Emery followed her back into the shop, mind racing. She needed an excuse to be away tomorrow, something convincing that wouldn't raise suspicion.
“Actually,” she began, as casually as she could manage, “I might need to come in late tomorrow. Family emergency. My aunt is having… surgery. On her… elbow. Tennis elbow. Very serious. Could take hours.”
“I wasn't aware tennis elbow required surgery,” Eveline said, her expression neutral.
“Only in extreme cases,” Emery said, wondering why she couldn't just have said her aunt had a dentist appointment or literally anything more believable. “She's been suffering for years. Terrible backhand.”
“I see.” Eveline studied her for a moment. “Well, I hope it goes smoothly. Take whatever time you need.”
Emery felt a twinge of guilt at how readily Eveline accepted her lie. But what choice did she have? She couldn't exactly say, “Actually, I need the morning off to be interviewed as my secret romance novelist alter ego.”
The day progressed with its usual rhythm of customers, recommendations, and small tasks. Emery found herself watching Eveline more than usual, admiring the graceful way she moved among the shelves, the careful attention she gave to each customer. Since Maya's party, something had shifted between them. Nothing definite, nothing they had acknowledged, but a new awareness lingered in the air whenever they were near each other.
Too soon, it was time for the Romance Book Club to meet. Emery had been dreading this moment all day. Zara had decorated the back corner with fairy lights and brought in extrachairs to accommodate the growing number of attendees, drawn by the shop's newfound social media fame.
“Emery! Just in time,” Zara said, waving her over. “Mrs. Hampton has been asking for you.”
The formidable club leader beckoned Emery to sit beside her. “We've been discussing the scene where Edward finally reveals his true identity,” she said. “Such powerful emotions. What did you think, as you were reading it?”
Emery swallowed hard. Discussing her own writing was awkward enough; discussing it while pretending not to have written it was torturous.
“I thought it was, um, nicely done,” she offered weakly.
“Nicely done?” Mrs. Hampton scoffed. “It's masterful. The way Pearl builds the tension throughout the chapter, the physical manifestation of emotional vulnerability—” She turned to the group. “Remember when Victoria places her hand over his heart? 'I don't care who you are,' she tells him. 'I only care who you've shown yourself to be with me.'”
Emery cringed inwardly. She'd written that line at three in the morning, half-delirious from lack of sleep and fueled by chocolate biscuits. She'd thought it was too cheesy, but Domi had insisted it stay.
“What I want to know,” said another club member, “is how Pearl manages to write scenes that are so… stimulating… without being crude. That first kiss after his confession? I had to fan myself!”
“It's the emotional honesty,” Zara said earnestly. “The physical desire grows naturally from their emotional connection.”
Emery noticed Eveline hovering at the edge of the group, pretending to rearrange a nearby display but clearly listening.
“What about you, Eveline?” Mrs. Hampton called out, clearly having noticed the same thing. “You've been awfully quiet. Have you been reading along with us?”
Eveline looked startled at being directly addressed. “I've… glanced at a few passages.”
“And?” Mrs. Hampton prompted.
Eveline hesitated, her gaze briefly meeting Emery's. “It's better than I expected,” she admitted grudgingly. “Some passages are actually quite good. Stimulating, even.”
Emery felt her face flame. Eveline had found her writing stimulating? She wasn't sure whether to be mortified or elated.
“High praise indeed from our resident literary critic,” Mrs. Hampton said with a satisfied nod. “Perhaps romance novels aren't such 'mindless drivel' after all?”
Eveline's lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't contradict the older woman. Instead, she returned to the counter, leaving Emery to endure another hour of discussing her own prose while trying not to combust from embarrassment.
When the bookshop door opened after the club meeting had finally concluded, Emery looked up to see Jax striding in, dressed in stylish yoga wear, her tattooed arms on full display.
“There you are!” Jax said. “Ready for class?”
“Class?” Emery repeated blankly.
Jax gave her a pointed look. “Yoga class. The one you've been talking about all week? I'm here to pick you up, remember?”
“Right,” Emery suddenly caught on. “Yoga. Yes. Let me just get my things.”
As she hurried to gather her bag, she heard Jax introducing herself to Eveline.
