Emery's face when she'd been exposed. Shocked and guilty and pleading.
She shook her head. She'd made her decision. Sent the box with Julian's letter. Ended it properly, formally. No going back, no second chances. Alright, maybe a solicitor had been over-doing things, but she’d wanted it to be for real, wanted it to be formal and unmoving, uncompromisable.
She walked to the poetry section, where they'd once stood close enough that she could smell Emery's shampoo, where she'd recited Neruda and watched Emery's eyes go dark.
The Rossetti collection wasn't there. She remembered now; she'd moved it to the romance section in a fit of anger, as if she could banish poetry to the back corner along with her feelings.
A headache was building behind her eyes. Part of her, a small, weak part, kept wondering if she'd been too harsh. The part that wanted Emery back, wanted her smile and her arms and her laugh.
But Emery had lied for weeks. Even as something was growing, even as they were beginning to love—
Eveline stopped the thought before it could finish. She wouldn't allow herself to complete it, to admit what had been developing between them.
Instead, she went through the motions of closing the shop. Counting the dismal day's take. Turning off lights. Checking windows. The routine was comforting in its familiarity.
She made herself focus on practical matters. The rent was due next week. She'd need to place a smaller order than usual with the distributor. Maybe cut Zara's hours, though that felt like admitting defeat.
As she locked the front door, she glanced at the window display. The romance novels were gone, replaced with classics, history, science. Safe books that wouldn't break her heart.
Upstairs in her flat, she made tea she didn't want. Nibbled at dinner she couldn't taste. Took a shower that didn't help with the bone-deep tiredness.
In her bedroom, she paused at the dresser drawer where she'd put Emery's unopened letter. She couldn't throw it away, this last unread message. Her fingers hovered over the handle before she pulled back.
No. Reading it now wouldn't change anything. Wouldn't erase the lies. Wouldn't bring back the customers. Wouldn't fix what was broken.
She turned away from the drawer and climbed into bed. Stared at the ceiling. Tomorrow would be another day of empty aisles and dwindling sales. Another day of pretending the shop, that she, wasn't slowly falling apart.
Sleep came eventually, but it brought no peace. Only dreams of curly hair and blue eyes and books falling to the floor.
Chapter Thirty
Eveline stood at the shop window, reorganizing a display of leather-bound classics that didn't need reorganizing. The morning was gray, matching her mood perfectly. Three weeks since Emery had left. Three weeks of dwindling customers and sleepless nights.
“Have you considered,” Maya said from behind her, setting down a tray of coffee she'd brought, “that perhaps throwing yourself into work isn't actually helping?”
“I'm not throwing myself into anything,” Eveline said, adjusting a copy ofJane Eyrefor the fifth time. “I'm simply running my shop.”
Maya sighed. “You haven't mentioned her name in three weeks. Not once.”
“There's nothing to say.”
“There's everything to say,” Maya insisted, moving to stand beside her. “Eveline, you can't just shut down and pretend—”
The shop bell jingled, cutting Maya off mid-sentence. Eveline turned, hoping for a customer, for any distraction from this conversation. Instead, she found Charles standing in the doorway, a leather portfolio tucked under his arm.
Something inside her went cold and still.
Maya narrowed her eyes and Eveline sighed. “Maya, this is Charles.”
“Not a good time, Charles,” Maya said.
Charles ignored her, his eyes fixed on Eveline. “I've brought something I think you'll want to see,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar note of confidence that had once charmed her so completely.
“I doubt that very much,” Eveline replied, but her voice lacked conviction. She was too tired for this, too empty to summon the proper anger.
“Five minutes,” he said. “That's all I ask.” He gestured toward the back of the shop, away from the windows where passersby might see.
Against her better judgment, Eveline nodded stiffly and moved toward the reading area. Maya followed, ignoring Charles's pointed look that clearly wanted her elsewhere.
