Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Two Years Later
As I walk into the Bishop University library, my purse slung over my shoulder, I wave across to Liz, who’s seated at the front desk.
This place has become my home. There were days I dreamt of being where I am today.
The memory of being on the other side of the desk is not so distant.
Graduation was only a year ago, but so much has changed since then.
“Good morning,” I say, dropping my purse under the desk before pulling up a chair beside her.
“Morning,” Liz says. “How was your weekend?”
I smile, thinking about my cozy weekend reading. “So relaxing,” I say. “I had a date with Mr. Darcy once again.”
She rolls her eyes. “I half expect that man to climb out of the book for you at this point.” Liz laughs, and I feel my heart clench.
“Yeah. Wouldn’t that be something?” My laugh is shaky, and I hope she doesn’t notice.
“Have you thought of dating human guys?” she asks, leaning back in her chair.
I purse my lips. It’s been two years since Oliver left. He wasn’t a part of my life for long, but it was impactful enough that I’ve continued to wait for him. He promised me, but it’s been two years. Do I cling to that promise?
I plaster on a crooked smile and shrug. “I told you, my type is fictional. My heart’s been bookmarked at the last page of us.”
Liz stills, the joke hanging heavier than it meant to. She studies me for a long moment, then sighs softly. “Two years is a long bookmark, babe. Are you waiting for him to turn the page, or for you to get the courage to tear it out and start fresh?”
The question lands deep in my chest, right where it hurts the most. I swallow and force a smile filled with something I don’t feel. “Maybe both.” My voice is smaller than I’d like. “I don’t think I’m ready to admit the story’s over.”
Liz smiles sadly, but doesn’t press me further. “You deserve real-life happiness, Beck. I hope one day you can let yourself have that.” She squeezes my arm once before turning back to her computer.
Some nights, I wonder if I imagined it all—the magic, the ledger, the way Oliver looked at me like I truly mattered to him.
While the Bishops are still a topic of conversation and research, their history doesn’t look the same as it did a few years ago.
My version of events, the things I can’t share, doesn’t match with the way it looks on paper.
Eleanor Bishop is the savior of their story on paper.
She took over the family estates and rid their family name of the darkness their father invited in.
She married a businessman from a good family and built a life that truly changed the course of history.
Clara also married, but she lived a quieter life, away from the attention their wealth and fame brought.
What makes my heart ache is the lack of Oliver in their history.
I’ve scoured the ledgers and every history book I can find trying to find a scrap of proof that Oliver existed. Every bit of him is gone.
I remember him, though. I remember the warmth of his laugh, his steady touch and his promise to find me. It’s enough for me right now.
The library is nearly empty, the fluorescent lights humming overhead. Liz left a few hours ago, the lack of work driving us both insane.
Pride and Prejudice lies open on my desk, the familiar world keeping me company through the last few minutes of my shift. The words blur together, exhaustion seeping in, but I persist, turning the page.
“Dollface.”
Everything in my body freezes, my breath catching at the sound of a voice so familiar and distant at the same time. I turn slowly, afraid to let hope run rampant in my heart. But the moment I see him, it’s like he never left.
My head tilts as I take him in, my heart caught in my throat. It’s Oliver, my Oliver, but he looks different. He looks like he belongs here, not in the past, but here.
A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I told you I'd find you,” he says, his voice soft.
My heart stutters, tears blurring my vision. I shoot out of my chair, nearly tripping over my own feet in a rush to reach him. His arms close around me the moment I crash into him.
“You came back.” I breathe into his chest, my hands fisting his jacket.
My body heats when his lips brush the top of my head. “I told you I would. You’re my future, Beck. It just took some time to find my way back to you.”
“I don’t understand how this is possible,” I say, holding him tighter in fear that if I let go, he’ll disappear again.
“Let’s not waste the gift,” he teases.
I pull back just enough to see his face. “I missed you so much.”
He smiles, his grin crooked and so familiar. The same one that undid me from the start. “Then let’s not waste another minute, Dollface.”
Before I can respond, his hand curls at the back of my neck, his lips meeting mine. This kiss is unhurried, as though we have all the time in the world. Because we do. This is the beginning of us, a new story that we finally get to write. Together.