Coming Swoon (Brunch Bros #4)

Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

Crane Cove, Oregon

“You never showed up.”

The words rattled around Peter’s brain, but refused to sink in.

“I waited at the bookshop all day, and you never showed up,” Sybil continued, her voice growing tighter and tighter with emotion as she talked. “I actually hoped that you’d been hit by a car because at least being in the hospital was a good excuse standing me up. But you weren’t. You were galivanting around London with Sasha St. Jaine. And I’ve been really angry with you for a long time, Peter. Really, really angry. Because you made me believe in love, and you made me believe that I was loveable. You said we were soulmates. I spent that first year we were apart thinking you’d show up at any minute, that you’d find me and throw pebbles at my window until I let you in. Because you made me believe in that kind of rom-com bullshit. I did my best to live my life in a way that when I went back to London, I’d have no regrets. But you didn’t show up and you broke my heart. So I’ve been angry with you, but I’ve never been able to hate you, and goddammit, I’ve wanted to hate you. If I could hate you— really hate you—maybe I could stop loving you. But I couldn’t—I can’t…”

Sybil put her fist in front of her mouth, like that would somehow hide the tears that were leaking out of her eyes. She took a shaky breath.

“Do you see now why I don’t want to talk about this?”

Peter was stunned.

“You’re angry with me because you still love me?”

“ That’s what you got from all of that?” She threw her hands into the air in frustration.

He crawled across the few feet separating them, pushing aside cans and boxes of pasta, until their knees touched when he sat back on his heels. He put his hands on her shoulders and contorted his torso so she couldn’t avoid his eyes.

“I love you too.”

“Peter,” she groaned, overflowing with frustration.

“I have loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on your broken knockoff Doc Martins, the first time you glared at me, since that very first hint of a smile. I have loved you with every breath since the day I met you, Sybil.”

She sniffled and wiped vigorously at her eyes. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it swanning around London with Sasha St. Jaine instead of showing up at the bookshop. Not to mention all the others you’ve paraded through the papers.”

It was hard not to smile. Once he’d played in a celebrity poker tournament to raise money for charity, and when he’d arranged his cards in order, he had a straight flush. This felt startlingly similar.

“Sasha is just a friend. They’re all only friends. I can’t control what delusional but creative pseudo-journalists choose to invent about my personal life based on a picture.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Since there was you, it’s only ever been you. ”

“So why weren’t you there?”

“I was there,” he insisted.

“Peter,” she groaned again, exasperated. “I was there all day. You could not possibly have been there for more than two minutes without me seeing you.”

“You went to the bookshop, right? The one with the gold lettering and the cat?”

“Yes. The one we met at. I was there five years to the day we met.”

He had to laugh. Seven years of wondering had boiled down to this.

“I think we might have had a slight miscommunication.”

London, Seven Years Ago (December)

Peter was surprised that the bookshop wasn’t operating under holiday shopping hours since Christmas was less than two weeks away. Maybe he’d spent too much time in the States lately. He stamped his feet and blew into his hands while he waited for nine o’clock to come around and for someone to come unlock the door.

He had waited five years for this moment. How many times had he imagined what it would be like to see Sybil again? Thousands, maybe more. Would she still look the same? How would her face have changed? It didn’t matter, he was just curious.

The last five years had passed at a crawl. He’d lasted one year before he broke down and tried to find Sybil, but she was no longer at the school she’d been attending when they’d been dating and no one he talked to at the school would tell him anything about her whereabouts. Peter would never forgive himself for not insisting that they stay in contact for the duration of their separation. Then again, if he’d had his way, he’d have been on the phone with her 24/7. When she went to class, she could have slipped him in her pocket and he would have listened to her lectures.

Finally, an employee came and unlocked the door. Peter rushed inside, grateful for the warmth and bowled over by the rush of memories brought on by the smell of dust, groundwood paper, and old wood.

Except for the Christmas decorations, the shop looked the same. Same chipped gold lettering, same cat in the window display, except instead of snoozing it was walking through the miniature Christmas village like a furry Godzilla. A quick assessment of the shelves confirmed that the organization method hadn’t been updated in the last five years, either.

He looked at the door expectantly, but no one came inside. He wasn’t worried. Sybil was probably jet-lagged and sleeping. There were still many hours left in the day.

Peter wandered up and down the aisles, casually searching for treasures. He’d never found another red copy of Emma since the day he’d met Sybil. Did she still have the one he’d given her?

The bell above the door jingled, and his heart leapt into his throat. But it was a young dad about his age, with a bundled-up baby strapped to his chest in a baby carrier.

“I’m looking for a gift for my wife. She likes to read,” he told the clerk stationed behind the register.

The clerk waved his hand in the direction of the books. “Feel free to look.”

The young man blinked in surprise, but headed for the shelves, looking for some kind of genre markers. Confusion quickly turned to dismay on his face .

Peter walked over to the man and smiled at the sleeping baby. “What does your wife like to read?”

“Books?” the man said. He looked hopeless but hopefully up at Peter, and frowned a little. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like that guy from that film? Peter…Something. Or Patrick.”

Peter grinned. “You know, I get that all time. Back to your wife. Can you recall any of the books on her nightstand? Any titles or what the covers may have looked like?”

“Umm…”

“What kind of shows does she like to watch?”

His face brightened at that question. “She loves Claymore Abbey . And Midsomer Murders . Oh, and Bake-Off. Got a real thing for Paul Hollywood.”

“Who doesn’t?” Peter asked with a grin and held out his hand. “I’m Peter.”

“John,” the man replied, and they shook hands.

It took some hunting, but Peter found John’s wife some historical romance novels, some murder mysteries, and one of Paul Hollywood’s cookbooks. Relieved and grateful, John paid for the books and left the shop.

The shop cat wound its way between Peter’s feet and leaned against his legs, begging for affection. He crouched down and scratched the cat behind the ears.

“Aren’t you sweet? When I settle down, I’m going to get a cat.”

The antique clock near the register chimed ten. Peter pulled a random book off the shelf and settled himself into the old, green velvet chair in the corner. The cat jumped onto his lap and immediately curled into a ball.

Hours passed. Peter read.

The book was good. The Light Below was exactly the kind of book his parents’ production company was looking to adapt. He specifically remembered his mother talking about wanting to do either a murder mystery or a thriller. It had a good chance of being made into a movie if he wrapped it up for Christmas and let her think it was her idea.

More time passed until the clerk finally hollered from the front of the store, “We’re closing. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

Peter checked his phone. Four fifty. Disappointment deflated his optimistic bubble. Sybil wasn’t coming today.

He gently eased the slumbering cat off his lap and went to purchase the book he’d almost finished.

The clerk frowned at him. “Do you come in a lot? You look familiar.”

Peter smiled and handed the man some cash for the book. “No, I just have one of those faces.”

The clerk snorted. “No, you don’t.”

If the day had ever grown warmer, he’d missed it. The cold air bit his cheeks, nose, and ears as soon as he left the cozy bookshop.

He should be sad. He knew he should be sad. Five years ago exactly, he’d made plans with the love of his life to meet again back where they’d started and she hadn’t shown up. But hope was stronger than any disappointment. This wasn’t how their story would end. It was a small obstacle, a story they’d laugh over in the future.

Peter would see Sybil again when the time was right. He was certain of that.