Not Quite by the Book

Chapter One

My relationship with Emily Dickinson began at my family’s bookstore when I was ten. My mother, busy with customers, had interrupted my anguished tale of the school’s meagerly stocked library by shoving a tome of the poet’s works into my hands, and I fell instantly, irrevocably in love. When my mom was diagnosed with cancer a short time later, I spent long hours with her at the hospital, reading those same poems. When she beat the odds, I’d wondered if Emily’s words saved her.

Mom, on the other hand, concluded that her time spent planning an extravagant vow-renewal ceremony led to her full recovery. She declared hope a miraculous thing and me her bridesmaid. The event became an annual joy-filled affair, and I’d become the world’s youngest wedding coordinator.

Twenty years later, my feet, head, and heart ached after the most recent vow-renewal celebration. Happy as I was for my parents, decades of long-suppressed misery had risen unbidden to the surface mid-Macarena. A tipsy gray-haired guest ambushed me on the dance floor, bottom lip protruding, and jeered, “Poor Emma Rini, always a bridesmaid, never a bride.”

I’d heard those words before, but something about being in a vast sea of smiling couples, and the deep inner knowledge that she was right, sent pain reverberating through me. I’d never wear the big white dress, share the first dance, or leave a church hand in hand with my soulmate. In the moment, I’d briefly, shamefully, imagined tripping her. But instead, I left the dance floor in search of water and tried not to dwell on the fact that, year after year, I remained solo. I’d tried everything to skew the odds of finding love in my favor, including intermittent fasting, Pilates, and prayer. Sadly, nothing had worked.

I’d returned home around midnight, sans heels, SPANX, and any hope of finding true love.

This morning, the opening line from one of Emily’s most famous poems formed a loop in my head.

If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.

The words hit differently because the heart in question was mine, and I was determined to stop it from breaking. I just wasn’t sure how.

The shop’s front door opened, knocking the little brass bell into a tizzy and pulling me back to the moment.

I refreshed my smile and redirected my thoughts. “Welcome to Rini Reads!”

My family’s store had been around for thirty-one years. Opened the year I was born, the store was originally named Rini’s Romance Reads, but it had expanded its inventory, slightly, over the decades. The clientele was loyal but aging, and I itched to make updates to engage a wider crowd. My family didn’t share my enthusiasm, which was unfortunate, because the store’s prime location and longevity gave it great potential as a community hub.

The hours raced by as I made recommendations for customers’ next reads and shared news of upcoming store events, then sent my parents a quick text after the morning rush. They typically spent a night or two at a B&B following their vow renewal, and this year wasn’t any different. When my sister, Annie, and I were young, they’d work at the shop during the days and get us a sitter at night, but by the time I’d graduated from high school, I managed the shop alone and kept an eye on Annie. The last few years I saw more of our parents via photos on their social media accounts during their getaways than in person. And it only bothered me a little that they’d generously shared details of this year’s trip planning with Annie and her husband, Jeffrey, but sparsely with me.

I nearly rolled my eyes at the childish thought. This was exactly why I needed to make big changes in my life. I was on my way to becoming a cranky old lady.

I wished my parents happy travels, then put the phone back into my pocket.

My new delivery guy arrived a few minutes later. “Hey, Emma.”

“Hey, Caden,” I said.

Caden was a senior at the local college, fit and fine but too young to hold my interest. He passed me his clipboard with a smile. “I just need your signature.”

“Here you go.” I signed and passed the paper back to him, and his gaze traveled curiously over me.

“I like this look on you,” he said. “You’ve got a whole geek-chic vibe going.”

I stilled, suddenly remembering my ensemble and glasses. I’d worn my softest jeans with an ivory camisole and a ten-year-old cardigan. I’d decided that from now on, I’d dress as comfortably as I wanted because I was no longer concerned that it might be the day I experienced a real-life meet-cute that led to true love. I’d even skipped wearing my contacts as a small rebellion.

No more brokenhearted Emma. I was a bookstore manager in transformation.

“Looks good,” he said with a wink and a weird two-finger salute. Then he saw himself out.

I sighed and went to change the window display.

Rini Reads was deep and narrow, with floor-to-ceiling shelves along the walls and a generous window facing the sidewalk. Armchairs were tucked into quiet corners at the back, and the apartment where I’d lived since college was right upstairs.

I removed the books from their pedestals and replaced them with a selection of Penguin’s Clothbound Classics. The gorgeously repackaged tomes were proven fan favorites and sure to catch the eyes of passersby. I arranged silk leaves in autumn colors around each book, then spread the rest of my supply on the ground and strung card-stock cutout letters above to spell Fall in Love with a Book . Typically, I waited a bit longer to set up the fall displays—it was only the first of September—but apparently I was jonesing for change all around.

The bell above the door rang again as I reshelved the other volumes, and Jeffrey appeared, holding the door for Annie to stride inside.

I straightened and worked up a bright smile for my little sister and her handler.

She wore an adorable floral sundress with a matching headband and sandals. She’d curled her long brown hair into ringlets that fell over her shoulders.

Envy hit at the sight of her beautiful curls. I could only pull the sides of my recently cut locks into a messy little knot while the rest continuously reached in vain for my shoulders.

Jeffrey moved dutifully behind her, dressed in business casual and carrying her purse.

“Out for your weekly date?” I asked rhetorically as I stepped forward to give her a hug. Annie only bothered showing up at the shop once a week since her baby bump had appeared. In truth, Annie had pulled back on her hours the moment she’d gotten married. Our parents had supported her choice, claiming new marriages needed time and attention to thrive. And who could complain about a pregnant lady not working more? “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.” She set her hands on her swollen abdomen when I released her. “We can’t stay long. We have a prenatal appointment, then lunch plans, and we’re going to take a walk in the park if the weather holds up.”

“That sounds really nice,” I said, meaning it to my core.

Jeffrey stood behind her, gently rubbing his big hands up and down her arms. He’d joined the family, unofficially, during Annie’s freshman year in college, when they’d met by absolute happenchance and fallen head over heels in love. It was a story they shared almost as often as our parents told of their bolt-of-lightning, kismet first encounter. Both true love stories had begun on the University of Massachusetts campus. Personally, I’d spent four years on that campus without any marital prospects, but that was my life. Commuting forty-five minutes to classes and back so I could help with Annie and the bookstore had made my college experience very different from the rest of my family’s.

Jeffrey had become an official Rini following a spring wedding two years back.

I’d been Annie’s bridesmaid too.

“Can we bring you anything for lunch?” he offered. “We’re eating at the Bistro. It wouldn’t be any trouble. Our treat.”

My gaze flickered to the fancy restaurant on the corner across the street. “No, thank you.” I appreciated the offer, but they had a baby on the way and only one real income. The expression on Annie’s face said Jeffrey was working off the cuff—i.e., he’d offered without her preapproved consent, and I imagined she wasn’t keen on visiting the bookstore, or me, twice in one day. I didn’t want to start trouble in paradise, so I refreshed my smile. “I packed my lunch.”

“Well,” Annie said, glancing around. “Everything looks great here, as always. You’ve got it all under control.”

I frowned. Something seemed off about Annie lately. I couldn’t put my finger on the exact change or properly explain my intuition, but I hated the new distance between us. Despite vast personality differences and a seven-year age gap, for many years I was her favorite person. She was still mine.

Before I could ask if there was something more she wanted to say, Annie turned to her husband. “We should go. I don’t want to be late for the doctor.”

Jeffrey nodded and opened the door again. “Good seeing you, Emma. Take care.”

“You too,” I said. “Bye, Annie.”

She wiggled her fingers and moved back into the day.

Not one of her longer visits, but I had to take what I could get. If I didn’t see her on their weekly dates or Saturday-night dinners with our folks, I wasn’t sure when I’d see her at all.

Time rushed ahead from there as I impersonated a spinning top, greeting and ringing up customers, stocking inventory, and placing orders. All while firming up my internal resolve for personal change.

The words of Emily’s poem played again in my mind, and I acknowledged my quietly broken heart. I, Emma Rini, wanted what everyone else seemed to have already. I wanted the happily ever after. The deep, abiding love I saw in my parents, in movies, in books. I wanted it, but it didn’t want me. On a slightly brighter note, I realized, I was at least in good company.

Emily Dickinson had never married or had children, and she’d been brilliant. She’d found peace and beauty all around her. Why couldn’t I do the same?

I didn’t need someone to love me the way my dad loved my mom. I could embrace my inner Emily and learn to find peace and beauty in my life. I could learn to love myself instead.

That’s exactly what I’d do. I lifted my chin in audacious resolve.

Where to begin? I made a quick mental list of ways to emulate Emily’s life. She’d liked to bake and had been an avid gardener. I could do those things. She’d also liked to read and journal, write poetry, and correspond with friends. I could easily add those activities to my routine as well. Soon I’d be so busy learning new things and finding new passions, I wouldn’t have time to date or worry about love.

When shoppers disappeared after lunchtime, I settled behind the counter, feeling optimistic, and opened my prepackaged salad. I used to go pick up my lunch when Annie shared the workload, but without her to cover my breaks, I couldn’t even run upstairs to grab something from my fridge. Instead, I had to plan ahead, pack a thermal lunch tote, and eat around one o’clock, when business generally slowed.

My apartment was technically rent-free, but it definitely came at a price. Most notably, it made me the one to open and close the shop every day, and I was forever on standby to sign for deliveries before and after hours.

I dragged the box of books Caden had delivered a little closer, then opened it as I ate. The packing list on top was correct, so I breathed a little easier. Unfortunately, the stack of books beneath was wrong.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I slouched onto the stool and stuck another forkful of lettuce into my mouth.

I’d ordered several copies of Nicholas Sparks’s latest novel but received a stack of works by Nicholas Evans instead. “Un-freaking-believable.”

Nothing against The Horse Whisperer , but I’d been hoping to receive what I’d asked for this time. I made a note to contact the distributor and file a complaint. It had taken too long and too much hassle to return the last shipment they’d sent in error, and I was fast becoming a one-woman show.

The lonely thought sent a pang of grief through me, and I squared my shoulders.

Being alone was fine. I was fine.

My phone rang, and Mom’s number appeared on-screen.

I set my salad aside and answered.

“Good afternoon, sweetheart,” she cooed. “I got your text. How are you? How’s the shop?”

“Everything is great,” I said, smiling a little at her pep. “How are you and Dad?”

“We’re wonderful. Heading out for a late lunch before leaving town, and I can’t wait. It’s so nice to get away once in a while. You know?”

Her quip caused me to blink. Did I know? I wasn’t sure when I’d last had any sort of getaway. I scraped the back of my mind for details as Mom continued to talk. I had one guaranteed day off per week when the store was closed, and a second on the day my parents worked—though that was less regular lately—and I often spent most of that day off catching them up on the business. Reviewing our bookkeeping or brainstorming the next quarter’s events.

I’d made several road trips to other indie shops recently, searching for books to put on reception tables for the wedding-vow-renewal celebration. Did that count as getting away? I wasn’t working for the store at the time, but I’d been acting as my parents’ volunteer wedding planner. If those trips didn’t count as getaways, then when was my last—

“Oh, wow.” The words popped out when the realization hit. Had I not taken time off since I’d had my appendix removed? That was—I performed the mental math—seven years ago. Seriously?

“We don’t have to get it all sorted right now,” Mom said, the earlier pep gone from her tone.

“What?” I jerked back to the moment, confused and a little disgruntled. “Sorry. I was trying to remember something.”

Mom chuckled nervously. “That’s supposed to be my line. It’s exactly what I was saying. Once you’re over sixty, like your father and me, the memory starts to go. Along with everything else. Which is why we want to talk to you about this.”

“About what?” I asked, still daunted by the possibility I hadn’t had a day off since I was hospitalized and literally, physically unable to work.

“Retiring,” Mom said. “We aren’t getting any younger, and we want to spend our time enjoying one another, spoiling our grandbaby.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a record needle screeched. “You want to retire?” That couldn’t be right. “You’re only sixty-one. And you rarely work more than one day a week. Who will take your places?”

The line went quiet for a long beat, and realization smacked my head like a toppling bookshelf. Of course, I already knew the answer. “Me.”

“Well,” Mom said. “That’s the point, isn’t it? You don’t need us. You’ve got it all under control.”

You’ve got it all under control. That was exactly what Annie had said earlier. Intuition flared. “Did you already talk to Annie about this?”

Silence stretched anew.

“Mom?”

“We didn’t want to upset her by offering the store to you without telling her first. We have two children, after all, but you’re the one who loves Rini Reads, and Annie ...” She let the sentence drift.

I pressed a hand to my forehead, then began to pace. She’d already spoken with Annie about my future. Was I even a part of this family anymore? “Annie has a husband and a baby on the way,” I filled in. “Of course she doesn’t want the store. It’s hard work. It’s long hours, and too much responsibility.”

I had no idea how she’d handle a baby. Then again, she wasn’t alone. She had Jeffrey—and our parents—to help.

“We didn’t think she’d mind,” Mom said. “And she didn’t. She has other priorities, and Jeffrey does well financially.”

And I was a spinster. Married to the store I’d been groomed to take over.

“She wants you to have it as much as we do,” Mom continued. “Once you take over, you can make all the changes you want. I know you have big ideas, and your father and I are only holding you back.”

I released a shaky breath. “Welcome to Rini Reads,” I called out to the empty store. My traitorous voice cracked on each word. “Mom, I’ve got to go. A customer just walked in, but we’ll talk soon. Enjoy your trip.”

I disconnected and fought a round of frustration tears.

How had this become my life? How could I start my journey to peace while being given more work? How could I stop my heart from breaking?