Chapter Six
Eveline turned the shop sign to closed and breathed a sigh of relief. The day had been a busy one, but they’d stayed on top of everything and made a fair amount of sales. Which she had to admit was almost certainly down to one person.
She leaned back on the door and looked over to where Emery was finishing up shelving the last of a stack of biographies.
She sighed. She’d spent most of the afternoon darting glances at the woman, trying to figure out just why she seemed so familiar.
She’d spent the rest of the afternoon thanking all the bookshop gods for sending her someone with an inkling of sense.
The thing was, Emery might be clumsy, but she also knew what she was talking about.
And the customers liked her, responded to her.
Eveline thought about the stack of resumes she had upstairs, then she thought about still needing to deal with the plumber.
Again. Why put herself through more work when there was a perfect candidate just about to knock over a stack of Dan Browns?
She covered the distance between them in two strides, just in time to smack a hand on top of The Da Vinci Code, rescuing the pile from tumbling to the floor. Emery turned around at the noise.
“Oops,” she said.
“No harm done,” said Eveline, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Was this a terrible idea? She bit her lip. Maybe. But it was an expedient one as well. “Um, this all went better than expected.”
Emery beamed and dropped the book she was holding, quickly bending to pick it up again. “Really? I mean, I tried not to knock anything else over.”
“A remarkable achievement,” Eveline said dryly, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “Listen, I… I wanted to thank you for your help today. It would have been impossible to manage alone.”
Emery shrugged, her cheeks coloring slightly. “It was the least I could do after causing a classic literature avalanche.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the soft ticking of the old clock on the wall the only sound in the now-empty shop. Eveline shifted her weight, uncharacteristically uncertain.
“I don't suppose,” she began, then paused. “That is, if you're not busy…”
Emery grinned at her.
“The position is still open,” Eveline continued. “Temporarily, of course. Until I find someone permanent.”
“The position?” Emery repeated, blinking. “You mean…?”
Eveline sighed impatiently. Yes, it was a terrible idea, yes, she was already regretting it. “Yes, the shop assistant position. Autumn is always my busiest time. You seem to know your way around books, and the customers liked you.”
“So you're offering me a job?”
“Is it really so surprising?”
“No. I mean, yes. Sort of. I mean…” Emery took a deep breath. “I just didn't expect it.”
“It would only be temporary,” Eveline said quickly. “A few hours here and there. Nothing too demanding.”
Emery hesitated, and Eveline tried to hide her regret, or her nerves, she wasn’t sure which, wasn’t sure what exactly she wanted Emery to say.
Of course, the woman probably already had a job.
She probably worked in publishing or something similarly literary.
Why would she want to waste her time helping out in a small bookshop for what was undoubtedly less money than she currently made?
She took a breath. “Never mind,” she said, turning away. “It was just a thought.”
“I'll take it,” Emery blurted out.
Eveline turned back, surprised. “You will?”
“Yes,” Emery nodded, grinning even more widely now. “I'd love to. I mean, I have a… flexible schedule. I can definitely help out.”
“Oh. Well, good.” Eveline nodded, feeling strangely pleased. “We can discuss the details tomorrow, then?”
“Tomorrow,” Emery agreed, a smile spreading across her face that made something in Eveline's chest tighten unexpectedly.
???
Emery waited until she was halfway down the street before she let out a small, disbelieving squeal.
She'd just accepted a job at a bookshop. A job she absolutely did not need. A job that would take precious time away from her already overdue manuscript. A job that would put her in intimate contact with the most beautiful woman that she’d ever seen.
She squealed again, making a mother and child take wide steps to avoid walking too close to her on the pavement.
And it was all because of a pair of dark eyes and a French accent.
Her phone rang, and she pulled it out to see Domi's name flashing on the screen. The momentary elation drained away, replaced by dread. What had she just done? What had she spent the entire day doing? Was she crazy? Or just heading in that direction?
“Hello?”
“Are you dead?” Domi demanded without preamble. “Because that's the only acceptable reason for what happened today.”
Emery winced. “I'm so sorry, Domi. I got the wrong address, and then…” She didn’t know what else to say.
“Save it,” Domi said. “Jax already gave me the stomach bug story. Though I don't buy it for a second. You've been avoiding me for weeks, and now this? What's going on, Emery?”
Emery ducked into a quiet side street, away from the bustle of the main road. “I've been stuck, alright? Completely and utterly blocked.” Honesty being thin on the ground for the day after pretending not to be Emerald Pearl, she thought she might give it a shot for now.
“And missing your signing was supposed to help with that how, exactly?”
“It wasn't,” Emery admitted. “But, um, something else might have.”
There was a suspicious pause on the other end of the line. “What did you do?”
“Nothing! Well, not exactly nothing. I sort of… got a job? At a bookshop?”
The silence that followed was so complete that Emery checked her screen to make sure the call hadn't dropped.
“Domi? Are you still there?”
“Let me get this straight,” Domi said, her voice dangerously calm. “You missed your signing at one bookshop because you were… getting a job at another bookshop?”
“Yes. No. Well, not exactly. Sort of? It just sort of… happened?”
“Things don't 'just happen,' Emery. You make choices. Bad ones, apparently.”
Emery leaned against a brick wall, closing her eyes. “I know it sounds crazy.”
“It doesn't sound crazy. It is crazy. You have a manuscript due in less than two months, which, might I remind you, you haven't even really started. And instead of writing, you're playing shop assistant?”
“It's research,” Emery said. Which it sort of was. “For the book.”
“Research.” Domi's voice was flat with disbelief.
“Yes. Research. There's this woman, the shop owner, she's… she's fascinating. Exactly the kind of character I need for my next book. Strong, independent, passionate about literature…”
“Right.” Domi didn't sound convinced. “And this has nothing to do with the fact that you haven't dated in what, two years?”
“Three,” Emery corrected automatically, then winced. “And no, it doesn't. Definitely not. This is purely professional.”
“Right. Professional.” Domi sighed heavily. “Look, I don't care if you're researching or flirting or whatever the hell is going on. But I need pages, Emery. Actual words on actual pages. Soon.”
“You'll get them,” Emery promised. “In fact, I'm feeling really inspired now.”
“You'd better be,” Domi warned. “Because if I don't see a draft soon, I'll personally come to this bookshop and drag you out by your curly hair. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” Emery said.
“Good. Now go write something that doesn't make me want to fire you.”
The call ended abruptly, and Emery exhaled. That could have gone worse. Though not by much.
She gave up on taking the tube and flagged down a taxi, giving her address with a slightly hysterical laugh bubbling in her throat.
What had she gotten herself into? She'd volunteered to work at a bookshop owned by a woman who detested romance novels, all while hiding the fact that she was one of the bestselling romance novelists in the country.
It was absurd. It was reckless. It was… exactly the sort of thing that would happen in one of her books.
The taxi pulled up outside her building, and Emery paid the driver before hurrying up to her flat. She wasn't surprised to find Jax waiting outside her door, wine bottle in hand.
“Spill it,” Jax demanded as soon as Emery let them in. “Every single detail.”
Emery dropped her bag on the sofa and collapsed next to it. “It was… interesting.”
“Interesting? That's all I get? After I covered for you with both the bookshop and Domi?” Jax kicked off her shoes and made herself comfortable. “No way. I want the full story.”
“Domi didn’t believe you,” Emery said. But she sat down anyway and spilled the entire sordid tale.
About the classic literature avalanche, about helping customers, about Maya and Abe and their obvious matchmaking innuendoes.
About Eveline's reluctant smiles and razor-sharp literary knowledge.
And finally, about accepting the job offer.
“Wait. You did what?” Jax asked in disbelief. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Probably,” Emery admitted. “But Jax, she's perfect. I mean, as a character study,” she added hastily. “She's exactly what I've been looking for. Intelligent, complex, with just the right amount of grumpiness to make her redemption arc satisfying.”
Jax gave her a knowing look. “Right. And this has nothing to do with the fact that you think she's hot?”
“I never said that,” Emery protested weakly.
“You didn't have to. It's written all over your face.” Jax poured them both generous glasses of wine. “So let me get this straight. You're going to work at a bookshop, owned by a woman who hates romance novels, all while hiding the fact that you are, in fact, a famous romance novelist?”
“When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous,” Emery said into her wineglass.
“It is ridiculous. It's also the most rom-com thing I've ever heard.” Jax clinked her glass against Emery's. “I'm actually proud of you. It's about time you lived a little instead of just writing about it.”
“I'm not 'living' anything. It's research.”
“Fine, call it research if it makes you feel better.” Jax studied her over the rim of her wineglass. “But you know what? I've never seen you this excited about anything except writing.”