“We should probably close early,” Emery suggested. “Given that half the shop is underwater.”
Eveline nodded. “Zara's already put up the closed sign.” She stood up, offering her hand to Emery once more. This time, Emery managed to get to her feet without creating another disaster. “Why don't we get changed and order some takeout? I've got some dry clothes upstairs you can borrow.”
Half an hour later, Emery found herself sitting cross-legged on the floor of the back room, wearing a borrowed t-shirt and yoga pants that were slightly too long for her, sharing containers of Thai food with Eveline.
“This is so good,” she said around a mouthful of pad thai. “Plumbing emergencies definitely improve the taste of food.”
Eveline smiled, looking softer and younger in casual clothes, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. “Everything tastes better when you're truly hungry,” she said. “My grandmother used to say that.”
“Was she a good cook?” Emery asked, seizing the chance to learn more about Eveline.
“The best,” Eveline said. “She lived in a small village in Provence. Her kitchen always smelled of herbs and butter and whatever was in season. I spent every summer with her until I was sixteen.”
“That sounds wonderful,” said Emery. “Did she teach you to cook?”
“She tried,” Eveline laughed. “I was a terrible student. Too impatient, always wanting to rush to the end result.” She paused, using chopsticks to select a piece of chicken from a container. “But she taught me other things. About books, about life.”
“Is she the reason you became a bookseller?”
Eveline nodded. “In a way. When she died, she left me enough money to start over. After everything with Charles…” She trailed off, then continued more softly. “I needed to rebuild my life. And books had always been my sanctuary.”
The vulnerability in her voice made Emery's heart ache. She wanted to reach out, to take Eveline's hand, but instead, she simply nodded encouragingly.
“So I came to London, found this shop for sale, and here I am.” Eveline shrugged, as if summarizing years of her life in a simple gesture. “What about you? What's your story?”
Emery hesitated, suddenly uncomfortable. How much could she share without revealing too much? “Nothing special,” she said finally. “Only child. Parents moved to Australia a few years ago. Boring, ordinary life.”
“I doubt that very much,” Eveline said, her dark eyes studying Emery's face with an intensity that made her want to squirm. “There's nothing ordinary about you, Emery Parker.”
Emery felt a pang of conscience so strong it nearly took her breath away. Here was Eveline, sharing parts of herself, being honest, while Emery continued to hide behind half-truths and omissions.
“I—” she began, then stopped. Tell her, a voice in her head urged. Tell her now, before it's too late.
But looking at Eveline's open expression, at the tentative trust being offered, Emery couldn't bring herself to shatter the moment. Not yet. Not when they were finally connecting in a way that felt real.
“I'm really not that interesting,” she said instead, dropping her gaze to her food. “But I'm glad to be here. Working with you, I mean. At the shop.”
When she looked up again, Eveline was still watching her, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I'm glad you're here too,” she said softly. “Even if you do seem to attract disaster wherever you go.”
Emery laughed, relieved by the shift back to lighter territory. “It's my superpower. Chaos follows me like a lost puppy.”
“Then it's fortunate that I'm becoming quite adept at handling chaos,” Eveline said, her smile widening into something that made Emery's heart flutter.
She’d tell Eveline soon, she promised herself. Someday soon, she would find the courage to be honest.
For now, it was enough to be here, in this moment, watching Eveline laugh at her terrible attempt to eat with chopsticks, feeling the unmistakable pull between them growing stronger with each passing minute.
Chapter Seventeen
Emery hummed softly to herself as she arranged a display of new releases near the front window. The morning had been pleasantly quiet, with just a few regular customers drifting in and out. Her nerves had settled somewhat after the pipe disaster yesterday, and the easy domesticity of sharing takeout with Eveline afterward had left her feeling oddly hopeful, despite the impossible situation she'd created for herself. Plus, the shop was dry again, which was always a good thing.
The bell above the door jingled, and Emery looked up to see Ollie balancing a large, flat package.
“Special delivery,” he said cheerfully. “Direct from publisher marketing.”
Emery's smile froze as she spotted the sender's name on the label: Scarlet House Publishing. Her publisher. Her stomach dropped. She had a feeling she knew what this was.
“I'll take that,” she said, rushing forward a bit too eagerly.
