A hush fell over the room. Emery recognized him as one of the newcomers Zara had mentioned, a literary critic who'd come “out of professional curiosity.”
Mrs. Hampton drew herself up, ready to defend her beloved genre, but before she could speak, Eveline stepped forward.
“You think so?” she asked, her French accent gliding over the words. “And what exactly makes them 'unrealistic'? The emotion? The connection? The hope?”
The man smirked. “The ridiculous notion that love conquers all. That two people can overcome any obstacle just because they have feelings for each other. Real life isn't that simple.”
“No, it isn't,” Eveline agreed. “Real life is complicated and often painful. Which is precisely why these books matter.”
She moved to the heart-shaped display, running her fingers along the spines of the novels. “They remind us that vulnerability requires courage. That connection is worth the risk of heartbreak. That hope… hope is not foolish, but necessary.”
Emery stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest.
“These books don't promise that love is easy,” Eveline said. “They promise that love is possible. Even for the guarded, the damaged, the afraid.” Her eyes briefly met Emery's across the room. “Even for those who've been hurt before.”
The critic opened his mouth to argue, but Eveline wasn't finished.
“You call them fantasies for desperate people? I call them blueprints for brave ones.” She lifted one of Emery's books,When a Bride Meets a Groom,and held it up. “The characters in this novel don't fall in love despite their flaws and fears. They fall in love with their whole imperfect selves. And isn't that the most realistic fantasy of all? To be truly seen and loved anyway?”
Silence hung in the air for a heartbeat before Mrs. Hampton started clapping. Others joined in until the whole shop was filled with applause.
Emery couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Eveline's words had pierced straight through her, leaving her raw and exposed. Because she'd heard more than a defense of romance novels. She'd heard a woman who'd been hurt learning to believe in love again.
THE REST OF the evening passed in a blur. There were toasts and cake and discussions, but Emery moved through it all in a daze, Eveline's words echoing in her mind. Then the last guest finally departed, leaving them alone in the shop.
“That was quite an event,” she said, gathering empty glasses.
“Indeed,” Eveline said, moving beside her to collect scattered napkins. “I think Mrs. Hampton was pleased.”
“She wasn't the only one,” Emery said, setting down the glasses and turning to face Eveline.
The shop was dimly lit now, most of the lights turned off except for a few fairy lights that cast a soft, golden glow. Eveline looked almost mystical in the gentle light, her expression unguarded in a way Emery rarely saw.
“Perhaps I've been too quick to judge what I don't understand,” Eveline said softly.
She stepped closer, close enough that Emery could smell her perfume, a subtle hint of vanilla. With gentle fingers, Eveline reached up and let her hand linger against Emery's cheek.
The touch was electric, sending shivers down Emery's spine. Their eyes locked, and Emery saw her own desire mirrored in Eveline's dark gaze. The air between them seemed to crackle with unspoken possibility.
“Eveline, I—” Emery began.
Then her phone rang, shrill and insistent in her pocket.
“Sorry, I should…” Emery gestured helplessly at the phone.
Eveline stepped back, the moment broken. “Of course. Take your call.”
Emery moved away reluctantly. “Hello?”
“Where are my pages?” Domi demanded, not bothering with pleasantries. “The deadline was yesterday, Emery. Your publisher is breathing down my neck.”
“I know, I'm sorry,” Emery said, watching as Eveline busied herself straightening books, her back turned but tension visible in her shoulders. “I'll send them tonight, I promise.”
“You'd better,” Domi warned. “This isn't just about missing a deadline. It's about your career. Your future. You need to decidewhat you really want, Emery. And stop messing about in that damn bookshop.”
Decide what she really wanted.
“I'll send them,” Emery said, then ended the call.
