Chapter Thirty-One
Eveline was making coffee, the fresh smell of it filling the bookshop, when she heard the bell over the door ring. She looked up, expecting another disinterested browser, and instead felt her heart leap at the familiar figure shuffling through the entrance.
“Abe!” She hurried over, instinctively reaching out to steady him. “Should you be out? The doctor said—”
“The doctor says a great many things,” Abe interrupted, waving away her concern with a frail hand.
“Most of which I've decided to ignore for my own sanity. If I have to spend all day in bed, then I might as well be dead.” Despite his bravado, his face was pale, the lines deeper than before, and he leaned heavily on his cane.
“At least sit down,” Eveline said, guiding him to his usual chair by the window. “I'll make tea.”
When she returned with the steaming mug, Abe was studying the shop with a critical eye. “Something's different,” he said. “And not in a good way.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why have you moved the romance all the way back to the depths of the shop?”
Eveline set the tea on the small table beside him. “We've had to make some adjustments. Sales have been… down.”
“That's not all I mean.” Abe's blue eyes, still sharp despite his illness, fixed on her face. “The heart's gone out of the place. And out of you.”
She turned away, busying herself with straightening books that didn't need straightening. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Yes, you do.” His voice was gentle but firm. “Where's Emery?”
The name sent a jolt through her, it had every time she'd heard it over the past weeks.
She'd managed to avoid this conversation when visiting Abe in the hospital, deflecting his questions with vague reassurances. But now, faced with his direct inquiry in the familiar surroundings of the shop, she didn’t have a choice. Unless she lied.
“She's gone,” Eveline said, her voice tight. “She won't be coming back.”
“Why?” Abe asked simply.
Eveline took a deep breath. “She lied to me. To us. All this time. She's… she's Emerald Pearl.”
“Hmm,” was all Abe said.
“You don't seem surprised,” Eveline said, frowning. Perhaps she should have lied. Perhaps this would have been easier on them both. She felt a pang of something. Understanding maybe.
“I suspected something of the sort.” Abe took a sip of his tea. “She was always scribbling away, and quite knowledgeable about publishing. But that hardly seems reason enough to banish her.”
“She was writing about me, too.” Eveline said, heat rising in her voice.
“Did you know that? Emerald Pearl’s next book is set in a bookshop.
The rumors are true. As Zara’s pointed out, they’re all over that damn book website she’s always on about.
So Emery was using me for material without my knowledge or consent. Just like—”
“Like Charles,” Abe finished for her. “Yes, I see the parallel you're drawing. But is it accurate?”
Eveline crossed her arms. “She deceived me.”
“And that hurt you deeply,” Abe said. “But ask yourself this: was the deception in bad faith? Was it calculated to cause you pain? To exploit you?”
“It doesn't matter why she did it,” Eveline said. “She should have told me the truth.”
“Yes, she should have,” Abe said. “But we all make mistakes, my dear. The question is whether the mistake outweighs everything else.”
Eveline was silent, unwilling to examine what 'everything else' might involve.
“If you're prepared to let Emery walk away,” Abe said, his voice suddenly harder, “then I'm disappointed in you. You've learned nothing about love.”
“This isn't about love,” Eveline said.
“And now who’s lying?” Abe set down his teacup with a sharp clink. “Love is there whether you want it or not, whether you believe in it or not, whether it's said or not. It doesn't wait for perfect circumstances or perfect people.”
Eveline bit her lip but said nothing.
“I've lived long enough to know that genuine connections are rare,” Abe said.
“When Agnes died, do you know what I regretted most? Not the arguments we had, not the mistakes we made, but the times I let pride stand in the way of reconciliation. The days wasted in anger that could have been spent in joy.”
He reached for her hand, his papery skin cool against hers. “Don't make my mistakes, Eveline. Life is too short to let the fear of being hurt keep you from the possibility of being happy.”
THE MORNING PASSED in a blur after Abe left. Eveline moved through her tasks mechanically, his words echoing in her mind. When the shop emptied during the afternoon lull, she found herself drifting toward the back corner where she'd relegated the romance section.
Almost against her will, she pulled a familiar volume from the shelf. The Woman Without a Past by Emerald Pearl. By Emery.
She opened it, running her fingers over the words, imagining Emery writing them. Had she been thinking of Eveline even then, before they'd met, or someone like her?
The questions swirled in her mind as she flipped through the pages, eventually coming to rest on a passage Emery had read in book club, about a woman afraid to trust again after betrayal.
“The past had taught her caution, but caution had become a prison of her own making. Safety meant isolation, and isolation meant never feeling the pain of loss, but it also meant never feeling the warmth of love.”
Tears blurred her vision, one dropping onto the page before she could catch it. She wiped it away hastily, but the damage was done, a small, imperfect circle distorting the words beneath.
“Eveline?” Zara's voice came from behind her. “Are you alright?”
Eveline hastily closed the book, but it was too late. Zara had seen her tears.
“I'm fine,” she said, trying to slide the book back onto the shelf, but her hands were shaking too badly.
Zara gently took the book from her. “It's okay to miss her, you know.”
“I don't miss her,” Eveline said automatically. “I'm angry with her.”
“You can be both,” Zara said. “Maybe what hurt most wasn't the deception itself, but the fear that what you felt wasn't real.”
Eveline stared at her. “The deception was real,” she said finally.
“Yes, it was,” Zara agreed. “But does that mean the feelings weren't?” She placed the book back on the shelf. “Not everything is black and white, Eveline. People make mistakes for complicated reasons. That doesn't invalidate everything else.”
As Zara walked away, Eveline remained rooted to the spot, her words settling like stones in still water, sending ripples through everything Eveline had told herself over the past weeks.
Was she letting past hurts dictate her present? Was she so afraid of being betrayed again that she was refusing to see the differences between what Charles had done and what Emery had done? Was she being old and stubborn and stupid?
The realization crystalized as she stood there, surrounded by stories of love and redemption and romance. She needed to confront her past before she could face her future.
THAT EVENING, AFTER closing the shop, Eveline found herself standing in the elegant lobby of The Savoy. She'd called ahead, ensuring Charles would be there, and now she clutched his publisher's contract in her handbag, her decision made.
He met her in the hotel bar, looking pleased and slightly smug as he ordered champagne without asking if she wanted any.
“I knew you'd come around,” he said, gesturing to her bag. “You've always been practical, beneath that passionate exterior.”
Eveline said nothing, waiting until the champagne was poured and they were alone again.
“I'd like to sign the contract,” she said, pulling it from her bag and setting it on the table between them.
Charles's smile widened. “Excellent. I brought a pen.” He reached into his jacket pocket. “I think you'll find this is the beginning of a mutually beneficial reconciliation—”
“No,” Eveline interrupted, taking the pen. “This isn't reconciliation, Charles. This is closure.”
His smile faltered. “I don't understand.”
Eveline flipped to the signature page. “The stories you published no longer belong to me.
You stole them, and now they're yours.” She signed her name with a quick, decisive stroke.
“I don't want co-author credit. I don't want royalties. I want my ties to you to finally be over. I want to never have to see you again.”
Charles stared at her, confusion giving way to indignation. “You're being ridiculous. This contract is worth thousands.”
“Some things are worth more,” Eveline said, standing. “Like peace of mind. Like freedom from the past.” She pushed the signed contract toward him. “Goodbye, Charles.”
She walked out without looking back, not touching the champagne, not waiting for his response. Outside, the evening air was cool against her flushed cheeks, and for the first time in weeks, she felt something other than anger or sorrow.
Relief.
As she walked along the Thames, watching the city lights reflect on the dark water, Eveline realized she wanted to give things with Emery another chance.
The thought was simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating.
Their history was complicated, messy, imperfect, but wasn't that true of all relationships worth having?
The question now was how to go about it. Emery had respected her wishes, hadn't tried to contact her. The solicitor's letter had been excessive, Eveline could admit that now. A door slammed shut and locked from the inside.
Would Emery even want to try again? Or had Eveline's reaction burned that bridge beyond repair?
She didn't know. But as she continued walking, Eveline realized that, for the first time in a long time, not knowing didn't frighten her quite so much. Because some things were worth the risk of uncertainty. Some people were worth the courage it took to be vulnerable again.
And perhaps, just perhaps, Emery was one of them.