Ollie grinned. “It’s heavy.” He set it down next to the counter and pulled out his clipboard. “Need a signature.”
Emery scrawled her name hastily, keeping one eye on the stockroom door where Eveline had disappeared a few minutes earlier. She needed to get this package out of sight.
“Thanks, Ollie,” she said, already trying to maneuver the large, flat cardboard box toward the door. “I'll just put this… somewhere else.” She quickly pulled away a little of the brown paper and saw her own eye staring back at her. Her stomach sank. Just what she’d thought. It was the cardboard display case that her publisher had sent out for her books. Complete with an almost life-size Emerald Pearl.
“What's the rush?” Ollie asked, eyebrows raised. “Don't you want to see what it is? Looks like promotional materials.”
From behind her, Emery heard Eveline's voice. “Is that today's delivery?”
Emery spun around, grabbing her coffee mug and spinning back, tossing the coffee over the package. Hot liquid splashed across the brown paper and began to sink into the cardboard, which rapidly grew soggy and started to sag.
“Oh, no!” she said, getting tissues from under the counter napkins and dabbing frantically at the soaked package. “I'm so sorry! I'm such a klutz!”
Eveline appeared at her side, already holding a roll of paper towels. “Another day, another disaster,” she said, but her tone was more amused than annoyed.
Together, they mopped up the coffee, but the damage to the package was clearly irreversible. The cardboard was soggy, the labels running with ink, and when Emery cautiously peeled back one coffee-stained corner, she could see that whatever was inside was thoroughly ruined.
“What was in there, anyway?” Eveline asked, tossing soaked paper towels into the bin.
“Um, not sure,” Emery lied. “Some kind of promotional display? Probably one of those romance novel stands, you know, all bare chests and heaving bosoms. Probably not important.”
Ollie, who had been watching the clean-up with barely concealed amusement, shook his head. “That's a shame. Looked fancy.”
“These things happen,” Emery said with forced cheerfulness. “No use crying over spilled coffee, right?”
The bell jingled again, and Maya swept in, bringing with her the scent of fresh pastries. “Good morning, bookworms. I've brought breakfast—” She stopped short, taking in the scene of soggy cardboard and coffee-stained counter. “What happened here?”
“Emery happened,” Eveline said with a slight smile.
“Just another day in the life of Emery Parker, destroyer of all things,” Emery said, trying to sound light-hearted while still shoving the remains of the package into the bin.
Maya peered with interest at the wreckage. “Is that one of those promotional displays? For Emerald Pearl's books?”
Emery nearly choked. “What? No! I mean, I don't think so. Just some… general promotional… thing.”
Maya sighed dramatically. “No, no, it’s Emerald Pearl. I recognize the color scheme fromWhen a Bride Meets a Groom. It’s a shame it’s all damaged. It would have been perfect for the Romance Book Club's tenth anniversary meeting tomorrow night. A special guest of honor, even if just in cardboard form.”
“Such a loss to literature,” Eveline said dryly.
Emery was about to respond when the bell jingled once more. She looked up to see Abe shuffling in, leaning on his cane but looking notably better than the last time they'd seen him.
“Abe!” Eveline said, genuine warmth flooding her voice. “Should you be out and about already?”
The elderly man waved away her concern. “Can't keep me cooped up for long. Besides, I needed to stretch my legs, and I find myself in need of poetry.”
Maya beamed at him. “You're looking much better. We were all so worried.”
“Nothing keeps me down for long,” he said with a wink. “Especially not when I have books waiting to be read.” He turned to Eveline. “I'm looking for Neruda. The sonnets, specifically.”
Eveline's expression lightened. “A special favorite of mine.” She moved toward the poetry section, gesturing for him to follow. “I have a lovely edition that just came in last week.”
Emery trailed after them, utterly relieved to have the attention diverted from the ruined display. She watched as Eveline ran her fingers along the spines of books, stopping at a slim, leather-bound volume.
“This one,” she said, carefully taking it down. “Bilingual, with the original Spanish.”
Abe accepted the book with reverent hands. “Perfect. Agnes loved Neruda, you know. I used to read her the sonnets sometimes. The seventeenth was her favorite.”
“Ah, yes,” Eveline said. She closed her eyes. “I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom but carries /The light of those flowers, hidden, within itself, /And thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose /From the earth lives dimly in my body.”
