AS THE PARTY began to wind down, Emery stepped outside onto the street for a breath of fresh air. The night was cool but not cold. She leaned against the front window of the bakery, letting the sounds of the party fade behind her.
“Too crowded in there for you?”
Emery turned to find Eveline, two glasses of water in hand. She offered one to Emery.
“A bit,” Emery said. “I had fun, though. It's nice seeing everyone outside the shop.”
“It is,” Eveline said, leaning beside her. They stood in silence for a moment, their shoulders nearly touching.
“You seem different tonight,” Emery said eventually, before she could think better of it.
“Different?”
“More relaxed. Happier, maybe.”
Eveline thought about this. “Perhaps I am. It's… been a while since I got out.”
“Why?” Emery asked, then immediately backtracked. “Sorry, that's none of my business.”
“No, it's alright.” Eveline's gaze was distant now, looking across the street. “I suppose I've just gotten used to keeping to myself. It feels safer that way.”
Emery wanted to ask what Eveline needed to feel safe from, but knew better than to push. Instead, she shifted slightly, her hand accidentally brushing against Eveline's.
Neither of them moved away. The contact sent tingles up Emery's arm. She held her breath, afraid that the slightest movement would break the moment.
Eveline turned toward her, dark eyes searching Emery's face. The intensity of her gaze made Emery's heart pound. She felt herself leaning in, almost imperceptibly, drawn by some invisible force.
But then Eveline stiffened, her eyes darting to something across the street. The color drained from her face as she stepped away, breaking the contact between their hands.
“Eveline?” Emery asked, confused by the sudden shift. “What's wrong?”
Eveline shook her head. “Nothing, I just… I thought I saw someone I knew.”
Emery followed her gaze to a man crossing the street, his collar turned up against the cool air. “Who?”
“It doesn't matter,” Eveline said, but her voice was tight.
Emery hesitated, then tentatively placed her hand on Eveline's arm. “Are you okay?”
Eveline took a deep breath. “Yes, I'm fine. It's silly, really. For a second, I thought I saw… someone from my past.” She took a breath. “My ex-husband.”
Emery's eyebrows shot up fast enough they might have left her head. “I didn't know you were married.”
“Briefly,” Eveline said, her voice flat.
Emery ached to know more. “I'm sorry,” she said.
Eveline was quiet for long enough that Emery thought she might not continue. But then she spoke. “He was a writer. Charming, talented. I was young and naïve enough to believe he loved me for who I was.” She paused. “What he really loved were the stories I told him. The ones from my childhood, my family, my heart. I would tell him these things in the dark, thinking I was sharing myself with someone who cared.”
Emery swallowed. “What happened?”
“He published them,” Eveline said. “All of them, twisted and reshaped, but recognizable to anyone who knew me. Made himself famous with my pain, my memories. And when I confronted him…” She trailed off.
“He denied it,” Emery guessed, her stomach knotting with dread.
“Worse. He laughed. Said I should be flattered he found any use for my 'little anecdotes.'” Eveline’s hands had balled into fists. “That's when I left. Came to London, started over.”
Emery felt sick. No wonder Eveline was so wary of romance, of trusting people. “That's terrible,” she said, the words completely inadequate. “He sounds like a monster.”
