Chapter 12
Rhianna
I’m halfway through sorting through a stack of new releases at the library when Mom drops by my desk, radiating that special brand of maternal concern that means she’s about to analyze my life choices. Again.
Though she has a Whimsical Whisk bag in hand which means she’s bringing a delicious treat. I’m weighing out whether the payoff will be worth the conversation as she approaches.
“So,” she says, drawing out the word like taffy. “The Blue Moon Festival?”
“Yep.” I scan a barcode and slide another book into the shelf-ready pile. “That is a thing that happens every year.”
“Rhi.” She grins and thrusts the bag with the peace offering out to me.
I accept and when the smell of chocolate chip cookies hits, I’ve already forgiven the first part of this interrogation.
Hand-delivering desserts at work? She’s definitely up to something.
“I’ve heard you’re going. That’s different for you.
Usually you avoid the festival claiming it”—she adds air quotes—“goes beyond kitschy and straight into cheese-ville.”
I can’t help but smile, because I do say that. And also because Ethan and Zoe’s cookies are basically the love child of magic and joy wrapped in chocolatey perfection and I’m daydreaming of escaping this conversation, making it to the break room, and stuffing one into my mouth.
“Change is healthy, right? Isn’t that what you tell your clients?”
I flash her a saccharine smile and hope it distracts her from the emotional panic attack happening behind my eyeballs.
I keep replaying that moment beneath the meteor shower with Eli.
How calm he was, how gently he laid it all out.
No pressure. No promises. Just the chance to explore without strings attached.
I almost said no. The word was right there. But I couldn’t make myself say it. I know this is probably a terrible idea. He’s steady and thoughtful and actually seems to like me for who I am, big ideas and all. Which is exactly what makes it terrifying.
Maybe I’m trying to be brave. Or maybe I’m just being selfish and wanting something I’m not built to keep. Either way, the idea of dishing all this out with Mom within hearing distance of regular library patrons makes me want to throw my body into the nearest book drop.
Mom’s eyes sparkle with a dangerous mix of professional insight and maternal intuition. “Interesting that you’d bring up my work. Are we perhaps deflecting from something? Or should I say… someone?”
“And there it is.” I point with the hand holding the cookie bag at her accusingly. “You promised no psychoanalysis before noon.”
“Darling, it’s 12:15.” She grins, completely unrepentant. “And Grammie Rae told me you and the charming new professor had sparks flying at that folklore event you two put on—practically lit up the whole town, she said.”
I scowl. Once, I’d admired Grammie Rae—figured I’d turn into her, even.
The single, older lady the entire town considered themselves vaguely related to.
The quirky one with big opinions and a bit of magic up her sleeve at all times.
Now, though? I’m thinking being on the receiving end of her attention isn’t as charming.
My mind drifts to the previous night. To Eli bathed in starlight, the way his gaze had remained on me rather than the celestial display exploding above us.
The kiss wasn’t part of the plan. Neither was catching feelings for someone with forever in his eyes.
But Eli makes me want to be brave again—even if I have no idea how.
And deep down, I know how this ends. He likes the polished version of me. The real mess? That’s the part people leave.
Just like Jacob did.
“Eli’s just working at the library,” I say with a shrug that feels too stiff to appear casual. “He’s a professor and amazing with protection wards. Very professional. Very… scholarly.”
“Mhmm.” Mom draws out the sound like she’s savoring it. “And does this scholarly gentleman happen to be joining you at the festival, by chance?”
I groan and move an entire pile of books that don’t need to be moved.
Mom only smirks at me, willing to accept defeat in the conversation although the twinkle in her eye says it’s not over—not close.
But she pulls an envelope out of her bag.
“My real reason for dropping by is that this came in the mail today and I thought you’d like to see it sooner than later. ”
As I accept the envelope, I read the sender information. The World Library Tour Fellowship logo makes my heart stutter. Someone shuffles by, a woman pushing a toddler in a stroller, but I barely notice them. My gaze is glued to the envelope in her hands.
“You knew I applied?”
Mom’s expression softens into something that makes my throat tight.
“Of course I knew, honey. I was waiting for you to share when you were ready. I see how hard you’ve worked, how carefully you’ve saved.
” She pauses and her gaze goes distant like she’s weighing her words.
“Maybe I’ve pushed too hard sometimes, tried to shape your path because I’m so content with mine.
But this isn’t about my dreams for you anymore. ”
She reaches across the desk and takes my hand. “I just want to see you happy and successful, Rhianna. And maybe that means you can’t go through life my way, or process things my way. Maybe you have to go your own way.”
Go your own way.
The words slam into me, sending me straight back to The Tipsy Mermaid, to Eli on that stage, his voice raw and beautiful as the words to that song poured from him. To the way his eyes found mine, like maybe the lyrics weren’t random.
So much for keeping things simple.
Eli has infused himself into my bloodstream, sunk into my bones. Last night the stars seemed to rain when his lips met mine. The world narrowed to just that moment—his hands gentle on my face, the soft brush of his thumb across my cheek, the expert way he molded our mouths together.
It’s casual. That’s what we agreed. A little adventure, no strings attached.
But there’s nothing casual about the way my heart does backflips when he walks into the room, or how I’ve begun reading through Cyrus Whitlock’s works just to see his eyes brighten when I discuss them.
There’s nothing casual about the way I catch myself memorizing the sound of his laugh, or how I think about him even when I shouldn’t.
My stomach’s been in knots all day. I couldn’t even finish breakfast. Because I know myself. And this isn’t casual anymore. Not for me.
I keep thinking about how easy it is to say yes to him.
Yes to dinner.
Yes to staying later after work to chat.
Yes to letting him in, inch by inch, even when I swore I’d never do that again.
After Jacob I swore to myself to never give someone the ability to break me again. Eli is like a too-rich wine I shouldn’t have sipped. Now I can’t stop. I keep going back for more, even though I know how this ends. Because I’ve lived it.
Jacob not only left me when I needed him most, he made it feel like it was my fault. Eli doesn’t know that version of me yet. The cracked, unraveling girl beneath all the magic and charm and good intentions.
But when he does—when it stops being light and flirty and starts getting messy and real—he’ll do what Jacob did. He’ll leave.
And the worst part? I’m already hoping he won’t. And that’s what terrifies me the most.
My fingers trace the envelope’s edge. Inside could be everything I’ve worked for. Six months of adventure and, with my savings, possibly more.
So why am I hesitating to open this letter?
This is my escape plan. The one I’ve clung to since Jacob left. I should tell Eli about the fellowship and my travel plans. Lay it all out. Let him know clearly and simply that this thing between us can be only for the summer. That it’s casual, just like we agreed.
But something is stopping me.
Some quiet, persistent beat of hope that doesn’t want to say the words out loud. Because somewhere between the gentle kisses, enthusiastic conversation, and the way his magic tangles with mine, I started wondering if this could be something more.
Maybe this envelope will make the choice for me.
Maybe it’ll let me keep pretending I’m not already halfway in.
I slide open the envelope’s flap. My hands are trembling and Mom is watching me in a way that says she isn’t breathing and I’m pretty sure I’m about to throw up all over a book return cart when I read the words that don’t seem real:
Dear Ms. Wilder,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as a semifinalist for the World Library Tour Fellowship…
“Oh, my god.” The words come out as a whisper. “Oh, my god.”
Mom peers over my shoulder, then squeals loudly enough that it echoes around the library and draws the attention of Claire and a few patrons. “Rhianna!” she says. “This is incredible!”
It is incredible. It’s everything I’ve dreamed of.
Half a year of exploring the world while doing work I genuinely love.
The kind of adventure Grandma Ida and I used to stay up late planning, tracing our fingers across maps and imagining the stories we’d collect.
And maybe… a break. From Magnolia Cove and Jacob and the memories that seem to huddle at every corner.
I’m pretty sure I can convince my boss of the program’s merits—she’ll likely hold my position while I’m gone.
The excitement bubbling in my chest meets something else—something that feels suspiciously like regret.
Because I told myself this envelope would decide everything.
Now that it has, my stomach swoops with the kind of sinking feeling you only get when you realize, too late, that maybe you wanted a different answer.
Last night, under a sky full of shooting stars, Eli Lancaster kissed me like I was something precious. Like I was worth discovering.
I thought I never wanted to be seen again, not really. But now? Now I’m terrifyingly starting to consider that being seen, by the right person, could be a good thing.
Maybe.
“Do you want to tell your dad, or can I?” Mom is beaming, color flushing her cheeks. I should be in awe of her support, should be matching her enthusiasm watt for watt. This is what I’ve wanted. What I promised. What I literally backtracked adult steps and moved in with my parents to achieve.
All I can think about is the way Eli’s voice gets soft when he talks about reading the same folklore someone else shared around a fire a thousand years ago. About the way he bows his head when he laughs at my silly puns. About the warmth and strength of his hand in mine at the meteor shower.
“You can tell him,” I manage, trying to sound normal. Trying not to think about how Dad will absolutely want to help me research every library I’ll visit, how he’ll probably start sending me articles about each country’s literary history. How Eli would love that about him.
Mom plants a kiss on my cheek then glides toward the exit.
I’m left standing, stunned, the future I’ve worked and planned and hoped for in my hands.
But I don’t look at the letter again. Instead, I fish out my cell phone (a foolish thing to keep on me as service never works around the Cove anyway) and open the message Eli sent me last night.
Sweet dreams, fellow stargazer.
Four words shouldn’t be able to raise my body temperature a dozen degrees. Shouldn’t be able to conjure up the taste of his kiss, the rumble of his laughter.
I slide the letter into my bag, but not before running my fingers over the World Library Tour Fellowship logo one more time. This is my dream. My plan. Everything I’ve worked for.
It’s just… Now there’s this other feeling too, taking up space in my heart right next to my wanderlust. This warm, dizzy, terrifying feeling that has everything to do with the way Eli looks at me like I’m his favorite undiscovered story.
I take a deep breath and let reality settle into my bones. This thing with Eli is just a feeling, not my future. I won’t tell him about the fellowship. Not yet. I’m only a semi-finalist and we’re just… exploring.
No need to weigh down a summer adventure with long-term plans.
Not when everything’s still so beautifully, terrifyingly uncertain.