He pursed his lips. “May I come in? It's rather chilly out here.”
She hesitated, then stepped back, allowing him into the shop but not moving toward the cozy seating area. Let him stand awkwardly among the bookshelves.
“I'm in town for a literary festival,” he said, glancing around the shop. “Someone mentioned your bookshop, and I thought… well, I thought it was time we talked.”
“We have nothing to talk about.” Eveline crossed her arms.
“I disagree,” Charles said. “It's been years, Eveline. Don't you think it's time to put the past behind us?”
She laughed and not in a good way. “Put the past behind us? You mean forget how you stole my stories? How you built your career on my pain?”
“I didn't steal—” he began, then stopped himself. “That's not how I saw it at the time. But I understand now why you felt that way.”
“How generous of you,” she said.
“I want to make amends,” he said, taking a step closer. “I've changed, Eveline. The success, the fame… it went to my head back then. I was selfish, thoughtless.”
“And now you're what? Enlightened?” She shook her head. “Why are you really here, Charles?”
Something flickered in his eyes. A calculation, a recalibration. “I miss you,” he said finally. “Is that so hard to believe?”
It was, actually. Charles had never missed anyone except when they were useful to him.
“I'm seeing someone,” she said, the words coming out before she'd fully formed the thought.
His eyebrows rose slightly. “Ah. Well, that doesn't mean we can't be… friends. At least give me the chance to apologize properly. Have dinner with me tonight.”
“I don't think—”
“Just dinner,” he said. “For old times' sake. To clear the air. Then if you never want to see me again, I'll respect that.”
Eveline studied him, trying to see beyond the charming exterior to whatever his true motives might be. She wasn't the naïve young woman she'd been in Paris. She'd learned from her mistakes.
And yet, a small part of her wanted this, wanted to sit across from Charles as equals, to show him that she'd not only survived his betrayal but thrived.
“One dinner,” she said finally. “That's it.”
Relief spread across his face. “Thank you. Shall we say eight o'clock? I'm staying at The Savoy. There's an excellent restaurant—”
“Not The Savoy,” she interrupted. “I'll meet you at Luciano's. Seven-thirty.”
He nodded. “I'll make a reservation.”
“Fine. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to open the shop.”
Charles handed her a business card. “My number, in case anything changes.” He smiled again. “It's good to see you, Eveline.”
She said nothing, merely holding the door open pointedly until he departed. When he was finally gone, she leaned against the counter, drawing in a deep, shaky breath.
What had she been thinking, agreeing to dinner? But perhaps this was an opportunity, a chance to finally close that chapter of her life completely.
The bell above the door jingled, and Eveline looked up to see Emery, cheeks flushed from the cool morning air.
The sight of her, familiar, real, steadied Eveline immediately.
“Hey,” Emery said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “I need to talk to you about something.”
Eveline moved toward her. “Charles is back,” she said.
