Chapter Sixteen
“Oh my god, have you seen this?” Zara's voice carried across the quiet bookshop, making Emery nearly drop the stack of literary biographies she was shelving.
“Seen what?” Emery asked, sliding the last book into place before turning around.
Zara was practically vibrating with excitement, her phone clutched in her hand. “Emerald Pearl is writing a new book set in a bookshop! It's all over BookBuzz.”
Emery's stomach plummeted. “What?” she squeaked, hurrying over to look at Zara's phone with mounting horror.
“Look,” Zara thrust the phone into Emery's hands. “Someone leaked that her next novel features a bookshop owner as the main character. The forums are going wild.”
Emery stared at the screen, her palms suddenly sweaty. There it was in black and white: “EXCLUSIVE: Bestselling romance author Emerald Pearl's next book to feature bookshop setting, sources confirm.”
Further down the article: “Insiders suggest the novel draws inspiration from Pearl's own experiences and will feature her most complex, emotionally nuanced heroine yet, a guarded bookshop owner with a mysterious past.”
“That's… unusually specific for a rumor,” Emery managed to say, her voice strained.
“I know, right?” Zara said.
Emery felt her heart racing. This was bad. Very bad. Someone must have leaked details about her manuscript, the manuscript that was very clearly inspired by Eveline. The manuscript she'd started writing while working at The Turned Page. How else could this have happened?
“Where's Eveline?” she asked, desperately needing to change the subject.
“Stockroom. Organizing the new shipment.” Zara reclaimed her phone, still scrolling excitedly. “Can you imagine working in a bookshop and just having Emerald Pearl walk in one day to do some research?”
“Yeah, amazing,” Emery said weakly. “I'm just going to… um, check on something.”
She retreated toward the back of the shop, mind racing. How had this happened? The manuscript wasn't even finished yet. She'd only sent three chapters to Domi. Who else had seen it?
She was so lost in her spiraling thoughts that she didn't notice the puddle of water until she stepped right into it, her shoe making an audible squelch.
“What on earth?” she muttered, looking down at the growing pool spreading out from under the bathroom door.
“Eveline?” she called out, pushing open the stockroom door. “I think we have a problem.”
Eveline appeared between two tall shelves, a stack of poetry collections in her arms. “What kind of problem?”
“The wet kind,” Emery said, pointing toward the hallway. “I think another pipe might have burst.”
Eveline's eyes widened. “Putain,” she said, hastily setting down the books and rushing past Emery.
When they reached the hallway, the situation had already deteriorated. Water was flowing steadily from beneath the bathroom door, spreading across the floor toward several boxes of books stacked against the wall.
“The new shipment,” Eveline gasped, lunging toward the nearest box.
Emery followed suit, grabbing another box and lifting it to higher ground. “Where's the water shut-off valve?”
“Under the sink,” Eveline said, already splashing through the growing puddle toward the bathroom door. She yanked it open, revealing a fountain of water spraying from a pipe beneath the sink.
Emery darted past her, dropping to her knees and reaching under the sink, frantically feeling for the valve as cold water soaked through her jeans and splashed her face. Her fingers finally found the metal handle and she twisted with all her might.
The spray diminished, then stopped completely, leaving only the sound of dripping water and their heavy breathing.
“Are you alright?” Eveline asked, pushing wet hair back from her face.
Emery looked up from her position on the floor, suddenly aware that she was completely drenched, kneeling in a puddle of water, with Eveline standing over her equally soaked.
Eveline’s white blouse had gone nearly transparent, clinging to her in a way that made Emery's mouth go dry despite all the water surrounding them.
“I'm fine,” she managed. “The books?”
“Let's check,” Eveline said, offering a hand to help Emery up.
Their fingers clasped, slippery with water, and Emery allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. She promptly slipped on the wet tile and crashed directly into Eveline, sending them both stumbling backward into the hallway.
“Sorry!” Emery gasped, mortified. “I'm so—”
“Clumsy, yes, I know,” Eveline said, but there was no bite to her words, only a strange breathlessness as she steadied them both, her hands on Emery's shoulders.
They remained like that for a heartbeat too long before Eveline stepped away, turning her attention to the boxes. “We need to move all of these,” she said. “And get towels. Many towels.”
For the next hour, they worked side by side, rescuing books, mopping up water, and assessing the damage. Zara had been dispatched to call the plumber. “Not Chapman this time,” Eveline had said. “Anyone but him.” And Emery and Eveline were left to deal with the aftermath.
By the time they'd moved the last box to safety, both women were exhausted. Emery sank down onto the floor, her back against a dry section of wall, surrounded by soggy cardboard and displaced books.
Eveline surprised her by sitting down beside her, their shoulders almost touching. Her usually immaculate hair had dried in wayward waves, and her makeup had smudged slightly beneath her eyes. Emery thought she'd never looked more beautiful.
“What a mess,” Eveline sighed.
“At least we saved most of the books,” said Emery.
“True. Although I think my Austen collection may never recover.” Eveline held up a waterlogged copy of Emma, its pages warped and stuck together.
“Poor Emma,” Emery said solemnly. “She would have hated being caught in such an undignified situation.”
Eveline's mouth twitched. “Unlike Mr. Woodhouse, who would have approved of the increased humidity. Good for the constitution.”
Emery stared at her for a second before bursting into laughter. “Did you just make a Jane Austen joke?”
“I believe I did,” Eveline said.
Maybe it was because the situation was so absurd, or maybe it was the relief of averting complete disaster, but suddenly they were both laughing hysterically, shoulders shaking, tears mingling with the remaining water on their faces.
“Your face when that pipe sprayed you,” Eveline gasped between giggles.
“Your expression when I slipped,” Emery countered, clutching her sides.
They laughed until they were breathless, until the laughter itself became a kind of release, washing away the tension of the day as thoroughly as the water had soaked them.
When they finally quieted, they remained sitting side by side, closer now, their damp shoulders definitely touching.
“I'm starving,” Emery said eventually.
“Me too,” Eveline said. “Nothing works up an appetite quite like emergency plumbing.”
“We should probably close early,” Emery suggested. “Given that half the shop is underwater.”
Eveline nodded. “Zara's already put up the closed sign.” She stood up, offering her hand to Emery once more. This time, Emery managed to get to her feet without creating another disaster. “Why don't we get changed and order some takeout? I've got some dry clothes upstairs you can borrow.”
Half an hour later, Emery found herself sitting cross-legged on the floor of the back room, wearing a borrowed t-shirt and yoga pants that were slightly too long for her, sharing containers of Thai food with Eveline.
“This is so good,” she said around a mouthful of pad thai. “Plumbing emergencies definitely improve the taste of food.”
Eveline smiled, looking softer and younger in casual clothes, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. “Everything tastes better when you're truly hungry,” she said. “My grandmother used to say that.”
“Was she a good cook?” Emery asked, seizing the chance to learn more about Eveline.
“The best,” Eveline said. “She lived in a small village in Provence. Her kitchen always smelled of herbs and butter and whatever was in season. I spent every summer with her until I was sixteen.”
“That sounds wonderful,” said Emery. “Did she teach you to cook?”
“She tried,” Eveline laughed. “I was a terrible student. Too impatient, always wanting to rush to the end result.” She paused, using chopsticks to select a piece of chicken from a container. “But she taught me other things. About books, about life.”
“Is she the reason you became a bookseller?”
Eveline nodded. “In a way. When she died, she left me enough money to start over. After everything with Charles…” She trailed off, then continued more softly. “I needed to rebuild my life. And books had always been my sanctuary.”
The vulnerability in her voice made Emery's heart ache. She wanted to reach out, to take Eveline's hand, but instead, she simply nodded encouragingly.
“So I came to London, found this shop for sale, and here I am.” Eveline shrugged, as if summarizing years of her life in a simple gesture. “What about you? What's your story?”
Emery hesitated, suddenly uncomfortable. How much could she share without revealing too much? “Nothing special,” she said finally. “Only child. Parents moved to Australia a few years ago. Boring, ordinary life.”
“I doubt that very much,” Eveline said, her dark eyes studying Emery's face with an intensity that made her want to squirm. “There's nothing ordinary about you, Emery Parker.”
Emery felt a pang of conscience so strong it nearly took her breath away. Here was Eveline, sharing parts of herself, being honest, while Emery continued to hide behind half-truths and omissions.
“I—” she began, then stopped. Tell her, a voice in her head urged. Tell her now, before it's too late.
But looking at Eveline's open expression, at the tentative trust being offered, Emery couldn't bring herself to shatter the moment. Not yet. Not when they were finally connecting in a way that felt real.
“I'm really not that interesting,” she said instead, dropping her gaze to her food. “But I'm glad to be here. Working with you, I mean. At the shop.”
When she looked up again, Eveline was still watching her, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I'm glad you're here too,” she said softly. “Even if you do seem to attract disaster wherever you go.”
Emery laughed, relieved by the shift back to lighter territory. “It's my superpower. Chaos follows me like a lost puppy.”
“Then it's fortunate that I'm becoming quite adept at handling chaos,” Eveline said, her smile widening into something that made Emery's heart flutter.
She’d tell Eveline soon, she promised herself. Someday soon, she would find the courage to be honest.
For now, it was enough to be here, in this moment, watching Eveline laugh at her terrible attempt to eat with chopsticks, feeling the unmistakable pull between them growing stronger with each passing minute.