Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
Melody stood in front of her closet, staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror.
Her hair, usually a rebellious mop, had been tamed into something resembling a professional style.
The gray strands stood out even more, and they complemented the dress she had chosen.
Something sleek and black—very author-chic, or so she hoped.
But the woman looking back at her seemed like a stranger, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and terror.
"Alright, Archer," she said to her reflection. "You've faced scarier things than a room full of book lovers. Like that time you accidentally used your steamy first draft as scrap paper for your grocery list."
She took a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach. Tonight was the launch of the pre-order of the book.
Olivia and Jake’s novel, No Good Deed.
The one Nate and she had written together. Though the pre-order was not the official launch, it did mark the first day that readers could purchase the book in advance. It should be the happiest night of her life. So why did she feel like she was about to walk the plank?
Her phone buzzed, and she grabbed it, half-hoping it was Nate.
But it was just another congratulatory message from Carmen.
She had barely heard from Nate since their last conversation about his fallout with his father.
The radio silence was deafening, and a nagging part of her wondered if he was having second thoughts about... well, everything.
A knock at the door startled her out of her spiral of doubt. Expecting it to be Hannah, coming to drag her to the pre-order launch by force if necessary, she flung open the door without checking.
"I swear, Hannah, if you try to make me wear those death trap heels again, I'll – oh."
She stopped short, her mouth hanging open. Because standing in her doorway, looking every inch the publishing mogul in a tailored suit, was Elizabeth Carlisle.
She breathed in a familiar scent—lavender and Earl Grey tea. For a moment, her heart stuttered. That’s why she had been so waylaid by Madame Carlisle when they first met. It was the exact combination Mom used to wear.
"Ms. Archer," Elizabeth said, her voice warm like Mom's used to be when she'd find her writing at 3 AM. "I hope I'm not interrupting your pre-preorder panic attack."
She blinked, suddenly very aware that she was only wearing one shoe. "Mrs. Carlisle! I, uh... no, not interrupting at all. Just having a perfectly normal meltdown. The usual pre-book launch jitters."
Elizabeth's eyebrow arched in a way that was eerily reminiscent of Nate. "Indeed. May I come in?"
She stepped aside, gesturing grandly to her apartment, which looked like a tornado had hit a bookstore. “Apologies for the chaos. Please excuse the mess. And my general state of... everything."
Elizabeth glided in, somehow managing to look regal even as she navigated around piles of books and discarded outfit options.
She paused at her desk, where a framed photo of Mom and her sat among the chaos.
It was the day she finished the manuscript for that first rejected book—Mom beaming with pride as she held up the manuscript that had been rejected more times than a fake credit card at an ATM.
"Your mother?" Elizabeth asked softly.
She nodded, moving to stand beside her. "She was my first reader. Every story, every chapter—she'd listen and tell me exactly what I needed to hear, even when I didn't want to hear it."
"She sounds remarkable." Elizabeth's eyes softened as she studied the photo. "You have her smile. And her spirit, I'd wager."
"She would have loved all this," she said, gesturing vaguely at the manuscript pages scattered everywhere. "The drama, the rebellion against traditional publishing... she always did encourage me to make trouble."
Elizabeth's laugh was warm and knowing. "The best women always do. That's why I'm here, actually. To thank you."
"Thank me? For what? Turning your family business upside down?"
"For giving my son the push he needed. For reminding all of us what publishing should be about." She turned to face her fully. "You know, you remind me of myself at your age. So full of passion, so determined to change things."
"Did you?" she asked. "Change things?"
A smile widened on her prim mouth. "I like to think I did, in my own way. And now here you are, shaking up our comfortable little world with your inconvenient truths and messy happy endings."
"I never meant to—" she began, but Elizabeth cut her off with a gentle wave.
"Yes, you did. And that's exactly what we needed." She moved to sit on her worn and well-loved couch, patting the spot beside her. "Tell me, what would your mother say about all this?"
The question hit her right in the chest. She sank onto the cushions, brushing away unexpected tears. "She'd probably say I was being too cautious, actually. She always pushed me to be braver, to fight harder for what I believed in."
"Sounds like my kind of woman." Elizabeth reached into her bag and pulled out—of all things—a tea set. "I find difficult conversations go better with proper tea. Your mother would understand, I think."
As she set up the tea service on her cluttered coffee table, the familiar ritual made her throat tight. "Mom had the same set," she said softly. "She used to say you couldn't solve any problem without proper tea service."
"Smart woman." Elizabeth handed her a cup, the porcelain warm against her palms. "Now, about my son..."
"Mrs. Carlisle—"
"Elizabeth, please. And don't bother denying it. I see the way you look at each other. The same way Liam used to look at me, back when we were young and ready to take on the publishing world together."
"It’s…not simple between us," she said, staring into her tea.
"The best things usually aren’t." She reached over and patted her hand, the gesture so motherly it made her heart ache. "Your mother taught you to fight for your stories. Perhaps it's time to fight for your own."
"I'm scared," she admitted, the words barely a whisper. "What if it all falls apart?"
"Then you'll have one hell of a story to write about." Elizabeth's eyes twinkled. "But something tells me this particular story has a different ending in mind."
As she stood to leave, she paused by the photo on her desk one more time. "You know, she'd be proud of you. Fighting for what matters, changing the industry, finding love in the process..."
"You think so?" The question came out small, heavy with all her doubts.
Elizabeth turned, and for a moment, she saw her own mother's strength in her smile. "I know so. Because that's what mothers do—we want our children to be brave enough to fight for what matters. Whether those children are ours by blood," she paused meaningfully, "or by ink."
After she left, she sat in her messy apartment, the scent of lavender and tea lingering in the air.
For the first time since this whole crazy journey began, she felt at peace with what lay ahead.
Mom always said the best stories come from being brave enough to follow your heart, even when it leads you off the beaten path.
Well, Mom, she thought as she finally put on her other shoe, watch me be brave.
Tonight was going to be one hell of a chapter.
As she headed out the door, her phone buzzed one last time. It was a text from Nate: “I haven’t forgotten…Break a leg tonight, Archer. Can't wait to see you shine."
She smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. Oh yes, tonight was going to be interesting indeed.