Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Adelaide kept her busy the rest of the afternoon, leaving no time for Cora to slip back into the Possibility Wing.
She’d hoped for a quiet moment before closing, but when Adelaide gathered her handbag and keys and walked her to the door with a brisk, “See you tomorrow,” those hopes vanished like steam from a mug of hot tea.
Tomorrow, Cora promised herself. Tomorrow, she’d find a way.
As she walked home, the warm afterglow of that imagined life—Aaron’s affection, the laughter of friends--including the famous author Daniel Grace--wrapped around her like a favorite sweater. She could still hear the way her name had sounded on his lips.
She reached the steps of the house and stopped. The thought of going inside, of sitting alone with the echo of that other life, felt suddenly unbearable.
On impulse, she turned toward the River Walk.
Even on a weeknight, the area pulsed with life. Music spilled from open patios and tucked-away courtyards. Strings of café lights blinked on as twilight deepened, and the air carried the mingled scents of grilled seafood and something sweet, maybe churros from a cart near the marina.
Friends leaned close over shared desserts. Families passed napkins and laughter like currency. For a moment, all that effortless connection pierced something soft inside her.
In the book’s world, she’d been part of that—woven into a circle that gathered and teased and remembered. Here, she stood just outside, the ache of almost belonging as familiar as breathing.
“Cora!”
Her head lifted. At a flower-rimmed patio outside the Black Apron Bistro, Brooke waved her over to the table she shared with two other women. A half-empty pitcher of sangria glowed ruby red under the string lights, a platter of shared desserts glistening between the women.
Cora stepped closer, smiling. “Hey. Looks like a celebration.”
“Kylie closed a million-dollar deal today,” Brooke said proudly, tipping her glass toward the dark-haired woman beside her.
Kylie’s red lipstick matched her drink. She raised her glass in salute. “The sellers are happy, the buyers are happy, and I’m thrilled.”
The blonde across from her gave a mock-dramatic sigh before grinning. “We’re celebrating with sangria and sugar. It’s basically a rule.”
Cora laughed softly, the warmth of the scene tugging her closer. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks! I’m definitely feelin’ the love,” Kylie said, her grin bright and unapologetic. She reached out, clinking Brooke’s glass.
The easy camaraderie at the table was unmistakable, the shorthand of women who shared late nights, inside jokes and too many pastries to count.
After a few minutes of friendly chatter, Cora stepped back. “I’ll let you get back to it.”
“Please,” Brooke urged, gesturing to the one empty chair. “Join us. Samantha and I are helping Kylie celebrate by letting her pick up the tab.”
Kylie laughed. “I guess that’s fair.”
“If you’re sure I’m not imposing—”
“Not at all,” Brooke said, and the others echoed her.
Moments later, Cora found herself seated among them, a cool glass in hand, the sangria fragrant with fruit and spices. Laughter rose and fell like music.
“I can’t imagine my life without these ladies in it,” Kylie said, lifting her glass.
“Have you ever tried to?” Cora asked before she could stop herself.
The table stilled, conversation pausing.
She gave a quick smile. “I don’t mean without your friends. I mean… Have you ever wondered what your life would be like if you’d taken a different path? Moved somewhere else? Chosen something else?”
“Sure,” Kylie said, resting her chin in her hand. “It can be fun to imagine the possibilities.”
“Like selling a New York penthouse,” Samantha teased, eyes glinting over her rimmed glass.
Kylie laughed. “Exactly.”
“I hate to think I’d lose what I have,” Samantha said, tracing the condensation on her glass. “If I’d stayed at my old job in Seattle, maybe I’d be running the team—more money, more stress—but then I’d never have met all of you.”
Brooke tilted her glass, watching the liquid catch the light. “How do you know? Maybe we still would’ve met somehow. Maybe we always end up where we’re meant to be, no matter which road we take.”
“Maybe,” Kylie murmured, the word thoughtful.
The conversation drifted toward lighter things, and soon Cora was laughing, too, confessing she’d once toyed with the idea of selling real estate.
“Or,” she added, remembering that other life, “of being a paralegal.”
“It’s too bad you’re not one,” Samantha said, leaning in with sudden interest. “We know someone who’s looking to hire.”
“Who?” Brooke asked, curiosity piqued.
“Taylor Higgs,” Samantha said. “She’s an attorney here in GraceTown. Her husband’s a PI—they share an office. Great people. If you know anyone…”
Cora smiled faintly. “In another life, I might have had a name or two to give her.”
Brooke laughed. “In another life, I thought about becoming a nurse—for about thirty seconds.”
Kylie grinned. “Not seeing it. Unless you could boss the doctors around.”
“Exactly.” Brooke tipped her glass in mock salute.
Samantha twirled her straw, eyes thoughtful. “I wanted to be a vet when I was little. Still think I could’ve been happy doing that.”
Roads not taken, Cora thought, the words settling quietly in her chest.
She was about to ask Samantha what made her change course when Brooke pushed back her chair with a scrape of wood. “This has been a blast—and congrats again, Kylie—but I better get home before my kids form a search party.”
Apparently, that was the signal. The women began gathering their purses and scarves, conversation dissolving into laughter and good-byes.
Cora reached for her wallet, trying to press a few bills into Kylie’s hand, but Kylie waved her off. “Next time,” she said easily, as though she fully expected there would be one.
And maybe, Cora thought as she accepted their hugs and stepped onto the sidewalk, there would be.
Cora never would’ve believed Adelaide could keep her as busy as she did—too busy to steal even a few minutes to slip back into the Possibility Wing.
Yesterday, they’d agreed upon an hourly wage—more than fair—and hours that shifted “as needed.” It should have felt vague, but instead, it seemed as if the library itself decided when she was meant to be there.
While there had been time to discuss those practicalities, two full days had passed, and she still hadn’t been able to reopen the book that had stirred something so deep she felt its echo long after.
There was nothing physically stopping her. She could have risen from her chair at any moment, walked down the hallway and tried the door. But something told her—intuition or instinct, she wasn’t sure which—that it didn’t work like that. It might not be open to her now.
Still, as she sat at the long worktable and sorted archival donations—faded deeds, brittle pages, long-forgotten library cards—her thoughts kept drifting to that other life.
The way Aaron had looked at her.
The warmth of his kiss.
The easy comfort of his arm around her shoulders.
The sound of her own laughter, bright and unguarded.
She missed him, missed the closeness that had felt so real she could still feel it in her bones.
She thought of Brooke, Kylie and Samantha—their laughter, the camaraderie over sangria and dessert. She’d liked them, genuinely. But the connection she felt to them was a sliver compared to what she felt to Aaron, a man who existed only between the pages of a book.
Her heart didn’t care about the logic of it.
It just ached.
She longed for those ordinary joys—the kind that, in the moment, never felt ordinary at all. To come home to someone who understood the shape of her day. To share stories, silence, burnt dinners and small triumphs. The sort of togetherness that made life feel like it fit.
And then, like a breeze sneaking under a closed door, stirring everything it touched, another fragment surfaced.
Aaron’s voice, warm with wonder. And then when you have a child…or two, the love just multiplies.
Her breath caught. Two.
The word lingered, fragile and luminous, until its meaning settled in.
Children.
Not imagined possibilities, but living, breathing pieces of a life she might have known.
She pressed her palms flat on the table, the rough edge of a folder grounding her. The thought was too big, too tender to hold all at once. She’d pictured children before, of course, but never like this—never real. Never hers.
It was too much to process here, with dust on her hands and donation forms spread before her like a sea of small histories. But beneath the ache, a new certainty took root. She had to go back.
Back to the place that breathed possibility.
Back to the book that had offered not echoes of a past she’d never lived, but glimpses of what might be waiting in the future.
Maybe—just maybe—the answers she’d been searching for were tucked between its pages, waiting for her to open the door again.
A voice broke through her thoughts.
“Enjoy your lunch,” Adelaide said, surprising Cora not only with the words but with the faintly amused wave that accompanied them. “No need to rush back—we’re closing early today and staying closed through the weekend. We’ll reopen on Monday.”
Cora’s fingers tightened around the strap of her purse. She’d been counting on slipping into the Possibility Wing that afternoon, convincing herself there’d be a quiet moment to explore. Now, not only was the door out of reach today, but for the entire weekend as well.
“The library is closed for the weekend,” she echoed, trying to sound casual. “Until Monday?”
She almost added something about families who could visit only on weekends, but stopped herself. In all her time here, she hadn’t seen a single child—or adult-walk through the door.
“That’s correct,” Adelaide replied, rising from behind the desk with unhurried grace. “Scheduled maintenance. It will give you time to enjoy your weekend.”