23. Emmy
CHAPTER 23
EMMY
“This place is nuts,” Neesha says, handing me a pumpkin spice latte with extra whipped cream. Hordes of book lovers roam the store, and I haven’t had a bathroom break in several hours. Neesha was kind enough to make my favorite drink, probably out of sympathy. With the influx of tourists, I’ve been working long hours, and that makes me a target for Stewart’s attention.
“At this rate, I’m going to need another coffee to get through today,” I mutter, chugging the drink and then scooping up some cozy mysteries. Even Mrs. Nelson from book club is having trouble squeezing through the crowd. She’s a diehard Nora Roberts fan, but today she’s picked out a sports romance.
I hide my grin. I’m slowly converting the locals to try my book recommendations, and Stewart’s going to hate how they’re flying off the shelves. Despite what he believes, people want to escape into a world where an impossibly gorgeous athlete falls for an ordinary girl.
I want that dream too, even if realistically, I know it’s impossible. We’re all dreamers who want to believe love could be like the books. Maybe even better.
Mrs. Nelson sets her books on the counter and hands me her credit card. “I heard you and a certain someone have been seeing a lot of each other.” She gives me a knowing smile. The book club gals haven’t been shy about asking for details about my dating life. Other than Mimi, I’m tight-lipped. But they see us around town, sipping hot chocolate at the coffeeshop or picking out pumpkins at the farmers’ market.
“Dawson?” I ask. “He’s not so bad.”
“I’ve never seen you so happy. When he carried you off after you twisted your ankle, I think all the women wanted to be you.”
“They want my clumsy genes?” I ask. “I made him fall. Then I twisted my ankle.”
“Sure you did,” she says with a wink. “I’d fall on him too, if I were forty years younger.”
My cheeks flame. Does everyone in town think I’m throwing myself at Dawson?
“I didn’t land on him on purpose!” I call as Mrs. Nelson leaves. Several customers turn and stare at me.
I give them a sheepish smile.
Only two more games left. I can’t stand the way my brain is counting down until he leaves. I’ll miss him stopping by for dinner on a random Tuesday or falling asleep on the couch after another Gilmore Girls rerun. You can’t do any of those things unless your lives intertwine. Even Gold Dog and I don’t talk every day. Online connections are good, but they aren’t the same as living life with someone.
“Are you Dawson Hayes’s girlfriend?” a pretty brunette asks. I don’t recognize her. Tourist, most likely.
“We’ve gone out a few times,” I say, waving my hand. “Old friends.” I can’t let people believe it’s something more if it’s going to end soon.
“Can I get your autograph?” The woman beelines over to me before I can answer.
What in the hockey is happening?
I’m just a girl who works in a hometown bookstore and keeps a secret BookTok account.
“But you’re dating, right?” She takes off her jacket to show me she’s wearing Dawson’s jersey number.
“So you’re a fan?” I ask, baffled.
“He’s my favorite player. I know him from the Carolina Crushers. He’s a great mix of sweet and super funny. He doesn’t care what people think of him.”
I laugh. “Yeah, that’s Dawson.”
The woman is a few years older than me, but very striking. Just the type of girl Dawson should date. She’d probably enjoy being photographed, unlike me.
“Do you have a marker?” she asks. I pull one out of the drawer and she turns around.
“You want me to sign your shirt?”
“My boyfriend and I are big fans of the Demerson Duo .”
“Excuse me?” I ask, confused that this woman wants me to sign her clothing.
“The couple’s nickname for you and Dawson. There’s a big debate on whether you should be ‘Demerson’ or ‘Demmy.’”
“ Demerson? ” My eyes flick to Neesha’s. Did you know?
She nods, and I suddenly feel betrayed. I have a nickname?
The lady points to her shoulder. “It might be the closest I come to getting Dawson’s signature.”
I quickly sign her shirt, feeling like I’m having an out-of-body experience. People know I’m Dawson Hayes’s girl?
I understand why Mrs. Nelson would know, but the rest of the world? I didn’t think they’d care, and I never wanted this attention.
The woman purchases two books and thanks me before leaving, saying, “I can’t wait to put this on Instagram!”
I approach Neesha and mutter, “You knew?”
She grins sheepishly. “I’ve only heard you called Demerson twice. I thought one of the hockey players made it up as a joke, but apparently the rumors have spread. Why do you think the place is so busy?”
“Tourists for the game,” I reply.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “They’re coming to see you.”
Glancing around the store, several people sneak glances at me. Two others wear Dawson’s jersey.
How could I’ve missed this?
I’ve been spending so much time with Dawson that I’ve stayed away from the internet or checked my TikTok account in a while. Lately, I’ve only used it to talk to Gold Dog. I didn’t want to see the rumors, too afraid my picture of kissing Dawson would show up.
But there’s another truth too. I’ve been so busy living real life, spending every spare moment with Dawson, I don’t have time for the virtual one. And I haven’t missed my other life at all.
Outside, Stewart’s black Hummer parks in front of the store window. Neesha looks from his vehicle to me. “Oh, great. Is that who I think it is?”
“Who else drives an obnoxiously large SUV?”
“He’s heartless,” she grumbles.
“Oh, he has emotions,” I say. “Like a ruthless dictator.”
Neesha snickers as Stewart strides in, looking oddly elated.
I try to duck behind the counter, hoping he won’t see me.
“Where’s Emerson?” he asks in a brusque voice.
No. No. Noooooo.
Stewart rounds the corner of the checkout counter and stops when he sees me on the floor. I pretend to study the carpet, looking for something.
I hold up the only thing I can find. “My lucky penny!”
He doesn’t ask questions, just hands me a fancy envelope with his family’s initials stamped in the corner. Ever since Dawson and I started dating, Stewart’s been sporting a permanent scowl.
“We’re having a post-game media event tonight. Dad has some big announcements about the store.”
I glance warily at the envelope. It only has my name on it. No guest. Which means Dawson can’t attend.
“I already have plans.” I don’t tell him that Dawson asked me to go out after the game.
His lips tighten. “It’s a work event. You’re required to be there.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “I’m not coming, Stewart.”
“You’ll miss the news, then.”
I frown. “What news?”
“Falling for Books is changing its name to Harrisons. We’re becoming a discount store that sells home goods.”
“What?” I gasp.
He lowers his voice. “It’s not public information yet. But we’re going to take over the block, so we can turn this place into the newest big box store. Imagine if Costco, Ikea, and Barnes and Noble had a baby.”
“That would be frightening,” I mutter.
“No, it would be Harrisons,” he says proudly.
“What will happen to Falling for Books?” I feel like someone just severed one of my fingers. Falling for Books has been a town staple for decades.
“There is no more Falling for Books. Dad and I pored through the numbers and discovered the bookstore isn’t profitable. Most of the year it loses money. We can’t compete against the internet retailers. When the tourist season is over, we expect profits to tank.”
My heart sinks. This town doesn’t need a big box store. We thrive with our family-owned businesses. Higgens’ Market. Shirley May’s diner. Maple Grounds Coffee Shop and Bakery. Maple Falls Farmers’ Market. They’re the heart and soul of Maple Falls.
“You’re closing Falling for Books?” I ask.
“Not closing. It’s a reopening. That’s why you must attend tonight.”
I feel sick over this. I don’t want to lose Falling for Books at the same time as Dawson is leaving. Why is everything changing so fast?
The wind picks up and stirs the leaves outside on the walk. The window rattles as the door of the bookstore flies open. I jump as it slams against the wall and blows papers off the checkout counter.
“What’s going on?” I say, rushing over to the door. I barely get it latched before rain starts to pelt the sidewalk, then turns into a torrent.
“I can’t go,” I say. “You sprung this on me last minute.”
“This isn’t really your decision, Emerson. It’s a mandatory work event.”
“And if I don’t come?”
“Then you can find another job.”
I scoff. “You’d fire me?”
“It’s your decision,” he says. “Company policy.” He hands me a company handbook with the new name at the top.
I can’t afford to quit my job. My grandmother relies on me and I promised Mimi I wouldn’t ask our family for help.
I study the envelope in his hand, despising my decision before I even say it.
“I’ll be there for the press conference. Then I’m leaving. Early. ”
Stewart stops in the door. “If you had plans tonight with Dawson, then you should thank me for saving you the trouble. It’s not like he’s going to stay in Maple Falls. He has a new girlfriend every season. You just happen to be his fall flavor.”
I grip the penny in my pocket, wishing I could throw it at Stewart.
When he opens the door, the wind picks up suddenly, pushing open the door so that it smacks into Stewart.
He mutters something under his breath.
I bite back a grin. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”