Chapter 17 Rhianna
Rhianna
I’m balancing on a stepladder, trying to attach sparkly vines to our Enchanted Reading Forest display for next week’s Library Comes Alive night, when my fingers brush against the thick envelope in my cardigan pocket.
The one with the World Library Tour Fellowship’s golden seal Dad handed me this morning.
The one I’ve been too nervous to open because somehow holding onto the possibility feels safer than knowing for sure.
My mind wanders back to the beach. To Eli’s almost-confession. To the way my heart had nearly burst through my chest because I knew—I knew—what he was going to say.
I’m terrified and wobbly and mentally all over the place, but I’m also… strangely ready.
Eli isn’t Jacob.
Even if my heart has been living in my throat ever since I blurted out that invitation to meet my parents, I think—maybe—I’m finally ready to try again. Who knew my failed matchmaking plan would result in me finding love? My mom would absolutely love that line of thought. Unfortunately.
“Miss Wilder!” Jasper calls from below, where he’s sorting through the costume box I’d dragged out of storage that morning. “Can I be the Lorax? I already practiced twitching my mustache!”
“Only if you promise to speak for the books,” I tell him as I step down and pull a measuring tape from my cardigan pocket.
I’ve been carrying it around to get the dimensions perfect for my Mary Poppins costume.
Somehow, I thought designing my own was a good idea.
I stretch the tape out before Jasper who has his shoulders rolled back and is nearly on his toes to stand as tall as possible.
“And according to my calculations, you’re exactly the right height for a Lorax. Practically perfect, in fact.”
Jasper beams and starts practicing his grumpy voice while I adjust my daisy-decorated hat—a trial run for the one I’ll wear that evening.
Claire’s going as the White Witch (complete with Turkish Delight samples) and Michael from acquisitions is planning an impressive Mad Hatter ensemble.
I’ve got my carpet bag all ready to go, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll speak with the Council and see if someone will add a bit of actual magic to make it seem bottomless.
What’s the point of being a librarian in a magical pocket town if you can’t have a little fun with it?
I climb the ladder and begin decorating again but a vine slips from my fingers and bops me on the nose. “Most unsatisfactory,” I tell it in my best Mary Poppins voice.
I pin the final vine in place then hop down from the ladder and push my fists onto my hips to survey my handiwork.
The display glitters under the library’s soft lighting, constellations of books arranged in spiraling patterns.
A council member has already worked a bit of subtle magic to keep it from toppling.
It’s exactly the kind of whimsy that makes kids’ eyes light up when they walk in.
Just like the way his eyes light up when he looks at you, my brain offers in an annoyingly sincere voice.
I groan and press my palms against my heated cheeks. Because I’ve made up my mind.
I’ve spent summer convincing myself this was temporary. That we’d agreed on no strings. Just a summer of stolen moments and soft laughter and pretending the future wasn’t coming fast. But now? Now I want something more. A chance, maybe.
I think I’m going to ask him to wait for me.
And I can’t believe I’m even entertaining the idea. But I am. I’m going to try.
Six months. That’s all I’m asking. Time for me to finish what I started—to honor the dream Grandma Ida and I shared. To see the world, to grow, to come back knowing not just what I want, but who I want.
And maybe that’s what I need anyway—space to choose him without fear, to let the wanting stretch into something real.
I almost laugh. I’ve never been the girl who asks someone to wait. I’ve always been the one left behind. But maybe this time, I’ll be the one who comes back.
Maybe—
“Rhianna!”
I spin around to find Eli himself hurrying toward me, looking adorably flustered. His glasses are slightly askew and his dark hair ruffled like he’s run his hands through it. My heart does its ridiculous jig it’s taken up whenever he’s in my presence.
“I just got a call about a potential first edition Cyrus Whitlock.” He waves a folder frantically.
“A private collector on the mainland is considering selling. I wanted you to know I’ll be out of town just for the night.
These opportunities disappear in hours. Oh shoot.
I need to take these research papers back to my office before I leave, and I have to grab my authentication kit from my apartment and—”
“I can take it for you,” I offer, trying not to smile at his scattered state. It’s so unlike his usual composed self, but his eyes sparkle with that gleam he gets when talking about unique editions of rare books. It’s unfairly attractive.
“You’re a lifesaver.” His shoulders sag, though he’s practically vibrating with excitement.
I get it—Cyrus Whitlock is his literary white whale.
A smile tugs at my lips. I gave him a Whitlock book weeks before I even knew about the depth of his obsession.
My magical intuition strikes again, though this time it feels less like magic and more like proof that some part of me just gets him, right down to his bookish soul.
And that maybe this person is someone I can actually risk trusting my heart with again.
“No problem.”
He goes completely still despite his rush, and something in his expression makes my breath catch. Like what he’s about to say matters. “I’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner tomorrow.” His voice is low and sure. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
My stomach flips—nerves and excitement mingling in a way that makes me feel sixteen again. “Yeah. Me too.”
He lingers just a moment longer, looking at me like he sees all of it—my hope, my fear, the thousand emotions I’m still learning how to name. Then he leans in and presses a quick kiss to my cheek before heading out the door.
Maybe telling my parents about him wasn’t a mistake after all.
Maybe Mom’s knowing smiles and Dad’s not-so-subtle hints about having plenty of space at the dinner table weren’t premature.
Maybe having the talk—the one where I tell Eli about the fellowship, ask if he’ll wait, admit I’m hoping for something more—isn’t the wrong move after all.
Maybe it’s all coming together as it should.
After he rushes off, I head toward the stairs to his office with the folder tucked against my chest.
“Hey, Rhianna, wait up!”
I freeze, clutching Eli’s folder to my chest. Claire’s heels click against the floor as she hurries over, and my stomach twists.
Things have been awkward since her date with Eli—the one I basically pushed them into, back when I was trying to be a proper matchmaker instead of falling for my client.
The date went absolutely nowhere but Claire had seemed excited about it.
When she reaches me, she’s smiling. “I just wanted to say… I’m really happy for you two.”
“Oh.” I blink. “I… thanks?”
“Seriously.” She smooths her hand down her dress—a silky navy blue one, exactly the kind of understated elegance I could never pull off. “The way he looks at you? That’s the real deal. I knew it even when we went out. He spent half the history tour talking about you.”
A warm flush creeps up my neck. “He did?”
“Mhmm. It was actually kind of adorable. Annoying at the time, obviously, but adorable in retrospect.” She touches my arm. “You deserve something real, Rhianna. I’m glad you’ve found it.”
She graces me with another smile, then turns and walks back through the shelves. I stand there, Claire’s words echoing in my head. The real deal.
My heart feels too big for my chest as I climb the stairs, like it’s trying to expand to hold all this joy. For once since Jacob shattered me, I’m not thinking about escape routes or keeping one foot out the door. I’m just stupidly, wonderfully, romance-novel-level happy.
Eli’s scent—old books and luxuriously rich coffee and the unique cologne he wears—lingers in the air as I approach his desk. His planner lies open, and I can’t help but smile when I spot my name doodled in the corner, surrounded by tiny stars.
The man can’t draw. The stars look more like spiky blobs, but something about their earnest wonkiness makes my heart squeeze. Because of course perfectionist Eli Lancaster, who color codes his notes and has his desk arranged like a museum display, would have adorably awful doodles.
I stack the folder with others and turn to leave but my gaze catches on an underlined note in the planner.
2 PM - Department Meeting @Zoom (return timeline/fall schedule)
Return timeline? My brain stutters over the words, trying to make them mean something else. Return to what? He moved here. He’s starting fresh here. That’s what he said. That’s what everyone said. Unless…
Unless he didn’t.
I’m frantically thinking back to our early conversations. Had he ever said he was moving here permanently? Or had I just assumed? He’d talked about needing a change, about wanting an adventure, about starting fresh… but had he ever used the word ‘permanent’?
My fingers grip the edge of the desk as possibility after possibility crashes through my mind. Maybe it’s about returning to teach a guest lecture. Maybe it’s about returning library books (okay, that’s desperate even for me). Maybe—
I sink into his chair, the leather still warm from where he sat this morning. His scent permeates my next breath, and it feels like a betrayal that it still makes my heart flutter even as my stomach twists with dread.
I shouldn’t look. I shouldn’t flip through his journal and invade his privacy. But Jacob had secrets and signs he was slipping away too—and I ignored them until they exploded. I can’t make that mistake again.
I look.
A month from now another entry. Moving day.
The pages flip forward under my trembling fingers. Faculty meetings. Class schedules. Office hours. An entire life mapped out.
Without me.
A sob builds in my throat, pressing against my ribcage like a trapped bird. The hat feels stupid now. Everything does. And still, his scent lingers—coffee and old books and comfort—and it guts me that it still makes me feel safe.
I thought... God, I thought this was it. The real thing. The kind of love story I stay up late reading most nights—sacrificing sleep for another happily ever after. A story worth risking heartbreak for. And I really believed… this time, it would be different.
But then I stop myself. Wait. Deep breath, Rhianna.
I press my palms against the cool wood of his desk and force myself to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Eli is reliable. Steady. Thoughtful. He's the kind of man who underlines important dates and folds his socks in that joy-sparking, possibly cult-like way people were doing a few years ago. This isn't some secret he's been hiding—it's right there in plain sight in a planner he keeps on his desk.
This is worth a conversation, not a meltdown. He’ll explain. Maybe ‘return timeline’ means something else entirely.
But as my heartbeat slows, another realization hits. I think back to the beach—Eli’s face lit by the amber sunset, his voice low and serious.
There’s something I need to tell you, he’d said.
And I’d dodged it. Smiled too brightly, invited him to dinner, bought myself time instead of just saying what I needed to. Like a grown-up. Like someone ready to be honest.
God, this is what I always do. I leap. I chase big, glittering ideas before I’ve figured out where they’ll land. Just like the matchmaking service. Where I’ve had one client. Who I am now dating.
Once again, I’m being the definition of too much—too intense, too guarded, too emotional, too spontaneous, too everything.
Regardless of what Eli’s plans are moving forward, I know he wasn't slinking back to his life in secret. That conversation yesterday was something. I knew it then, and I know it now.
But knowing doesn’t stop the fear welling up in my chest. It doesn’t quiet the voice in my head whispering that I’m the problem. That I always have been.
Now, seeing this planner has only confirmed the thing I’ve tried not to believe—that even when someone says they love you, they can still leave.
Just like Jacob did. It hurts so badly to see that Eli might leave too.
What would happen if I let myself fall completely, if I let him become as essential as oxygen, and then lost him?
No, I'm not doing this again. Not setting myself up for that kind of devastation. Better to end it before the inevitable happens.
My fingers find the envelope in my pocket—the one I've avoided all morning. I’d said before I’d let the envelope decide.
If I got the fellowship, I’d focus on my future travels.
If not, maybe I’d let myself believe in something here.
In him. But then I promptly ignored it and shoved it to the back of my mind like so many other inconvenient truths.
It’s time to stop pretending. I tear the envelope open, the golden seal breaking with a soft snap.
Dear Ms. Wilder, we are pleased to inform you…
Somehow I can’t even force a smile to my lips.
I got in. My dreams are actually coming true.
And the universe isn’t being subtle about it.
This is my direction. Maybe Eli and I have come to two paths in the woods, and he's supposed to travel one, and me another. Maybe it’s better to let it end now, while it’s still golden and beautiful—before I ruin it with all my too-much-ness.
Before he sees the whole of me and realizes he was never meant to stay.
The thought should bring relief—validation that I'm on the right track—but instead it feels like swallowing glass. This hollow ache in my chest is the exact reason I’ve guarded my heart. Because even the possibility of losing him hurts more than I expected.
So I’ll do what I’ve always done. Pull away. Smile through dinner. Pretend I’m not already broken wide open.
And when it’s finally over, I’ll let myself fall apart where no one can see me—where no one can look at me and remind me that I’m always too much to love.