Chapter 31
31
Josie
I wake to a soft buzzing sound and open my eyes, slowly remembering where I am: Ryan’s bed, warm and comfortable. He’s behind me, his breathing steady and deep, and my entire body feels at peace.
Then everything from yesterday comes rushing back: the awful meeting with Xander, Ryan storming out, everything he said about this new job. The confusion and hurt, all my old fears of being left behind resurfacing.
But then, the words he whispered later: No matter where I go, if I’m two hours or two thousand miles away, I’m yours.
He all but said he loves me, and I want to believe him. But does he understand me? If he did, he’d know that moving, even just a couple hours away, is the worst thing he could do.
I know it’s ridiculous, but the thing that keeps popping into my head is all those books he recommended to me on BookFriends—I read every single one, but he never asked me for any of my recommendations in turn. I’ve always believed that the best way to truly know someone is by reading their favorite books, and he hasn’t made any effort to do that.
I shake my head, trying to shrug it off. I’m being silly, right? But the thought nags at me as I try to drift back to sleep.
The buzzing starts again, and I realize it’s my phone on the nightstand. I reach over to grab it; my mom has sent me a text. At 6:14 a.m.
Hey sweetie pie! Sorry for the whole mess in Mexico. Call me when you can, we should catch up!
My stomach sinks at the brightness in her tone—it feels forced. Georgia’s been trying to get me to reach out, but our mother never reaches out unless she needs something. What does she want?
My finger slips and I accidentally hit the video call button.
“Shit,” I whisper—I don’t want to disturb Ryan, and I’m also not in the mood to deal with my mother.
But it’s too late, she’s already answering, and I slip out of bed and quietly shut the door behind me.
“Jojo! How are you!”
“Um, I’m okay.” I hurry through Ryan’s living room and let myself out to his tiny balcony, shutting the sliding glass door behind me.
When I glance back at my phone screen, my mom’s face comes into view: she looks worried. “What’s wrong?”
I open my mouth to tell her it’s nothing, but the words catch in my throat. I try to hold it in, but within seconds it all bubbles over, and soon I’m crying as I tell her everything about Ryan, that my plan to save our jobs didn’t work and now he’s moving and I don’t know if I can handle it.
When I finish, she sighs and says, “Oh, Jojo. I’m so sorry.”
I wipe my eyes, surprised at my outburst—I’ve never broken down in front of her—but also because she’s never seemed to care much about my emotional state. “Yeah. Same.”
“But it doesn’t make sense—it sounds like he cares about you! Why would he leave? I think you need to ask him what’s really going on.”
Before I can explain that he thinks it’s best for both of us, she continues:
“You know how I wanted to find Darrell and ask him why he left me in Puerto Vallarta? Well, he showed up on my doorstep last week. He said he took off because he was scared, just like I thought. He apologized and begged me to give him another chance.”
My heart sinks. “So you’re back together.”
“Goodness, no!” Mom laughs, shaking her head. “I told him that I understand being scared, but I can’t be with someone who’d abandon me in the middle of a foreign country.”
I blink at the phone screen, shocked. “Wait—you’re not with him anymore?”
“No, I’m not.” She pauses, presses her lips together. “Sweetheart, I know you saw a lot of unfortunate circumstances when you were growing up, with some of the men I dated.”
Maybe more like unfortunate choices—on her part. But I bite my tongue. This is the closest she’s ever come to taking any kind of accountability.
“And I—I regret it,” she continues. “I know I wasn’t there when you needed me.” Another pause. “Especially after Georgia’s accident. You deserved so much better. You still do. I let myself get caught up in trying to find happiness in someone else and lost sight of the two little girls who needed me most.”
My throat feels tight, and all I can do is nod.
“Why did you do it?” I ask, swallowing. “Why did you always chase after those guys?”
She frowns. “I guess it’s because I couldn’t stop hoping. And I’m not ready to give up—”
“But where’s the evidence, Mom? Falling in love doesn’t magically make everything work out perfectly. Maybe it’s time to put away the hope, stop reading silly books that feed into unrealistic expectations, and be practical.”
“That’s not what I mean by hope,” Mom says, her voice surprisingly calm. “And that’s not why I read those books.”
“Then why?”
“Because you know what happens to the characters in a romance novel?”
I sigh. “Yes, Mom. They fall in love—”
“They change. They grow.” Her voice goes serious. “Even when they have painful pasts or have made mistakes. Those ‘silly books’ show me that anyone can be brave and try again. It’s not that love makes everything work out perfectly—but love can create the perfect environment to face our fears.”
I’m stunned; she’s speaking in a way I’ve never heard before, with confidence and conviction. Georgia was right—our mom is doing better.
“I used to think I’d never be able to stand up for myself with a man, but I did it with Darrell. For the first time, I asked for what I deserve, and when he couldn’t give it to me, I walked away.” Mom smiles, her eyes soft. “And for the first time, my independent, successful older daughter has trusted me with her heartbreak, and I’m able to give her support. So yes, I think that’s cause for hope.”
My eyes fill with tears. This is exactly what Ryan’s been trying to get me to understand about his beloved books: the point isn’t the sex, or the fantasy of the perfect partner, or even falling in love. It’s about being willing to be vulnerable, to dig deep, to confront your shadows, embrace your own story, and become a stronger, braver version of yourself.
It’s not about the happy ending—it’s about believing that you’re worthy of one.
“Thanks for sharing that, Mom,” I say, and I mean it. It may take some time for me to trust her, but for the first time in years, I’m willing to give her a chance.
“Enough about me,” she says, smiling brightly. This is a classic Liz Klein tactic, changing the subject when she’s uncomfortable, but I understand. Baby steps, for both of us. “Do you want my advice?”
“Sure,” I say, surprised that for the first time ever, I do.
“First, you need to tell him how you feel about him moving away.”
She’s right. I didn’t share my true feelings about his plan, his new job, and Ryan deserves better. He deserves to know just how deeply I care about him, that I’m desperate to find some other solution because the thought of him being anywhere else is tearing me apart.
A flicker of hope sparks, and I’m about to tamp it down, but I stop myself. Hope may be dangerous, but just like a fire, it can also be warm and comforting.
“I will,” I say. “Thanks, I should—”
“Wait!” She tilts her head, studying me. “One last piece of advice. Something I wish I’d learned years ago. No matter what he says, do you know what you want?”
I want him to stay. But if he doesn’t?
“I—I’m not exactly sure,” I say.
“Well then,” my mom says, smiling. “I think you need to figure that out first.”
After ending the call, I lean against the railing and consider that. What do I want?
Three months ago, I was hell bent on beating Ryan. Then I joined forces with him and laser-focused on us winning together. But I’ve never stopped to ask myself: Is this truly what I want to do with my life?
I close my eyes, letting an image of my store fill my mind, the way it used to be before construction started. Neat and orderly, cozy and safe, the perfect place to rebuild my confidence after my life fell apart. But recently, it’s started to feel a little…small?
I think back to the months after Georgia’s accident, when she was relearning how to walk, using her brace and cane. She was confident getting around our apartment, but she refused to go outside—too scary, she said, and every step reminded her of how much she’d lost.
I told her she couldn’t spend the rest of her life stuck in an apartment, that even though she was scared, she needed to get out. She was frustrated, at first, but eventually she listened. And now she’s living on her own, rocketing toward her goals.
Meanwhile, I’ve done exactly what I didn’t want Georgia to do. I’ve gotten comfortable, focusing all my efforts on the bookstore so I don’t have to face what scares me.
How many years did I spend avoiding the Boston Public Library because of bad memories? How many years did I refuse to even talk about how devastating it felt to leave college? But Ryan’s been a safe space to share all this— whether behind the scenes as RJ or in real life. He’s encouraged me, cheered me on as I stepped outside my comfort zone, hosting events, presenting at IBNE.
Like my mom said, love creates the perfect environment to face our fears.
I think of my little bookstore again: Tabula Inscripta, and how Jerome explained why he chose that name. He wanted to capture the way each book leaves its mark on us, inscribing new perspectives and ideas on our minds like a well-worn page. All the stories I’ve read have been my teachers, sheltering me when I needed comfort, making life richer, showing me how to face adversity. It’s never been a choice between fiction or reality, books or people, it’s both. I am the product of every book I’ve ever read and every experience I’ve had, each heartbreak and failure, every moment of sadness and joy. The people I’ve met and the characters I’ve encountered, the events that challenged me and the narratives that have stretched me—all this is inscribed on my soul. They are the stories that shape who I am today and give me the strength to reach for more.
Turning, I head inside, back into Ryan’s apartment. I wish I could go in his room and wake him up, tell him my plan, but I stop myself. He isn’t going to like what I’m about to do—he’ll try to stop me. But I need to do it anyway.
I find a pen and paper and leave a note on his coffee table: I have some things to take care of today. Meet me at the bookstore at closing tonight?
Heart pounding, I hesitate before adding: Love, Josie.
Then I gather my things and head out into the brilliant sunshine of a new day.
—
An hour later, I’m at my own apartment. I’ve completed my first step of the plan: asking Cinderella to cover the store today. She hesitated, until I promised her I’ll do everything possible to get Ryan back as manager.
Now it’s time for step two.
I pull out my phone, take a steadying breath, and call Xander.
“It’s not Monday,” he says when he answers.
“I know,” I say, ignoring his irritated tone. “But this can’t wait.”
“What is it?”
“I quit.”
A long, shocked pause. Then: “What? This is ridiculous! Why does nobody want to work anymore? Do you realize how inconvenient this is for me? How much time and effort it’s going to take to find a new manager? I—”
“That’s why you need to convince Ryan to come back.” My heart is pounding. This has to work. Everything relies on it.
He harrumphs. “Why should I have to convince him ?”
“Because he’s the best person for the job,” I say. “And because a bookstore is more than just a store that sells books. It’s the heartbeat of the community, a place where stories and ideas come alive, where people come to explore new worlds, to challenge their thinking, to feel seen and welcomed. Ryan understands that better than anyone. He knows how to connect with readers in a way that builds trust and loyalty. He’s created something here—something real—and without him, this place loses its soul.”
Xander scoffs, and I know I need to bring this down to his level.
“And let’s be honest,” I say, “hiring and training a new manager takes time you don’t have. If you want to keep the store running smoothly and profitably, you need him.”
“True.” Xander seems to be mulling this over. “But how am I going to convince him? He made his feelings pretty clear.”
“First, you need to give him a raise,” I say. “He’s taking on more responsibility with this new position, and he should be compensated appropriately.”
Xander snorts, but he doesn’t say no. And after a moment, he adds, “What if that’s not enough to change his mind?”
“I’m going to tell you exactly what you need to say to him.”
After ending the call with Xander, I turn off my phone. I’m sure Ryan will call me when he hears what I’ve done, and I need more time to set things in motion.
I hear my mom’s words: Anyone can be brave and try again. And Jerome, talking about a mind in progress, with infinitely more to learn.
Finally, I hear my own voice, telling my sister to walk out the door and into the big world, even if it’s scary.
It’s time I listened.
—
Hours later, when I head back toward the store, the sun is setting and I’m exhausted—everything took much longer than expected, and now I’m running late. I’ve been practicing what to say to Ryan, to convince him to accept Xander’s offer and stay with me . I’m not sure I have the right words, but at least I’m allowing myself to hope. That feels like a pretty big deal.
I round the final corner to the store, and the windows are dark.
My heart crashes and shatters. He’s not here. He didn’t come.
Tears fill my eyes. I imagine him driving to Provincetown, away from me and this bookstore where all my memories will forever be filled with him. If that’s truly what he wants, then I’ll have to accept it. We’ll visit each other as often as we can, talk on the phone every night, text during the day. We’ll make it work, somehow.
Even still, it feels like a piece of my heart has been torn away. My chest aches and I try to hold in a sob—though I would’ve thought I’d cried enough today. I head into the bookstore to find a corner where I can sit and weep before heading home. There’s a warm glow inside—Cinderella must have left a lamp on.
Only when I unlock the door and step inside, I realize it’s not a lamp.
Candles cover every surface—the shelves and tables, even the floor. I’m awestruck, slowly turning in a circle, drinking in the magical sight of candlelight glinting off the spines of books.
The spark of hope I’ve carefully tended roars to life, a vibrant flame inside me. This has to be good, right? Not even Ryan Lawson would do something this wonderful if he didn’t mean it.
I step closer to one of the candles, safely contained in a jar, and notice that there’s an open book right next to it. A line on the page has been highlighted.
“He now viewed a successful relationship as one in which both people had recognized the best of what the other person had to offer and had chosen to value it as well.”
Confused, I blink at the cover. A Little Life , by Hanya Yanagihara. I might’ve mentioned this book to Ryan—or rather, RJ—but what is it doing here, on his side of the store, with this obscure passage highlighted?
Then I notice another open book on the next shelf, also illuminated by a candle, and as I come closer, I see a line highlighted here, too.
“We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright.”
I lift the cover: A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway. I read this for an Honors seminar focused on Hemingway’s work, junior year of college. I loved it, but I’ve never mentioned it to Ryan, either in person or online.
On the next shelf, there’s another: “ I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be. ” Great Expectations , Charles Dickens. My favorite book from AP English.
Another: “ The moment I saw her, a part of me walked out of my body and wrapped itself around her. And there it still remains. ” The Ministry of Utmost Happiness , by Arundhati Roy. Jerome recommended it to me my first year working for him.
Footsteps echo, and I look up to see Ryan, emerging from the back room, filling the doorway. He’s wearing his tortoiseshell glasses and a gray cardigan, his hair falling across his forehead, Persephone curled up in his arms.
“Ryan,” I breathe. “What is all this?”
“It’s my grand gesture.” His voice holds so much regret and gentleness that my eyes fill with tears.
“Your what?”
“It’s, uh, something people do in romance novels? I’m not sure what characters do in literary fiction when they make a massive mistake.”
“Usually they dig themselves into a deeper hole until their entire world falls apart.”
His lips quirk in a smile. “Well, lucky for us, I don’t read many of those books.”
I let out a shocked laugh, looking around at the highlighted passages. “But—what are these?”
“You don’t recognize them?” He looks concerned.
“I do, but—”
I glance at another open book, the highlighted words: “ To love or have loved, that is enough. ” I don’t even need to look at the cover; I know that one by heart. Les Misérables , the book I stubbornly read in its unabridged form, all fourteen hundred pages of it.
“Why are these here?”
Ryan sets Persephone down and walks over to me. “I’ve been tackling all the books on your Favorites shelf on BookFriends. Some of them are ridiculously long, so I’ve been listening to them, and I’m not through all of them yet, but…” He shrugs. “I’m trying.”
A lump forms in my throat. All those times I saw him with earbuds in, I assumed he was listening to some steamy romance. “You’re reading my favorite books?”
“Well, yeah. Someone told me it’s the best way to get to know a person.”
He says it like it’s a no-brainer. Because he’s Ryan Lawson, a man who knows how to pay attention.
“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed,” he says, “but a lot of your favorite books have something to do with love. It’s almost like you’ve been a closet romance fan all along.”
I let out a disbelieving laugh. Maybe he’s right. Maybe all stories are love stories at their core. The search for belonging, the ache of grief, our fumbling attempt to find purpose and connection in this big, confusing world.
Ryan takes a few steps toward me, his expression turning serious. “Listen, Josie—you can’t quit. Not for me—”
“But you can quit for me ?” My voice wavers, but I force myself to say what I should have said yesterday, instead of pushing down my feelings and icing him out. “The thought of you leaving…it’s unbearable, Ryan. I want you here, I want you with me. But if that’s not what you want…”
His eyes soften, and he comes closer. “Not a single part of me wants to leave. I thought…I thought if I stepped back, you could have everything you’ve ever dreamed of—”
“But—”
“I know, you must have felt like I was abandoning you, even though that’s the last thing I wanted.” His voice is gentle, earnest. “Which is why I’m here. Grand gesture. Candles and quotes about love from your favorite books. My heart on my sleeve. Asking you to forgive me.”
“Of course I forgive you,” I say, putting my arms around him. His arms come around me, too, and I close my eyes and breathe him in. For the first time, the ache of all the past abandonments is fading away, replaced by the warmth of knowing that I’m right where I belong.
Finally, we separate, and I wipe tears from my eyes. “What did you tell Xander?”
“I told him he owed you a fucking apology.” His voice is all growly, which makes me smile. “And that I won’t come back without you as my co-manager—”
“Oh, I’ll be too busy for that.”
He pulls back, startled. “What?”
I smile up at him. “Can I finally tell you what I’ve been doing all day?”
“Of course. Let’s sit. Your neck has got to be aching.”
He sits in the big armchair and pulls me onto his lap, my feet dangling like a kid’s. I explain this morning’s epiphany, how I knew what I needed to do—and fast, before I lost my nerve.
“I went to Emerson and talked with an academic adviser,” I say in a rush.
His jaw drops.
“I was so nervous,” I continue. “But she looked up my records and said my enrollment can be reinstated. Some of my classes are outdated, and I’ll need to retake the ones I failed that last semester, but it should only take me about a year and a half to graduate.”
“Graduate,” Ryan repeats. He looks flabbergasted. “You’re going back to school?”
I nod. “To finish my degree. And before you ask, no, I don’t know exactly what I want to do yet. Maybe I’ll end up teaching. Or library sciences? Or maybe I’ll end up back here, working with you. I don’t know. But I think the point is being a mind continually in progress, you know?”
“That’s…that’s wonderful. And so brave, Josie. I can’t tell you how impressed I am.”
“Don’t be too impressed yet. I’m going to need even more bravery to show up my first day. I’ll be in classes with people a decade younger than me.”
“You’re starting soon?”
I nod. “Next week. Three classes I need still had space.”
“I’m thrilled for you,” he says, kissing me. Then the light in his eyes dims slightly. “But I can’t do this without you. I don’t know anything about other genres, I have no business sense, I—”
“So you’ll learn,” I cut in. “It’ll be challenging, sure, but you can do it. If you don’t have the confidence in yourself yet, you can borrow some of mine.”
As my words hit him, his eyes turn shiny, and he swallows. “Deal,” he says.
“Plus, you won’t have to do it without me—I need a part-time job,” I say. “Hopefully I can convince my manager to work around my class schedule.”
He laughs. “I think we can make that happen.” Then he presses his forehead against mine and closes his eyes. “So…now for the most important discussion. If it isn’t clear already, I love you.”
I startle upright. “Did you just say that? Just like that? Shouldn’t there be more ceremony? I don’t know—I’ve never actually had a guy tell me he loves me before.”
“All this isn’t enough?” he says, looking around the store. He’s smiling, though, amused. Then he takes my chin in his hand, forcing my eyes to meet his. “I’m all in, Josie. One hundred percent. Always and forever. But if you need more time, that’s fine, too. Just know that I’m not going anywhere.”
As I look into his eyes, flickering with the reflection of dozens of candles, I realize that I have a choice. I can keep my armor, keep him at a distance for weeks or months, slowly allowing him a little more of my heart.
Or I can be brave and do what I should have done the first night we spent together, when I learned that the two men I loved were the same person.
“I—I need you to be patient with me,” I say slowly. “I don’t know how to be in a good relationship, I’ve never experienced one—”
“I can recommend a few books to learn from,” he cuts in, grinning.
I smile back, then take a deep breath. “I know you’ve spent years thinking you didn’t measure up, that you weren’t enough, but you are. You’re more than I ever expected, more than I ever dreamed of. You deserve someone who loves you without hesitation, and I—” My voice cracks. “I’m not going anywhere, either. No more holding back, no more hiding. I’m all in, too, one hundred percent. I love you, Ryan.”
Relief washes over his face and he folds me against him, tucking my head under his chin. He lets out a long, shaky exhale, like a weight has finally lifted. “Thank you,” he whispers.
And that has to be the most quintessentially Ryan thing I’ve ever heard—thanking me for loving him, as if it’s not the best thing that’s happened to me.
“I knew we’d get our happy ending,” he says.
I sit back to look at him. “This isn’t our happy ending.”
His forehead creases in confusion. “Seems pretty happy to me.”
“Yes, but think about it. Even after a book ends, whether it’s happy or tragic, the characters have more life to live—and so do we. So much happens beyond the pages that we never get to read. That’s what I’m looking forward to—living it all, the good times and the tough ones—wherever the story takes us.”
“Beyond the pages,” he says, smiling. “I love that.”
As I kiss him, unshakable certainty fills my heart. I may not know exactly what will happen next, for the bookstore or our relationship or our individual lives, but I know one thing for sure: I want Ryan by my side as we find out.
The battle is over. But our story is just beginning.