Chapter 28
The Waiting
With Sophie Mercier as his champion, the waiting transformed.
It was no longer a desperate vigil over a silent inbox; it was an active, strategic campaign.
Sophie’s updates were infrequent but electrifying.
‘Met with éditions du Seuil today. The editor was captivated.’ Or, ‘Flammarion is reading it over the weekend. They’re very keen. ’
Each message was a shot of adrenaline, leaving Luc buoyant for days. The library became a place of celebration again. He continued to write, ideas for a new novel beginning to percolate, but his main occupation was the quiet, shared joy of anticipation with élise.
They developed a new ritual. Every Friday evening, they would climb the spiral staircase to the library’s mezzanine, a spot that had become their private aerie.
They would bring a small bottle of wine and two glasses, and Luc would share any news from Sophie.
More often than not, there was no news, but that didn’t matter.
The ritual itself was a celebration of the hope they now held.
One such Friday, the city spread out in a tapestry of lights beyond the leaded glass windows, Luc was quieter than usual.
“What if it sells?” he asked, his voice thoughtful. “What happens then?”
“We celebrate with a better bottle of wine,” élise said, smiling.
He smiled back, but it was a fleeting thing. “I mean… to us. To this.” He gestured around them. “This has been our world. What happens when my world becomes book tours and interviews? When I can’t be here at 2:07 every day?”
The question hung in the air, a rare note of uncertainty in their newfound confidence. élise had wondered the same thing, the fear a tiny, hidden shard of ice in her heart.
She looked at him, at the man who had built a new life within these walls, and she knew her answer was the truest thing she possessed.
“This will always be your world, Luc,” she said softly.
“Just as you will always be mine. The library isn’t a place you escape from.
It’s the foundation you build on. You’ll write your next book here.
You’ll come back to this silence when the noise of the world gets too loud.
” She reached for his hand. “And I’ll be here. Not as your escape, but as your home.”
He let out a long, slow breath, the tension leaving his shoulders. He turned her hand over in his, tracing the lines of her palm. “You’re right. You’re always right.” He looked up, his stormy eyes clear and certain. “No matter what happens out there, this is our center. This is our constant.”
He leaned in and kissed her, a slow, deep kiss that tasted of wine and a future they were no longer afraid of.
The next morning, a Saturday, élise’s phone buzzed on her nightstand. It was Luc.
“Sophie just called,” he said, his voice strangely calm, as if he were in shock.
élise sat bolt upright, her heart in her throat. “And?”
“There’s a pre-empt. From éditions du Seuil. A significant offer.” He paused, and she could almost hear the dizzying smile spreading across his face through the phone. “élise… they’re going to publish my book.”
The news was not a thunderclap, but a sunrise—a slow, glorious, inevitable dawning of a dream they had built together, word by careful word, in the beautiful, waiting silence.