Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
Ihaven’t stopped thinking about that photo. It’s Lilah beside Carol in the back hallway. Could it be her? Lola.
The bell gives its usual scrape as I step into the store. Jasper’s already behind the counter, halfway through restocking.
‘You’re late. You good?’ he asks.
‘Yeah,’ I say, and let it stand.
I cross to the fiction section and pull a fresh copy of The Year Before You. I flip a few pages. There it is, almost the same line she said on the bench about starting over. I run a thumb under the sentence and close the book.
‘You finding what you need?’ Jasper calls.
‘Stock check,’ I say, my voice comes out steady.
On the way to the counter, I pass the plant she left by the door. Still alive. Thriving, actually. Figures.
I stand there a second with my hands on the glass, breathing the room back in. If I’m right, she’ll tell me when she’s ready. That’s her call. My job is simple: keep the place open, keep the kettle on, show up.
I turn the book face-out on the display and scribble a staff note:
For anyone who’s ever had to choose their own beginning.
I cap the pen, nod at Jasper’s stack of invoices, and get on with the day.
‘Earth to Lucas.’ Jasper waves a hand in front of my face. ‘Why are you floating around like some Victorian hero? You have a secret wife in the attic I should know about?’
I smirk. ‘Do you ever, just not?’
‘No, you learned this when we met.’
The bell above the door chimes again as Marley saunters in, holding an iced latte in one hand and her phone in the other.
‘Okay, don’t panic, but I fear your bookstore’s Instagram is a ghost town and I refuse to let that—oh my GOD.’
I blink. ‘Uh… what?’
She’s not looking at me. She’s staring at Monty—who has decided that this is the perfect moment to stretch luxuriously from her nap spot under the poetry display, tail flicking like she knows she’s about to be admired.
Marley drops into a crouch so fast her straw nearly flies out of her drink.
‘Hello? Who is this angel?’
Monty trots right over and head-butts her knee like she’s accepting her newest worshipper.
‘That’s Monty,’ I say. ‘She… sort of lives here.’
Marley gasps like I’ve just handed her a newborn. ‘She’s perfect. Literally perfect. Look at her little face. Look at her paws.’ She lifts her eyes to mine, deadly serious. ‘Lucas. Monty and Marbles would be best friends. I’m not kidding. Marbles needs this kind of soulmate energy in her life.’
Monty flops onto her side and offers her belly like she’s been waiting all morning to be adored.
‘Oh, she’s a belly cat?’ Marley squeals. ‘Marbles is a belly cat! This is DESTINY.’
Behind her, Jasper whispers, ‘Should we give them a moment?’
Marley keeps petting Monty, completely oblivious. ‘I’m sorry, but you have a shop cat? And you didn’t lead with that? Lucas. Book boy. This is brand GOLD. She’s literally a mascot. A muse. An icon.’
Monty purrs louder, as if agreeing.
I rub the back of my neck. ‘She adopted the store.’
‘She adopted you,’ Marley corrects firmly. ‘And honestly? Great taste.’ Only then does she stand, brushing off her knees and pointing her latte at me like a weapon. ‘Alright. Now that I’ve met your daughter, we can continue. Your bookstore’s Instagram? A travesty. Let’s fix it.’
Jasper chuckles and backs away slowly, retreating to the shelves. ‘I’ll be over here, pretending not to enjoy this.’
Marley ignores him, already scanning the room with that appraising look. ‘Great lighting, rustic wood, literary charm for days. This place has aesthetic potential, and you, my dear book boy, are squandering it.’
‘Book boy?’ Somehow this has stuck... I kind of like it.
She waves me off. ‘Focus. Do you even have a brand voice? A content plan? Please tell me you’re not just reposting stock images and quoting poets in the caption.’
‘I don’t even have the login,’ I admit.
She gasps dramatically. ‘We’re starting from scratch. I love a challenge.’ She steps closer, eyes narrowing. ‘Do you at least have a favourite genre, or am I supposed to brand you as “mysterious man with books?”’
‘Fantasy, mostly,’ I say. ‘Though lately, contemporary romance has been interesting.’
From behind a display, Jasper snorts. ‘Oh, interesting. Is that what we’re calling it?’
Marley’s eyes light up. ‘Perfect. You’ll be my next project, free of charge. Think of it as a public service.’
I give her a helpless look. ‘Do I get a say in this?’
‘No,’ they both say at once.
Marley tucks her phone under her arm and takes a dramatic sip of her latte. ‘So, are you busy right now?’
I open my mouth to answer, but she steamrolls right on.
‘Because I have thoughts. Cozy fantasy corner meets small-town charm. Think flatlays, overgrown ivy, quotes in calligraphy, maybe even a “Book of the Week” post with your actual face?’
‘My face?’ I repeat.
‘Yes, Lucas,’ she says patiently, like I am just not quite getting it. ‘People want to know the bookworm behind the counter. Mystery is fine, but brooding is a hard sell without a smile to soften it.’
Jasper peeks around the shelf. ‘He does have a very photogenic, brooding face. Like if a librarian and a woodland creature had a lovechild.’
I shoot him a look.
Marley beams. ‘Exactly the vibe. Now go stand by that “Give a Book, Get a Story” sign and look like you’re contemplating the secrets of the universe.’
‘Is this happening?’ I ask.
‘It’s happening,’ she confirms, lining up the shot. ‘Tilt your head slightly. Less murder-y.’
I sigh but do what I am told.
‘You’re going to thank me when you’re viral,’ she quips. ‘Or at least when someone’s mum drives an hour to meet the hot book guy.’
I shake my head, but a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. ‘Remind me again what you do for a living?’
She snaps a photo. ‘Freelance social media manager. Saving the world one neglected Instagram feed at a time.’
Jasper claps slowly. ‘She’s not wrong, our aesthetic game just went from “dusty shelves” to “bookstore thirst trap.”’
Rolling my eyes, I ask. ‘This is going to haunt me, isn’t it?’
‘Absolutely,’ Marley remarks, already typing away. ‘But at least your DMs will be interesting.’
‘Thank you?’
‘You’re welcome, Book Boy. Here’s my card.’ She hands me a pink business card. ‘Give me the weekend to come up with a content strategy, and we can chat more.’
And just like that, she is gone.
‘I love her,’ Jasper exclaims, still clapping.
I sigh and pull out my phone, tapping out a message.
LUCAS: I’ve been recruited as the face of Inkwell admitting it out loud feels like taking it from her. And I hate that she didn’t trust me with it. It stings more than I expect.
Jasper laughs it off. ‘One day I’ll figure out who Lola is.’
‘Maybe don’t,’ I say, lighter than I feel. ‘Let people have their mysteries.’
Jasper’s brows pull together, something flickering behind his eyes. ‘You know, sometimes I swear you—’ he stops himself, laughs and waves it away. ‘Never mind. Fair.’
‘Can you finish the window? I’m going to check the stock out the back.’ I take a copy of The Year Before You with me, the weight of it solid in my hand.
The shop hums on. I keep the realisation and the hurt where they belong for now, with me. When she’s ready, I want to hear it from her. Until then, I’ll find what I can in the pages.
Late light comes through the ivy-framed glass and lays long bands across the floorboards. This hour is steady. The shop is quiet enough that my breath sounds like part of it.
I lock up and take the usual walk down the main street. The evening smells green, like fresh-cut grass and a hint of jasmine from somewhere over a fence.
I slow at the small gate beside a rosebush starting to show its first blooms. The cottage isn’t much: white boards, green trim, a crooked mailbox, but it has that early-spring kind of welcome that tells you it’s okay to stay.
Inside, I kick off my boots. Sandalwood and old paper hang in the air. The record player plays a low piece of jazz into the room.
I pull out my phone and read Lilah’s last message again: You always seem to show up right when I need you.
I let it sit. Then I open my journal and start to write.
A girl who speaks in metaphors and carries her silence like armour, and I keep wanting to learn the language she’s too afraid to teach me.