EMMA
Denise was sitting at her desk, shaking her head dramatically at whatever she was reading. My stomach dipped. God, I hoped my book wasn’t making her frown like that. The door was open, so I knocked on the frame instead.
“Tea, please.”
“Of course,” she said, already half out of her chair. “I should’ve known. You never touch coffee. Is that a British thing?”
I laughed, sitting down in the chair across from her. “No, it’s a me thing. I just don’t like the taste. I’ve tried everything – milk, sugar, both – but it always tastes like…”
“Like crap?” she offered with a grin.
“Something like that.”
She chuckled. “But how do you survive mornings?”
I shrugged. “To tell you the truth, I’m a morning person. Getting up early has never been the problem; it’s staying up late that does me in. I love mornings. The peace and quiet, the sense that a whole day is waiting for you.”
I smiled, recalling how my love for mornings had already started in childhood.
“My parents hated it, though. I would be in the kitchen making noise – mixing pancake batter or blending fruit – completely oblivious that they wanted to sleep in. And then my dad would appear in the doorway, so cranky. He wouldn’t say a word for the first minute; he just poured himself a cup of strong tea.
Then he’d start talking about whatever book he was reading while I finished breakfast. Mum was better at ignoring the chaos.
She’d only get up after Dad had brought her tea.
It became sort of a tradition, really. Those small things… they stick with you.”
“They do,” Denise said warmly. “And speaking of wonderful things, Emma, the book is full of them. It’s fantastic. I can’t believe you already finished.”
Relief washed over me. I hadn’t even noticed how tense I was until now. I grinned, realising just how much I needed to hear those words.
“Me neither. I usually get stuck halfway through, fussing over details and rewriting scenes. But this time, once I knew the ending, the rest of the story just flowed. And being here in Toronto has helped. The city has that perfect mix: vibrant and busy but with enough quiet, almost small-town corners. I needed that balance to weave into the book.”
Denise nodded as if she understood exactly what I meant.
“And that ending!” She shook her head, almost accusing.
“When you first told me about it, I thought you would change your mind. But you kept it. Emma, it’s heart-wrenching.
You build this beautiful love story, and then you decide to let her leave.
What are you doing to your readers?” She softened. “But it works. It really does.”
I smiled, a little embarrassed but certain. “I was thinking of calling it Shifts of Ice.”
Denise’s eyes lit up. “Perfect. It hits the theme right on the head. I love it.” She leaned forward, ready to get down to business.
“Okay, let’s dig in. There are a couple of passages I want to talk through.
Some of the minor characters – I think a few of them deserve a clearer voice. Let’s start on page sixty…”
I flipped through my copy until I found it, and just like that, the mood in the room changed.
The small talk stopped, and the focus that always came when we worked together took its place.
Denise had that sharp, thoughtful look that editors get when they’re in the zone.
She could see right through every lazy sentence.
Her pencil tapped the edges of the page, my tea cooled next to me, and we lost track of time somewhere between her notes and my scribbles.
* * *
After my meeting with Denise, I stopped by my office to pick up the inevitable pile of papers that were waiting for me. I had just shoved them into my bag and was about to head out when I nearly collided with Simon in the corridor.
“Whoa,” he said, steadying his coffee as if it were the crown jewels. “Where have you been hiding?”
“Not hiding,” I said, smiling. “Just got back from Denise. The book’s almost done; there are only a few tweaks left here and there.”
His face lit up right away. “Emma, that’s incredible. Congratulations.” Then, with a mischievous tilt of his head, he added, “You’re not gonna break my heart again, are you? Please tell me this one doesn’t end in tears.”
“You know I don’t talk about my books before they come out. You’ll have to read it to find out.”
He groaned. “Oh no. That’s a yes. I’ll keep a box of tissues close by, then.”
I was about to say more when I glanced at my watch and cursed under my breath. “I’ve got to run. They’re coming to fix the heating at my place today.”
We were about to part ways when Simon stopped short. “Oh, I almost forgot. The whole reason I was looking for you. My friend’s having a birthday party on Friday night. You should come. Bring that D-man with you.”
“Max has got a game on Friday. But I’d love to come. Text me the details, will you?”
“You got it. See you, Emma.”
“See you.”
I slung my bag over my shoulder as Simon headed down the hall, already waving at someone else.
When I stepped outside, the air was crisp and cool, the kind that wakes you up a little.
The book was nearly done – one final round of editing, maybe two – but the thought of finishing didn’t feel as light as it should have.
Because after that, I would have to decide whether I was staying in Toronto or not.
For weeks, the question had been lingering in the back of my mind, waiting for me to take a moment to think about it.
Somehow, I still wasn’t ready.