“A bit,” Emery admitted. “I'm not great at parties. Especially when I don't know anyone.”
“You know me,” Eveline said.
“True,” Emery said. “And Maya, of course. And… oh, there's Abe.”
She’d spotted him seated in a comfortable chair near the window, observing the festivities with obvious amusement. Eveline followed her gaze and nodded.
“Maya invites him to everything. Says he's the best gossip in town, though he'd never admit it.”
Emery found herself relaxing as the evening went on. Maya's friends were warm and welcoming, eager to hear how she'd come to work at The Turned Page. She carefully edited her story, leaving out the part about being Emerald Pearl and focusing instead on her love of books and her ‘accidental’ job offer.
But she remained acutely aware of Eveline moving through the crowd. Unlike at the shop, where she was cooler, here Eveline smiled more freely, laughed more often. Emery found herself constantly distracted by the sight, by the way Eveline's whole face transformed when she was amused.
“She's different tonight,” Abe said.
“I was just thinking the same thing,” Emery said. “More relaxed.”
“It's good to see,” said Abe. “Been a long time since I've seen her this comfortable. You're good for her, you know.”
Emery nearly choked on her wine. “Me? I don't think…”
“An old man notices things,” Abe said with a wink.
Emery felt her face heat up. “It's not… we're not…”
“Not yet,” Abe said. “But hope springs eternal.”
Before Emery could respond, Eveline approached them, a fresh glass of wine in hand. “What are you two conspiring about over here?”
“Books, of course,” Abe said smoothly. “What else?”
Eveline looked skeptical.
Emery turned just at that moment, her elbow catching on something, sending her wine splashing across the nearest tableand all over her hand. With a yelp of surprise, she jumped back, nearly colliding with another guest.
“I'm so sorry,” she said, grabbing at napkins to mop up the mess, succeeding only in knocking over an empty glass on the table as well. “I didn't mean to…”
A hand appeared beside hers, offering fresh napkins.
“Here,” Eveline said. “Let me help.”
Together, they mopped up the spilled wine, Emery's embarrassment only slightly mitigated by Eveline's calm efficiency.
Emery sighed. “I'm such a disaster.”
“Not at all,” Eveline said. She smiled. “Have you always been this… accident-prone?”
Emery considered her answer. She could tell the truth, that she was only clumsy around people she found attractive, particularly dark-haired French bookshop owners with soulful eyes. Or she could take the safer route.
“I'm a regular butterfingers,” she said with a rueful smile. “Always have been. You should have seen me in school, a walking catastrophe.”
Eveline laughed. “It's oddly endearing, actually.”
Emery felt her pulse speed up. “That's one way to look at it, I suppose. Most people just find it annoying.”
“I'm not most people,” Eveline.
Their eyes met, and Emery felt suddenly breathless.
