EMMA
Grace had a glow about her, the kind of excitement that made her stand on her toes, like she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. She met me at the side door of the library, her cheeks red and eyes bright.
Before I even walked in, the warmth in her voice made me smile. I took off my coat and put it over my arm, suddenly grateful I’d chosen something simple but elegant to wear: dark trousers, a soft jumper, and my favourite boots that made me feel a little taller and braver.
“You’re a draw,” Grace went on, almost bouncing as we crossed the quiet hallway to the meeting room. “People have been asking for weeks if you’d really come. I might have added to the hype a bit, so… no pressure or anything.”
“Don’t worry, I can handle it,” I said. “Besides, this is my way of thanking you.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “For what?”
“For the inspiration,” I admitted. “You gave me the idea for my next book, whether you meant to or not. It’s the least I can do.”
Grace stopped and tightened her grip on my arm. “You’re serious? I inspired you?”
“Completely serious.” I gave her a small, conspiratorial smile. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
She laughed and shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe it.
“That’s incredible. Wait until I tell the kids.
Lucy, especially, will be so excited.” Then, lowering her voice, “Speaking of unbearable… how’s my little brother treating you?
Is he helpful with your research, or is he too busy being, you know, himself? ”
The question caught me off guard a bit, but I nodded. “Actually, yes. Very helpful.”
Her mouth curved into a small, stubborn smile. “Good. Don’t get me wrong, he can be a pain in the ass, but he has such a good heart. I’m proud of him. Always have been.”
I couldn’t resist. “And he’s not that little,” I teased.
She laughed so hard that she put her hand over her mouth like she suddenly remembered she was in a library and wasn’t supposed to disturb the quiet.
“Touché.” She stopped laughing and gave me one of those looks that were sharp but kind, the sort that made me feel like I was under a gentle microscope.
“So,” she said casually, “anyone in your life right now? Maybe someone back in London? Or here?”
The tips of my ears warmed, but I kept my voice steady. “No. Not right now.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s… tricky. It’s difficult to keep a relationship going when one of you is always moving. And for now, I think I like living this way. It’s like starting over every time I begin a new book and move to another country. I think I need that jump start. At least for now.”
Grace nodded, listening without any judgement. “That makes sense.”
“And besides,” I added, a little more lightly, “I’ve only just started teaching. That’s been a surprise in and of itself. I didn’t expect to love it so much.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Really?”
“Oh, yes. I mean, it’s brilliant. I get to read books I love and then talk about them with people who have to listen to me. What could be better?”
She snorted. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“Of course, correcting papers is less romantic,” I added, rolling my eyes. “Some of them are very good, but a few… well. Let’s just say that ‘serious headache’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
Grace laughed again. “You’ll survive.”
We’d reached the meeting room. I could see the rows of chairs through the thin glass panel.
All of them were filled, and there were even more people crammed into the back wall.
People were leaning forward with their coats draped over their arms, their faces full of anticipation.
I might come across as confident in situations like this, but that just meant I was good at hiding the nerves tightening in my stomach. I took a deep breath.
Grace apparently caught the look on my face and squeezed my hand. “They’re here because they’re excited,” she said quietly. “Not to test you. Just keep that in mind.”
So I wasn’t that good at hiding my nerves. I nodded and took another deep breath. Then we both went inside.
As Grace walked to the front, her heels clicking on the polished floor, the voices hushed.
I followed her, holding the paperback copy of my latest novel.
It was still strange to see in other people’s hands.
Grace turned around and faced the crowd.
Her smile was radiant and her voice had that special librarian’s authority that was both commanding and kind at the same time.
“Good evening, everyone,” she began. “Thank you all for coming tonight. We’re– well, we’re so delighted to welcome a very special guest that we had to steal chairs from three other rooms. She’s the author of the Edinburgh Seasons series, which I know many of you have devoured, and of course also known for her debut The Stillness of Ashes, which won more awards than I can list in one breath.
She’s come all the way from London to be with us here in Toronto this year, and we’re lucky that she agreed to join us tonight. Please welcome Emma Dawson.”
The applause broke like a wave – warm and mildly terrifying.
Why did I do this to myself? Talking about other people’s books was never a problem; being confronted with questions about my own was uncomfortably intimate.
In life, I don’t open up easily, but in my work it has always felt safe to leave a piece of myself behind.
When readers asked me about it, though, it was scary.
But I did what I always do: swallowed the flutter in my throat, stepped forward, and told myself to smile.
I steadied my voice. “Thank you. That was far too kind an introduction. I’ll do my best to live up to it.” The audience’s polite laughter made me feel a bit calmer.
“I just want to say how grateful I am to Grace and to all of you for coming out tonight. Libraries are… well, they’re magical, aren’t they?
You can just walk in and be surrounded by stories.
For me, that’s where it all started: sitting in libraries, pulling books off the shelves, and discovering whole new worlds.
So being here tonight, in this space, and sharing my own words feels like closing a circle. ”
The room fell into that special kind of quiet that only happens when people are truly listening. The tension in my chest subsided. I smiled again, a little more sure this time.
“I won’t give you a long speech. I thought I’d read a short passage of my most recent book, and then let you ask questions because I know readers always have the best questions. Even the terrifying ones.”
That got another laugh, gentler this time, and the tension eased in my shoulders even more. I opened the book and let the familiar words anchor me.
The room fell silent and the rustling of coats stopped. And then I began to read out loud, my voice changing to the other register – the one I always forget I have until I’m standing in front of a room, sending words out into the air and watching them land.