Eveline paused, rereading what she'd written. It wasn't terrible. It was honest, at least. But it still didn't capture everything she wanted to say. It was also, she couldn’t help but think, slightly saccharine. Just a tad nauseating. She sighed but went on, she had to get something on paper.
She continued writing, crossing out lines, starting over, finding her rhythm only to lose it again. Hours passed. The afternoon faded into evening, and still she wrote, searching for the perfect words to bridge the gap between them.
By the time darkness fell completely, her desk was littered with the ghosts of false starts and abandoned sentences. Her hand cramped from gripping the pen too tightly, and her eyes stung from concentration.
And yet, the perfect letter remained elusive.
With a sigh of frustration, Eveline stood and stretched, her gaze drifting to the bookshelves that lined her office walls. Row upon row of carefully arranged volumes, stories of every kind filled those shelves. But her eyes fell specifically on the romance section that she'd gradually been rebuilding. She'd moved it back to the center of the shop, an acknowledgment of her own growth, her own changing heart.
Emery's books stood among them now, no longer hidden away in shame or anger. Eveline walked over and ran her fingers along their spines, feeling the embossed letters of Emery's pen name beneath her touch.
It was natural to think that the answer to a letter had to be a letter. It was the only way Eveline could think of contacting Emery that didn’t involve her doing something drastic.
Traditionally, she knew that she was supposed to chase Emery down at an airport or something. But as far as she knew, Emery wasn’t planning on going anywhere. And with security these days, the old-fashioned airport chase was probably a thing of the past.
She sighed.
She needed to do better.
She needed to put the walls aside, to open up, to actually be honest with herself and with Emery. That was the only way that this was going to work. So why couldn’t she do it? Why did thewords look stupid on paper? Why couldn’t she, a well-educated and well-read woman, possibly explain just how she was feeling?
She looked around the shop and then closed her eyes and laughed. It was all so simple. She took a deep breath, went back to her desk, got a fresh sheet of paper, and began to write.
Chère Emery, les mots me manquent pour te dire combien je t'aime…
Chapter Thirty-Four
Eveline tucked her arm through Abe's as they strolled along the quiet street. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the pavement, and Abe leaned on his cane more heavily than he would have admitted. His recovery had been steady but slow, and Eveline found herself automatically adjusting her stride to match his careful pace.
“Thank you for accompanying me to the bookshop,” he said, his breathing slightly labored. “The doctor says walking is good for my recovery, but I'm not supposed to go alone. Something about 'fall risks.'” He rolled his eyes, the familiar twinkle had returned.
“I'm happy to walk with you,” Eveline said, slowing her pace further when she noticed him struggling with a steeper section of pavement. “Though I'm not sure why you insisted on coming to the shop on a Sunday when we're closed.” She'd been planning a quiet day of reading and perhaps working on that letter she still hadn't quite managed to perfect.
“I left a book there that I simply must have,” Abe said, his face a mask of innocence that Eveline found immediately suspicious. The expression reminded her of a child hiding a biscuit behind his back. “Very important poetry. Can't wait until Monday.”
“If you say so,” Eveline replied, giving him a sideways glance. He'd been oddly insistent about the timing, about taking this specific route. In fact, now that she thought about it, he'd refused her offer to simply retrieve the book for him, claiming he needed the exercise.
As they turned the corner onto her street, Eveline heard a commotion up ahead. A small crowd had gathered near the railway bridge that spanned the road just a block from The Turned Page. She squinted, trying to make out what was happening. People were pointing upward, others had phones out, recording whatever spectacle was unfolding.
Suddenly, the air erupted with light and sound. Colorful sparks shot upward and burst against the afternoon sky, fireworks in broad daylight, their brilliant explosions somehow visible even against the sun's glare. Eveline gaped as a massive banner unfurled from the bridge railing, fluttering in the breeze.
I LOVE YOU
The words, written in bold red letters large enough to be seen from where they stood, made her heart stutter in her chest. The handwriting looked strangely familiar.
“What on earth—” she began, but was cut off by the sudden blast of music from speakers that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. The opening notes of “Can't Take My Eyes Off You” filled the street, bouncing off storefronts and drawing even more curious onlookers from nearby houses.
Before she could process what was happening, a group of people, at least twenty of them, burst into coordinated movement. A flash mob, right there in the middle of the street,dancing to the upbeat love song that Eveline recognized from a dozen different romantic comedies.
“Abe… what’s going on?” she asked. But his face showed none of the surprise that should accompany such an unusual sight in their quiet neighborhood.
Abe was beaming, looking not at all confused by the spectacle. “Art, my dear,” he said cryptically, patting her hand where it rested on his arm. “Beautiful, chaotic art. And a wee bit of love too, if I’m not mistaken.”
Among the dancers, a familiar face caught Eveline's eye. “Is that… Zara?” The young woman's dark ponytail swung as she executed a particularly complicated turn.
Sure enough, her part-time employee was front and center, dancing with surprising grace, a huge grin plastered across her face. When she spotted Eveline, she winked without missing a beat, never faltering in the choreography.
“Abe,” Eveline said slowly, suspicion dawning as she took in his knowing smile and the obviously coordinated chaos before her. “What exactly is happening here?”
