Chapter 36
Ispent the next evening writing until my fingers ached, chasing the escape fictional worlds gave me the way I always did when my thoughts got too loud.
I was halfway through my first draft. The chapters were getting easier to write.
I found myself turning to my manuscript more and more, rather than to my books.
For a long time, I would hesitate to write because I worried I wasn’t good enough.
I’d told myself that surely I could never write anything as inspirational as the works of the authors I loved and adored.
But maybe I was finally starting to believe in myself? Because I was beginning to feel excited about finishing the book. Like maybe it could actually be something.
It was almost ten o’clock when I got a notification on my phone.
I stopped typing and read the message.
Order Delivered.
Package left on the front porch.
I groaned softly.
I’d ordered necessities. A particular brand of pantyliners I refused to live without plus a few other essential items. The kind of package I absolutely did not want sitting unattended on Jay’s front porch.
I debated whether to go through the garage to grab the package or cut through Jay’s side of the house. It was chilly outside, and he was probably asleep anyway. I’d make it quick.
I opened the connecting door and peeked into the living area.
It was dark; only a faint lamp was on next to the couch.
I waited a second to make sure I didn’t hear anything before hurrying across the plush carpet, past the massive fireplace, and to the front entry.
When I opened the door, the packages were sitting directly on the front step.
I scooped up the two packages and started to tiptoe back to my side of the house, only to feel a sudden tug.
“What the—”
I’d stepped on something and looked down just in time to see a loose strip of packing tape fluttering like a ribbon.
“Oh no,” I whispered.
But it was too late.
The marshmallow was suddenly right in front of me as if sensing the strip of tape that could be considered trash. In the very dim lamplight I watched the little snowball start toward me, her tail already wagging like she’d just been handed the greatest toy of her life.
“Luna, no,” I said urgently. “That’s not for—”
Too late.
Luna lunged, clamped her teeth down on the dangling tape, and yanked.
The package slipped from my arms.
“Luna, no. Give that back!” I hissed, lunging forward.
Luna took off.
“Luna!” I chased after her, half-running, half-panicking as the dog barreled across the living room and into another room.
I didn’t even think as I pushed my way through the unknown door in search of Luna.
I wasn’t prepared for what I found on the other side.
It wasn’t just a small office or a guest bedroom.
No, it was a massive library.
My mouth fell open.
“Holy…” I trailed off, Luna and my pantyliners long forgotten.
It was every literary addict’s dream.
Dark wooden shelves towered to the high, beamed ceiling.
Each shelf was filled with an extensive collection of books, their spines displaying an array of colors and editions.
Ladders on brass rails provided access to the higher shelves, and I felt my jaw go slack in complete and utter awe. I’d always wanted one of those.
Chandeliers similar to the ones in the living room, crafted from antlers and candles, hung from the ceiling.
The floors were covered in shaggy, patterned rugs that muffled my footsteps and added to the room's grandeur.
Stunning floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the private section of the lake, and the air was filled with the mouthwatering scent of aged paper and leather.
I felt as if I had died and gone to heaven.
There was no way this could be Jay’s. He hadn’t mentioned having an intense love for books. When I’d asked him if he read, he’d shrugged it off. He’d said he read sometimes. His collection didn’t hint at someone who only read sometimes.
I stood in front of one of the ladders, hesitating. I felt like I was trespassing by being in here. But for me, this was a scene from my dreams. I couldn’t imagine leaving without exploring just a little bit longer.
My excitement won out, and I started searching the fiction section, scanning the spines for my favorites. Jane Austen. F. Scott Fitzgerald. Virginia Woolf. Then, because I couldn’t help myself, I searched for Aprilynne Pike, Courtney Walsh, Cindy Steel, and finally, my all-time favorite.
Lindy Parker.
“No way…” I murmured, stopping in front of an entire section dedicated to Lindy Parker. I pulled out the first book, The Wildflower Apartment, and examined the front page. It was in immaculate condition.
When I checked the publication date and edition, I gasped and let out a little squeak.
It was a first edition.
“Why in the world does he have these?” I murmured aloud to myself.
Jay’s collection was more extensive than my own.
While I owned many of Lindy’s books, I didn’t have any first editions.
These had to be worth a fortune. Lindy Parker was incredibly famous, but she was no longer alive. She had passed away a few years ago.
“You dropped something.”
Jay’s voice echoed through the library, and my stomach plummeted. Ice-cold panic threaded through my veins. It was the unmistakable feeling of being caught somewhere I absolutely did not belong.
He stood in the doorway, holding my box of pantyliners, with Luna sitting obediently at his feet.
I flushed and hurried down the ladder, taking the box from his hands. This was bad. I had completely lost myself in the allure of the library.
“I’m so sorry. I was just picking up my packages from the porch, and then I saw the library.”
His demeanor seemed a bit tense, but he didn’t seem angry.
“Find something you like?”
“Jay, this is—” I gestured to the entire room, still catching my breath. I was so mesmerized that I wasn’t even embarrassed by the box of pantyliners under my arm. “This is unreal. Why didn’t you tell me you had such a collection?”
“Well,” Jay said, shoving his hands into his pockets and glancing down at the floor. “It’s not mine.”
I barely registered what he was saying, my excitement making it hard to think straight. “I’ve only ever dreamed of owning this many books,” I said, already moving again. “And did you know that up here—”
Unable to control myself, I placed my box on one of the many side tables in the room and then hurried back to the ladder like an eager child on Christmas morning. I pulled a book from the shelf and hurried back to him, thrusting it into his hands.
“Do you know what this is?” I asked, pointing to the imprint. “This is a first edition. A first edition of Lindy Parker. These go for thousands of dollars. How did you get them?”
Jay hadn’t reacted yet to my excited ramblings.
Instead, he just looked extremely uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my smile fading. “This is weird for you, isn’t it?” I flushed and pulled the book close to my chest. “I’m so sorry. Gosh, I’m losing it, aren’t I? I’m trespassing on your side of the house. Forgive me for being so intrusive. It won’t happen again.”
Desperately trying to regain my composure, I hurried to grab my box and started for the door.
His hand fell gently on my arm, stopping me. “I’m not upset that you came in here, Hope,” Jay said quietly. “It’s just…”
He let out a heavy sigh, appearing reluctant to continue. I waited, sensing his hesitation.
He reached for the book in my hands and then fanned through the pages, his jaw clenched. There was no smirking or smiling like usual.
“These books,” he said, eyes still on the pages, “belonged to my mother.”
I waited with bated breath, desperate for an explanation of this masterpiece of a room and all its treasures.
He finally looked up, meeting my eyes again.
“My mother,” he said slowly, “was Lindy Parker.”