“I have customers to attend to,” Eveline said, her accent thickening slightly, the only indication that Maya's words had any effect at all. She walked away, approaching an elderly man browsing the history section, leaving Maya standing alone.
Throughout the day, Eveline maintained her shield of icy professionalism. When Maya tried again before leaving, mentioning that perhaps it might help to talk things through, Eveline simply turned and walked into the stockroom, shutting the door firmly behind her.
Zara watched the interaction with worried eyes but knew better than to comment. The air in the shop had changed since that night, heavier, colder, as if all the warmth had been sucked out along with Emery's departure.
By evening, the pastries Maya had brought remained untouched in their box. Eveline moved through the closing routine with the same efficiency that had carried her through the day. She sent Zara home early, preferring to be alone with the silence.
As she moved about the darkened shop, her gaze fell on Abe's empty chair by the window. He was still in hospital, improving, but not yet enough to come home. Another absence, another void.
Eveline found herself standing in front of the poetry section, fingers tracing the spine of the Rossetti collection they had discussed, the day everything changed. Before she realized what she was doing, she had pulled the book from the shelf, its weight familiar in her hands.
With determined steps, she carried it to the very back of the shop, to the now-relocated romance section, and slid it onto a shelf there. Out of sight, out of mind.
The envelope lay in her desk drawer upstairs, unopened. Eveline couldn't bring herself to read it, equal parts afraid of what it might say and furious that Emery had thought words on paper could excuse her deception.
She ran her fingers along the spines of the nearest books, stories of history and science, factual, predictable, safe. Nomessy emotions, no betrayals, no hearts broken by trust misplaced.
Real life wasn't a romance novel. Real life was pain and disappointment and learning to live with the knowledge that happiness was temporary at best.
"I wish I'd never met you," she whispered to the empty shop, the words falling like stones in the darkness. "I wish I'd never known what it felt like to be happy with you."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Emery stared at the cardboard box on her coffee table. It had been sitting there for twenty minutes, ever since Ollie had dropped it off with an awkward grimace.
“All your stuff from the shop,” he'd said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Um, Eveline asked me to deliver it personally. Said the post might lose it.”
Emery knew that was rubbish. The post was perfectly reliable for a small box. Eveline just didn't want to see her. Simple as that.
Two weeks had passed since that night at the bookshop. Two weeks of no contact. Two weeks of beating herself up for being stupid enough to not spill the truth in the first place.
“Want me to stay for a bit?” Ollie had asked, hovering in the doorway. “You look like you could use the company.”
Emery had shaken her head. “I'm fine. But thanks.”
She wasn't fine. Not even close. But she didn't want an audience for whatever came next.
With a sigh, she finally reached for the box, peeling back the tape. Inside were the sad remnants of her time at The Turned Page. The cardigan she'd kept on the back room hook. A mug she'd brought from home. A few poetry books she'd bought but never taken home.
There were other things, too. A bookmark Zara had given her, with a quote from Jane Austen. A small potted succulent that Maya had insisted would be impossible to kill, even for someone as perpetually distracted as Emery. A recipe for cinnamon rolls that she'd asked for and then promptly forgotten about.
Her life at the bookshop packed up and returned. As if she'd never been there at all.
Tucked against the side was an envelope. The kind solicitors use. Emery pulled it out and opened it.
Ms. Parker,
I have been instructed by my client, Ms. Eveline Auclair, to inform you that all professional ties between yourself and The Turned Page have been formally severed. Your final payment has been deposited into your account.
Furthermore, Ms. Auclair requests that you refrain from attempting to contact her or visiting The Turned Page in the future. All personal effects have been returned with this letter.
Regards,Julian Whitmore, Solicitor
Emery read it twice. A solicitor. Eveline had actually gone to a solicitor to make sure Emery stayed away.
“Bit extreme,” she muttered, setting the letter aside. She continued emptying the box until she reached the bottom, where something made her freeze.
When a Bride Meets a Groomby Emerald Pearl.
