Chapter Thirty-Two
Emery rummaged through her closet, discarding one outfit after another onto the growing pile on her bed.
Nothing felt right. Not the blue dress that brought out her eyes, not the sleek black pants that made her look more put-together than she usually felt, not even the lucky sweater she'd worn to her first book signing.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, pulling out a floral blouse only to toss it immediately onto the rejection heap. “It's just dinner with Jax and Domi.”
But it wasn't just dinner. It was her first time venturing out socially since The Incident, as she'd come to think of it. Capital letters and all. The night her life had imploded in spectacular fashion at the Romance Book Club.
Since making her decision to fight for Eveline, Emery had felt a shift inside herself. The paralysis of grief was giving way to determination, though she still had no idea what exactly she was going to do. Every plan she'd come up with seemed woefully inadequate.
A heartfelt letter? Too easy to ignore.
Flowers? Too cliché.
Standing outside the bookshop with a boombox? Too 1980s, and possibly grounds for a restraining order given the solicitor's letter.
She needed something that acknowledged the magnitude of her deception while also conveying the depth of her feelings. Something that showed Eveline she was worth a second chance.
Emery was considering and discarding the idea of skywriting when her phone rang. She lunged for it, heart leaping with irrational hope that it might be Eveline, before seeing Mrs. Hampton's name on the screen.
“Hello?” she said, wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder as she continued to rifle through her closet.
“Emery! Or should I say Emerald?” Mrs. Hampton's voice boomed through the speaker. “How are you, my dear?”
“I'm fine,” Emery lied smoothly, grimacing at a polka-dotted disaster she'd forgotten she owned. “How are you?”
“Splendid, simply splendid. Though we do miss you at the book club. It's not the same without our resident expert.”
Emery winced. “Listen, Mrs. Hampton, about all that—”
“Water under the bridge,” Mrs. Hampton interrupted cheerfully. “These things happen. Creative types and their secrets! Which is actually why I'm calling.”
Emery finally pulled out a simple green dress that she'd worn once to a dinner with an agent before she’d met Domi. She held it up and nodded, it would do.
“Emery? Are you there?”
“Yes, sorry,” Emery said, shaking herself out of the memory. “What can I help you with?”
“Well, as you may know, we're reading Midnight in Mayfair for our next meeting, another of your marvelous books, and I thought, wouldn't it be wonderful if Emerald Pearl herself could attend?”
Emery froze, the green dress dangling from her fingers. “Attend the book club? At The Turned Page?”
“Oh heavens, no,” Mrs. Hampton said. “We've relocated back to Café Lila. Temporarily, of course. Just until… well, until things sort themselves out.”
“I don't think that's a good idea,” Emery said, dropping the dress onto her bed. “Eveline would—”
“Eveline won't be there, dear. She's made it quite clear she has no interest in our little gatherings anymore. Such a shame. She was just beginning to appreciate the genre.”
A pang shot through Emery's chest. Another consequence of her lies: Eveline had retreated from the romance books she'd just started to enjoy.
“So, what do you say?” Mrs. Hampton said. “The members would be absolutely thrilled. Especially after all the drama! Nothing sells books like a scandal, you know.”
Emery's mind was elsewhere, still stuck on the image of Eveline alone in the bookshop, having banished romance to the back corner again.
“Emery?”
“Yes,” she said absently. “Sure, I'll come.”
“Marvelous! I’ll text you the details. We'll expect a reading, of course, and perhaps some insights into your creative process. Oh, everyone will be so excited. I must call Maya immediately to order extra pastries.”
The call ended before Emery fully processed what she'd agreed to.
She stared at her phone, wondering if she'd just made a terrible mistake or stumbled onto an opportunity.
If the book club had relocated, that meant the Romance Book Club's tenth anniversary meeting, the catalyst for her downfall, had been their last at The Turned Page.
She thought of the shop, of how alive it had felt during those evenings, crowded with enthusiastic readers debating character motivations and plot twists.
Of how Eveline had grudgingly admitted to finding merit in Emery's writing.
Of how Eveline had defended romance novels with such unexpected passion.
The memory brought both pain and a flicker of something like hope. Eveline didn’t totally disbelieve in romance.
Emery glanced at the clock and cursed. She was going to be late if she didn't hurry. Grabbing the green dress, she tugged it over her head and rushed to finish getting ready.
JAX WAS ALREADY waiting at a corner table when Emery arrived at the restaurant, fifteen minutes late and slightly out of breath. The small Italian place was cozy, with checkered tablecloths and candles in wine bottles, the kind of spot where you could linger for hours over pasta and conversation.
“Sorry I'm late,” Emery said, sliding into her chair. “I got caught up in…”
“Let me guess,” Jax said, pouring Emery a glass of wine from the open bottle on the table. “Overthinking?”
“That obvious?”
“You've been my best friend for how long?” Jax raised an eyebrow. “It’s how you operate. But at least you’re back in the land of the living.”
“Thank you very much.”
“You look better,” Jax said, studying Emery's face. “Less like a zombie romance novelist and more like a living, breathing human being.”
“I feel better,” Emery said, taking a sip of wine. “Not good, exactly, but… clearer.”
“Ah, because you’re going to fight for love?” Jax's tone was teasing, but her eyes were kind.
Emery nodded, surprising herself with how certain she felt. “I have to try, Jax. I can't just let it end like this. I owe it to Eveline, to myself, to us…” She trailed off, ducking her head. “God, I sound like one of my own characters.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” said Jax. “Your characters are usually right about love in the end.” She unfolded her menu. “So what's the grand plan, then? How are you going to win back your French bookshop owner?”
Emery sighed. “That's the problem. I don't know. Everything I think of seems either too small or too ridiculous.”
“The classics are classics for a reason,” Jax said. “Flowers, chocolates, heartfelt confessions in the rain…”
“This isn't a Nora Ephron movie,” Emery said. “This is real life. I lied to her for weeks, Jax. I was writing a book inspired by her without her knowledge or consent, after she'd explicitly told me how much that exact thing had hurt her before. I can't fix that with flowers.”
“Fair point,” Jax conceded. “But you've got to do something. And soon. Before she completely writes you off or, worse, decides to give that sleazy ex of hers another chance.”
Emery's stomach lurched. “You don't think she would?”
“No, probably not,” Jax said. “But my point stands. Time isn't your friend here.”
“Here we go,” Emery groaned.
“What?” Jax turned to look. “Oh. Domi alert.”
Domi cut a striking figure as she wound between tables toward them, turning heads in her wake.
She was dressed in what Emery thought of as her 'power agent' outfit: a crisp white shirt under a perfectly tailored blazer, accessorized with a statement necklace that probably cost more than Emery's monthly rent.
“Darlings.” She air kissed them both and then looked at Emery. “So glad that you’ve decided to leave that den of filth.”
“I don’t live in a den of filth,” Emery said.
“Mmm,” said Domi. “But you’ve come to your senses. The book is fully accepted, happy endings and all. So here we all are, everything back to normal, thank god.” She pulled out a chair and flopped down into it, pouring herself a glass of wine.
“Not quite back to normal,” Jax said.
Domi raised an eyebrow.
“Emery is trying to find a way to woo her bookseller back,” Jax explained.
“Well, it's about damn time,” said Domi. “But it’s hardly rocket science. I told you weeks ago, you need a grand gesture. It's how all the best romances end. The hero running through an airport, the declaration of love in front of a crowd, the—”
“I’m a romance novelist,” Emery said. “I know what a grand gesture is.” She sighed. “But none of that feels right for this situation. It’s all just… not enough.”
Domi flagged down a waiter. “Speaking of not enough, this wine won’t do the job.
I need a martini, very dry, three olives,” she said before turning back to Emery.
“Look, I get it. This isn't a typical situation.
But the principle remains the same. You need to show her that you're all in, that this isn't just another story for you.”
“That's the problem,” Emery said. “How do I prove that I'm not just using her for material when I literally was using her for material?”
“But that's not all you were doing,” Jax pointed out. “You fell in love with her. That's real.”
The waiter returned with Domi's martini at record speed, probably motivated by her intimidating presence. She took a sip and nodded approvingly.
“I still don't know what to do,” Emery said after a moment. “Every idea I come up with feels inadequate.”
They ordered food and talked about publishing arrangements for the new book until it arrived. Then Emery picked at her pasta, still lost in thought.
“Maybe,” Jax said between bites, “you're overthinking this. Maybe you just need to talk to Eveline. Honestly, openly.”
“After a solicitor's letter?” Emery shook her head. “She made it pretty clear she doesn't want to hear from me.”
“People say things they don't mean when they're hurt,” Domi said with unusual gentleness. “Trust me, I've nursed enough clients through messy divorces to know that.”
The meal continued, the conversation drifting to other topics. Jax's new case, Domi's latest star client, anything but Emery's romantic woes. It was almost a relief, this momentary respite from her own thoughts.
When dessert menus appeared, Emery felt a flutter of the sweet tooth that had abandoned her these past weeks.
“The tiramisu looks good,” Jax said, perusing the options.
“I'm tempted by the cannoli,” said Emery.
Domi closed her menu with a decisive snap. “Oh, for God's sake, let's just get one of everything.”
“Everything?” Jax said. “There are like eight desserts on this menu.”
“So?” Domi shrugged. “Life's too short for dessert indecision.”
Emery watched as Domi imperiously instructed the waiter to bring them a sampling of every dessert on the menu. It was such a Domi thing to do, excessive, a bit ridiculous, and somehow exactly right.
One of everything.
The phrase echoed in Emery's mind, triggering a cascade of thoughts.
One grand gesture might not be enough. One apology, one bouquet, one heartfelt letter, none of it would suffice. But what if…
What if she did all of it? Every grand gesture, every romantic cliché, every possible way to say “I'm sorry” and “I love you” and “Please give me another chance”?
What if, instead of trying to find the perfect gesture, she made all of them?
“Emery?” Jax was waving a hand in front of her face. “You okay? You zoned out there.”
A smile spread across Emery's face, the first genuine one in weeks. “I'm fine,” she said. “Actually, I'm better than fine. I know what I'm going to do.”
“What?” Jax and Domi asked in unison.
Emery looked at the table, now laden with an absurd array of desserts, then back at her friends, her eyes bright with renewed purpose.
“I'm going to do everything.”