Chapter Seventeen
Emery hummed softly to herself as she arranged a display of new releases near the front window.
The morning had been pleasantly quiet, with just a few regular customers drifting in and out.
Her nerves had settled somewhat after the pipe disaster yesterday, and the easy domesticity of sharing takeout with Eveline afterward had left her feeling oddly hopeful, despite the impossible situation she'd created for herself.
Plus, the shop was dry again, which was always a good thing.
The bell above the door jingled, and Emery looked up to see Ollie balancing a large, flat package.
“Special delivery,” he said cheerfully. “Direct from publisher marketing.”
Emery's smile froze as she spotted the sender's name on the label: Scarlet House Publishing. Her publisher. Her stomach dropped. She had a feeling she knew what this was.
“I'll take that,” she said, rushing forward a bit too eagerly.
Ollie grinned. “It’s heavy.” He set it down next to the counter and pulled out his clipboard. “Need a signature.”
Emery scrawled her name hastily, keeping one eye on the stockroom door where Eveline had disappeared a few minutes earlier. She needed to get this package out of sight.
“Thanks, Ollie,” she said, already trying to maneuver the large, flat cardboard box toward the door.
“I'll just put this… somewhere else.” She quickly pulled away a little of the brown paper and saw her own eye staring back at her. Her stomach sank. Just what she’d thought.
It was the cardboard display case that her publisher had sent out for her books.
Complete with an almost life-size Emerald Pearl.
“What's the rush?” Ollie asked, eyebrows raised. “Don't you want to see what it is? Looks like promotional materials.”
From behind her, Emery heard Eveline's voice. “Is that today's delivery?”
Emery spun around, grabbing her coffee mug and spinning back, tossing the coffee over the package. Hot liquid splashed across the brown paper and began to sink into the cardboard, which rapidly grew soggy and started to sag.
“Oh, no!” she said, getting tissues from under the counter napkins and dabbing frantically at the soaked package. “I'm so sorry! I'm such a klutz!”
Eveline appeared at her side, already holding a roll of paper towels. “Another day, another disaster,” she said, but her tone was more amused than annoyed.
Together, they mopped up the coffee, but the damage to the package was clearly irreversible. The cardboard was soggy, the labels running with ink, and when Emery cautiously peeled back one coffee-stained corner, she could see that whatever was inside was thoroughly ruined.
“What was in there, anyway?” Eveline asked, tossing soaked paper towels into the bin.
“Um, not sure,” Emery lied. “Some kind of promotional display? Probably one of those romance novel stands, you know, all bare chests and heaving bosoms. Probably not important.”
Ollie, who had been watching the clean-up with barely concealed amusement, shook his head. “That's a shame. Looked fancy.”
“These things happen,” Emery said with forced cheerfulness. “No use crying over spilled coffee, right?”
The bell jingled again, and Maya swept in, bringing with her the scent of fresh pastries. “Good morning, bookworms. I've brought breakfast—” She stopped short, taking in the scene of soggy cardboard and coffee-stained counter. “What happened here?”
“Emery happened,” Eveline said with a slight smile.
“Just another day in the life of Emery Parker, destroyer of all things,” Emery said, trying to sound light-hearted while still shoving the remains of the package into the bin.
Maya peered with interest at the wreckage. “Is that one of those promotional displays? For Emerald Pearl's books?”
Emery nearly choked. “What? No! I mean, I don't think so. Just some… general promotional… thing.”
Maya sighed dramatically. “No, no, it’s Emerald Pearl.
I recognize the color scheme from When a Bride Meets a Groom.
It’s a shame it’s all damaged. It would have been perfect for the Romance Book Club's tenth anniversary meeting tomorrow night. A special guest of honor, even if just in cardboard form.”
“Such a loss to literature,” Eveline said dryly.
Emery was about to respond when the bell jingled once more. She looked up to see Abe shuffling in, leaning on his cane but looking notably better than the last time they'd seen him.
“Abe!” Eveline said, genuine warmth flooding her voice. “Should you be out and about already?”
The elderly man waved away her concern. “Can't keep me cooped up for long. Besides, I needed to stretch my legs, and I find myself in need of poetry.”
Maya beamed at him. “You're looking much better. We were all so worried.”
“Nothing keeps me down for long,” he said with a wink. “Especially not when I have books waiting to be read.” He turned to Eveline. “I'm looking for Neruda. The sonnets, specifically.”
Eveline's expression lightened. “A special favorite of mine.” She moved toward the poetry section, gesturing for him to follow. “I have a lovely edition that just came in last week.”
Emery trailed after them, utterly relieved to have the attention diverted from the ruined display. She watched as Eveline ran her fingers along the spines of books, stopping at a slim, leather-bound volume.
“This one,” she said, carefully taking it down. “Bilingual, with the original Spanish.”
Abe accepted the book with reverent hands. “Perfect. Agnes loved Neruda, you know. I used to read her the sonnets sometimes. The seventeenth was her favorite.”
“Ah, yes,” Eveline said. She closed her eyes. “I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom but carries /The light of those flowers, hidden, within itself, /And thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose /From the earth lives dimly in my body.”
Emery felt her heart stutter in her chest. Eveline's voice, already enchanting with its French lilt, took on a musical quality as she spoke the verses.
The words themselves were beautiful enough, but hearing them in Eveline's voice, watching her face transform with the emotion of the poem, was almost unbearably intimate.
Heat flooded Emery's body. She gripped the edge of a nearby shelf, suddenly light-headed. How was it possible to want someone this much? To feel a poem spoken by them as if it were a physical caress?
Eveline opened her eyes, and for a split second, they locked with Emery's. Something electric passed between them, something that made Emery's breath catch and her pulse race.
Then Abe chuckled, breaking the spell. “You recite it even better than I did,” he said.
Emery turned away, needing a moment to compose herself. Her face felt flushed, her heartbeat erratic. It was just a poem, she told herself. Just words. But they weren't just words, not when Eveline spoke them like that, not when she looked at Emery afterward with those dark, expressive eyes.
???
Eveline watched Emery retreat toward the front of the shop, noting the flush on her cheeks, the slight tremor in her hands. Had the poem affected her that strongly? Or was it something else entirely?
There was something about Emery Parker that continued to mystify her, to draw her in despite her better judgment.
She claimed to lead a boring, ordinary life, yet there was nothing ordinary about her.
The way her eyes lit up when she discussed books, the passion that animated her when she helped customers find exactly what they needed, even the endearing clumsiness that seemed to worsen whenever Eveline was nearby.
“She's quite something, isn't she?” Abe murmured, following Eveline's gaze.
Eveline startled, realizing she'd been staring. “Who?”
Abe gave her a knowing look. “Don't play coy, my dear. It doesn't suit you.”
Eveline sighed, keeping her voice low. “It's complicated, Abe.”
“Love usually is,” he said. “But that doesn't mean it's not worth pursuing.”
“Who said anything about love?” Eveline whispered fiercely, though even to her own ears, the protest sounded weak.
Abe simply raised an eyebrow and opened the book of sonnets. “When love comes knocking,” he said, his finger tracing the lines of the poem she'd just recited, “you don't ignore it. You open the door and welcome it whole-heartedly. Because if you don't, it may not come again.”
“That sounds like romantic claptrap,” Eveline said, but there was no conviction in her voice.
Abe laughed, the sound warm and knowing.
“Does it? Tell me, is Austen claptrap? Is Shakespeare? Is Neruda?” He shook his head.
“Romance novels didn't invent love, Eveline.
They're just the latest iteration of stories we've been telling for centuries.
Some of our finest literature, our oldest stories, are about love.
There's a reason romance is the most popular genre, it speaks to something fundamentally human.”
Eveline watched as Emery smiled at a customer, her whole face lighting up as she recommended a book. There was such genuine joy in the gesture, such unguarded enthusiasm.
“I'm afraid,” she said quietly, so quietly that only Abe could hear.
“Of course you are,” he said. “That's how you know it matters.”
He squeezed her hand and shuffled off toward Maya, who was arranging pastries near the counter, leaving Eveline with her thoughts.
She'd been hurt before, betrayed in the worst possible way by someone she thought she could trust. Charles had taken her stories, her vulnerability, and used them for his own gain. She'd sworn never to be so foolish again, never to open herself to that kind of pain.
But Emery wasn't Charles. She was warm and genuine and slightly chaotic, bringing a kind of vibrant energy into the shop, into Eveline's life, that she hadn't realized was missing.
Eveline sighed and rolled her eyes at herself, at the direction her thoughts were taking. Yet as she watched Emery gesturing animatedly while describing a book to a customer, she couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, Abe had a point.
Perhaps it was time to stop hiding behind her walls of cynicism and caution. Perhaps it was time to take a risk.
Tomorrow, she decided. After the Romance Book Club's anniversary meeting, she would approach Emery. Say something. Take that first step.
The thought was terrifying. And exhilarating.
She caught Emery looking her way and felt a flutter in her chest when Emery smiled shyly before turning back to her customer.
Yes, tomorrow. She would find the courage tomorrow.