What do you think about Edward's deception?”
Emery's head snapped up, her eyes wide. “Me? Oh, well, I… I think perhaps Edward never meant for things to go so far. Maybe he started with a small omission that grew into something bigger as he fell in love with Victoria. By the time he realized how much the truth mattered, he was in too deep.”
Eveline felt a strange shiver run down her spine at Emery's words, at the passion and understanding in her voice. She turned to study Emery's profile, the way her brow furrowed slightly as she spoke, the nervous way she tucked her hair behind her ear. There was something about this woman, and she wasn’t sure what it was.
When Mrs. Hampton finally called for a short break, Eveline found herself lingering near Emery instead of retreating to the safety of her counter.
“You seem to have given Edward's motivations a lot of thought,” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral.
Emery jumped slightly, nearly spilling her wine again. “I just… I can understand how easy it is to get trapped in a lie, even with the best intentions.”
“Can you?” Eveline asked, raising an eyebrow. “You strike me as someone painfully honest, actually. I can't imagine you maintaining any sort of deception for long.”
A shadow passed over Emery's face. “You'd be surprised,” she said softly.
Before Eveline could respond, Zara bounded over, clutching her copy of the book. “Emery! You have to tell Mrs. Hampton what you were saying to me earlier about the symbolism of Victoria's garden throughout the novel. It perfectly aligns with my thesis!”
