Emery felt her heart stutter in her chest. Eveline's voice, already enchanting with its French lilt, took on a musical quality as she spoke the verses. The words themselves were beautiful enough, but hearing them in Eveline's voice, watching her face transform with the emotion of the poem, was almost unbearably intimate.
Heat flooded Emery's body. She gripped the edge of a nearby shelf, suddenly light-headed. How was it possible to wantsomeone this much? To feel a poem spoken by them as if it were a physical caress?
Eveline opened her eyes, and for a split second, they locked with Emery's. Something electric passed between them, something that made Emery's breath catch and her pulse race.
Then Abe chuckled, breaking the spell. “You recite it even better than I did,” he said.
Emery turned away, needing a moment to compose herself. Her face felt flushed, her heartbeat erratic. It was just a poem, she told herself. Just words. But they weren't just words, not when Eveline spoke them like that, not when she looked at Emery afterward with those dark, expressive eyes.
???
Eveline watched Emery retreat toward the front of the shop, noting the flush on her cheeks, the slight tremor in her hands. Had the poem affected her that strongly? Or was it something else entirely?
There was something about Emery Parker that continued to mystify her, to draw her in despite her better judgment. She claimed to lead a boring, ordinary life, yet there was nothing ordinary about her. The way her eyes lit up when she discussed books, the passion that animated her when she helped customers find exactly what they needed, even the endearing clumsiness that seemed to worsen whenever Eveline was nearby.
“She's quite something, isn't she?” Abe murmured, following Eveline's gaze.
Eveline startled, realizing she'd been staring. “Who?”
Abe gave her a knowing look. “Don't play coy, my dear. It doesn't suit you.”
Eveline sighed, keeping her voice low. “It's complicated, Abe.”
“Love usually is,” he said. “But that doesn't mean it's not worth pursuing.”
“Who said anything about love?” Eveline whispered fiercely, though even to her own ears, the protest sounded weak.
Abe simply raised an eyebrow and opened the book of sonnets. “When love comes knocking,” he said, his finger tracing the lines of the poem she'd just recited, “you don't ignore it. You open the door and welcome it whole-heartedly. Because if you don't, it may not come again.”
“That sounds like romantic claptrap,” Eveline said, but there was no conviction in her voice.
Abe laughed, the sound warm and knowing. “Does it? Tell me, is Austen claptrap? Is Shakespeare? Is Neruda?” He shook his head. “Romance novels didn't invent love, Eveline. They're just the latest iteration of stories we've been telling for centuries. Some of our finest literature, our oldest stories, are about love. There's a reason romance is the most popular genre, it speaks to something fundamentally human.”
Eveline watched as Emery smiled at a customer, her whole face lighting up as she recommended a book. There was such genuine joy in the gesture, such unguarded enthusiasm.
“I'm afraid,” she said quietly, so quietly that only Abe could hear.
“Of course you are,” he said. “That's how you know it matters.”
He squeezed her hand and shuffled off toward Maya, who was arranging pastries near the counter, leaving Eveline with her thoughts.
She'd been hurt before, betrayed in the worst possible way by someone she thought she could trust. Charles had taken her stories, her vulnerability, and used them for his own gain. She'dsworn never to be so foolish again, never to open herself to that kind of pain.
But Emery wasn't Charles. She was warm and genuine and slightly chaotic, bringing a kind of vibrant energy into the shop, into Eveline's life, that she hadn't realized was missing.
Eveline sighed and rolled her eyes at herself, at the direction her thoughts were taking. Yet as she watched Emery gesturing animatedly while describing a book to a customer, she couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, Abe had a point.
Perhaps it was time to stop hiding behind her walls of cynicism and caution. Perhaps it was time to take a risk.
Tomorrow, she decided. After the Romance Book Club's anniversary meeting, she would approach Emery. Say something. Take that first step.
The thought was terrifying. And exhilarating.
She caught Emery looking her way and felt a flutter in her chest when Emery smiled shyly before turning back to her customer.
Yes, tomorrow. She would find the courage tomorrow.
Chapter Eighteen
