“This is getting out of hand,” Jax said, refilling Emery's wine glass for the third time that evening. “Your face is all over social media, and it's only a matter of time before someone recognizes you.”
Emery groaned, sinking deeper into her sofa cushions. Her flat was even more of a mess than usual, half-empty coffee mugs scattered across every surface, manuscripts pages fanned out on the coffee table, and a trail of discarded clothes leading to her bedroom. Jax had arrived an hour ago with two bottles of wine and a concerned expression that only grew more severe as Emery recounted the day's events.
“It's not my face,” Emery protested weakly. “It's just my silhouette. And my back. And maybe the side of my head in one photo.”
“That's not the point and you know it.” Jax tucked her feet underneath her on the couch. “The more attention the bookshop gets, the more likely someone is to connect Emery Parker with Emerald Pearl. You're trending, Em. On multiple platforms.”
Emery took a large gulp of wine, wincing as it burned its way down her throat. “What am I supposed to do? Quit?”
“Yes, actually,” Jax said. “Or, novel idea, tell Eveline the truth.”
“I can't do that,” Emery said, shaking her head so vigorously that wine sloshed over the rim of her glass. “She hates romance novels. She basically said they're responsible for giving people unrealistic expectations about love. She would hate me.”
“You don't know that.”
“I do know that.” Emery set her glass down with more force than necessary. “You didn't see her face when she was talking about romance being fantasy. She has this… history. I don't know what exactly, but something bad happened. Something that made her cynical.”
Jax raised an eyebrow. “So instead of being honest, you're just going to… what? Keep pretending to be someone you're not until it inevitably blows up in your face?”
Emery sighed and reached for her laptop. “Look, I need to show you something.”
She opened her document and turned the screen toward Jax, who leaned forward, eyes scanning the first page.
“Is this…?”
“My new manuscript,” Emery said. “The one I've been working on since I started at the bookshop.”
Jax read in silence for a few minutes, her expression shifting from skepticism to surprise. “Em, this is… this is really good. Different from your usual stuff. Deeper.”
“I know,” Emery said quietly. “It's the best thing I've ever written. And it's all because of her, Jax. I can't leave now. The book's barely half done.”
“So, what's your plan? Stay at the bookshop until you finish writing, then disappear from Eveline's life forever?”
Emery looked away, biting her lip. The truth was, she hadn't thought that far ahead. Couldn't bear to imagine not seeing Eveline every day, not watching the way she reverently handledfirst editions, or the rare smile that transformed her usually serious face into something so beautiful it made Emery's chest ache.
“That's what I thought,” Jax said softly when Emery didn't answer. “This isn't just about the book anymore, is it?”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Emery muttered, reaching for her wine glass again.
“Bullshit,” Jax said. “You've fallen for her.”
“I haven’t…” Emery began, then stopped. What was the point? Jax knew her too well. “Fine. Maybe I have. A bit. But that doesn't change anything. In fact, it makes it worse. How am I supposed to tell her now?”
Jax shook her head. “I don't know. But the longer you wait, the harder it's going to be. Secrets have a way of coming out at the worst possible moment. Trust me, I've seen it in court too many times.”
Emery buried her face in her hands. Even Domi had said the same thing. “I'm so screwed.”
“Epically,” Jax agreed, patting her shoulder sympathetically. “But hey, at least you're writing again. And who knows? Maybe when Eveline reads your book, she'll forgive you for lying about being its author.”
Emery peeked through her fingers to glare at Jax. “Not helping.”
“Sorry,” Jax said, not looking sorry at all. “Just remember, Em, the romances you write always have happy endings. Maybe it's time to believe in one for yourself.”
Emery snorted. “Right. Because real life works exactly like my books.”
“Sometimes,” Jax said with a shrug, “it might surprise you.”
THE NEXT MORNING, Emery arrived at the bookshop with a pounding headache and the lingering sense of dread thathad followed her since Jax's departure. She'd managed to write another chapter before falling into bed, the words flowing despite her anxiety, or maybe because of it. Her protagonists were circling each other now, drawn together by an undeniable attraction even as secrets threatened to tear them apart.
