Chapter Eleven
Emery tucked herself away in a quiet corner of the bookshop, laptop balanced on her knees as her fingers flew across the keyboard. Tuesday afternoon was always quiet, and she'd found herself with a rare moment of peace while Eveline was on the phone with a supplier.
It wasn't exactly professional to be working on her manuscript during shop hours, but the words were flowing so effortlessly that Emery couldn't bear to stop. Ever since she'd started at The Turned Page, her writer's block had vanished completely, replaced by an almost manic inspiration.
“The light in her eyes dimmed as she turned away, the weight of past betrayals heavy on her shoulders,” Emery murmured as she typed, too absorbed in her work to notice soft footsteps approaching.
“Sounds rather melancholy for such a lovely afternoon.”
Emery jumped, nearly sending her laptop crashing to the floor. She managed to catch it at the last second, her heart pounding as she looked up to find Abe standing before her, leaning on his cane with an amused expression.
“Abe! I didn't hear you come in.” She hastily saved her document and closed the laptop. “I was just… um…”
“Writing,” he supplied helpfully.
Emery felt her cheeks flush. “Just messing around with some ideas. Nothing serious.”
“Mmm.” The old man's eyes creased knowingly. “The way your face lights up when you write suggests otherwise, my dear.”
He lowered himself carefully into the armchair opposite her with a slight groan. Emery moved to help him, but he waved her away with a smile.
“I may be old, but I'm not helpless quite yet,” he chuckled. Once settled, he gestured toward her laptop. “You know, I used to write myself, many years ago.”
“Really?” Emery asked, grateful for the change of subject. “What did you write?”
“Poetry, mostly.” A wistful smile crossed his face. “For my Agnes. One poem every anniversary, without fail, for fifty-two years.”
“That's… incredibly romantic,” Emery said softly, heart about to break.
Abe nodded. “She kept every one. Had them all bound up in a little leather book.” He tapped his cane against the wooden floor. “Not what you'd call great literature, mind you. I'm no Wordsworth. But they were honest.”
“Sometimes honesty is more important than literary merit,” Emery said.
“Precisely.” Abe focused on her with surprising intensity. “That's what makes a good writer, I think. The courage to be honest, even when it's difficult. Especially when it's difficult.”
Emery felt a twinge of guilt at his words. Here she was, writing a novel inspired by Eveline while actively deceiving her about her identity. What would Abe think if he knew the truth? Would he still look at her with such affection?
“Your writing,” Abe continued, oblivious to her internal struggle, “is it for yourself, or do you share it with the world?”
Emery hesitated. She needed to cool it with the lies. “I… share it, sometimes.”
“Good.” He nodded approvingly. “Words are meant to be read, stories meant to be told. Keeping them locked away serves no one.”
Before Emery could say anything, Eveline emerged from the back office, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in that way that always made Emery's heart skip. She spotted them in the corner and approached, eyebrow raised.
“I see Abe has found you hiding away,” she said. Her tone was neutral, but there was a hint of curiosity in her dark eyes as they landed on Emery's laptop.
“Not hiding,” Emery said quickly. She cleared her throat, remembering that she was going to try harder to be truthful where she could. “Just, um, taking advantage of the quiet to catch up on some… writing."
“Oh?” Eveline's other eyebrow joined the first. “You're a writer?”
“Oh, no, not really, just messing around.” So much for being truthful.
“She's being modest,” Abe said. “I caught a glimpse. Quite poetic, I'd say.”
Emery shot him a panicked look, but Eveline's interest was clearly piqued.
“What sort of writing?” she asked.
Emery was starting to panic, she could feel her heart beating too hard in her chest. Then the shop bell rang and she let out a breath. Zara burst through the door with such excitement that even Eveline looked startled.
“You'll never believe it!” Zara said, waving her phone triumphantly. “We've gone viral!”
“We've what?” Eveline said.
“The bookshop does have social media accounts, you know,” Zara said, thrusting her phone toward them. “I try to keep them up to date. And the post I made about the Romance Book Club has exploded. We've gained over a thousand followers since yesterday!”
Emery's stomach dropped. “A thousand followers?”
“Yep.” Zara scrolled through her phone, showing them a series of photos. “I posted these pictures from the club meeting, and they've been shared hundreds of times. People love the idea of a 'hidden gem' bookshop hosting romance enthusiasts.”
Emery leaned forward to look, her heart rate accelerating when she spotted herself in the background of one photo, thankfully partially obscured by a bookshelf. Still, anyone who knew Emerald Pearl well might recognize her. Like her publisher, for example.
“I didn't realize you were taking pictures,” she said faintly.
“Oh, just a few for the shop's accounts,” Zara said, continuing to scroll. “Look, here's the best one. It’s you and Eveline arranging the chairs together, just your silhouettes. I captioned it 'The unlikely romance between books and their keepers' and people are obsessed with it.”
Emery glanced at the photo and felt her face flame. She wasn’t identifiable, that was the good news. The not so good news is that anyone even looking at the photo could see that there was tension there.
“People think you’re a couple,” Zara said helpfully. “The comments are all about the 'bookshop romance' vibe. It's great publicity.”
Eveline choked. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, don't worry,” Zara said, misinterpreting Eveline's horror as concern. “I haven't confirmed anything. But you know how people love to speculate. It's driving traffic to the website, too.”
“We have a website?” Emery asked weakly.
“Obviously,” Zara said.
Emery felt like the floor was tilting beneath her. Increased visibility was the absolute last thing she needed right now. If these posts went viral enough, it was only a matter of time before someone recognized her.
“This is unexpected,” Eveline said, recovering her composure. She shot a glance at Emery, who was trying very hard not to look as panicked as she felt.
“It's brilliant marketing,” Zara said. “And the timing couldn't be better with the Romance Book Club anniversary coming up. I've already had inquiries about whether Emerald Pearl might make an appearance, since we're discussing her book.”
Emery made a strangled noise that she quickly disguised as a cough.
“Are you alright?” Eveline asked.
“Fine,” Emery squeaked. “Just… surprised by all this… attention.”
Abe, who had been watching the exchange with obvious amusement, chuckled. “Progress marches on, even in our little corner of the literary world.”
“Exactly!” Zara beamed at him. “And speaking of progress, I was thinking we could do a live reading for the anniversary meeting. Maybe have someone read passages from Emerald Pearl's books? Emery, you seemed to know her work well, would you be interested?”
The irony was so painful that Emery almost laughed. “I'm, um, not really comfortable with public reading,” she said, which wasn't entirely a lie. Despite writing steamy scenes, the thought of reading them aloud made her want to crawl under a shelf and hide.
“That's a shame,” Zara said. “Have a think, maybe you’ll change your mind.”
Eveline had been scrolling through the social media posts on Zara's phone, her expression unreadable. “These are… quite professional,” she said. “Though I wish you'd consulted me before posting photos of the shop and its staff.”
“Sorry,” Zara said, looking slightly abashed. “I got carried away with the excitement. But the response has been incredible. We've already had calls asking about the next club meeting, and someone even asked about ordering signed copies of Pearl's books.”
Emery felt the blood drain from her face. This could all be a disaster in the making. “I should get back to work,” she said abruptly, standing and clutching her laptop to her chest. “Those new shipments won't unpack themselves.”
“Of course,” Eveline said, looking at Emery with a hint of concern. “Zara, while I appreciate your initiative, perhaps we could discuss guidelines for future posts?”
As they moved toward the counter, Emery ducked into the stockroom, her heart pounding. She set her laptop down on a box and took several deep breaths, trying to steady herself.
This was spiraling out of control faster than she could have imagined. But still, the thought of walking away, of not seeing Eveline again, created an ache in her chest that surprised her with its intensity.
She pulled out her phone to text Jax. Emergency. The bookshop's gone viral. Need crisis management ASAP.
Jax's response came almost immediately. Knew this would happen eventually. Don't panic. Have you told French Goddess the truth yet?
Emery sighed and typed back: No. And now there are "bookshop romance" rumors about us online.
Three dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared before Jax's reply finally came through. Either this is the best meet-cute in history or the biggest disaster waiting to happen. I'll bring wine tonight. Don't do anything stupid until then.
Emery slipped her phone back into her pocket just as the stockroom door opened and Eveline appeared. “Are you alright? You seem… unusually distressed about this social media situation.”
“I just… value my privacy,” Emery said, which was at least partially true.
“As do I,” Eveline said. “I’ve had a word with Zara, pictures will go through me first before they’re posted. No staff faces, I think.”
Emery felt the tightness in her chest loosen a little. “Right. Sounds… sensible.”
Eveline nodded. “Of course. And Emery?”
“Yes?”
“Whatever you were writing earlier… I'd like to read it someday.”
With that, she turned and left the stockroom, leaving Emery standing among the boxes, frozen in panic and something that felt dangerously like hope.