Page 127 of Authentically, Izzy
Then she stopped. Above the sound of two women debating over which Debbie Macomber book to purchase, a familiar voice brewed in deep baritone. Brodie! She straightened, trying to locate the direction.
“I’ve heard of epistolary novels before, but not that particular one.” His answer came from the other side of a bookshelf in the Historical Romance section. “Could you tell me more about it?”
Izzy drew in a breath and peered around the side of the shelf. Brodie’s back was to her as he bent near to an older woman who leaned close in intense discussion.
“Have you never heard of it? I read it years ago. It’s all written through letters around the World WarII era, I believe. You should know it.Especiallyyou.” She shook her head of blonde color that looked a little too blonde to be natural. “It takes place on an island and it’s a story where two people fall in love through letters before they even meet in person. Well, the blooms of love start then, but the actual love comes when they meet in person, of course.”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “It does sound like a rather fascinating work offiction.”
Her heart squeezed. Sadness curbed his tone with a little hint of bitterness thrown in on that last word. She pressed her fist to her chest. She’d caused that.Oh, Brodie, please forgive me.
“Fiction starts from somewhere,” came her quick retort. “But there was some tragedy that happened during the war, and it’s about the folks on this island who start a book club, and the main lady in the story is an author, I think.”
Izzy nodded as she recognized the description of the book, and the woman must have caught sight of her movements, because her gaze caught in Izzy’s. Izzy attempted a weak smile and a strange glimmer twinkled in the woman’s pale eyes.
“I don’t know that I’ve ever read that one,” Brodie answered. “If we had our new database working, I could—”
“Perhaps we should ask one of the other workers about it.” Thewoman motioned toward me. “Young lady, could you give us a bit of help here? We seem to be at a loss and you appear to understand.”
Izzy’s chest seized. No use hiding now. She drew in a deep breath and forced a smile as she stepped forward.
“I think the book you’re after isThe Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.” She flashed a glance at Brodie as she neared.
He stared, his lips parting in surprise. She pushed an apology into her expression as much as she could, hoping her eyes spoke for her in the interval. His lips pinched into a frown. Oh no, old Blighty showed up instead of Prince Charming. Her palm pressed into her stomach. She deserved it, though. She’d thrown his trustworthiness back in his face.
“Yes, that sounds familiar,” the woman responded, drawing Izzy’s gaze back to her.
“Um... it should be here.” Her words quivered out on a breath as she passed between the two with her head down and her focus on the nearby bookshelf. The Romance section. Ironic.
She swallowed around the lump in her throat, every ounce of self-control attempting to keep the tears at bay. He’d offered her so much: her dreams, his heart, a place to... fly, and she’d run away from it all.
With careful fingers, she drew the book from its place and then trained her attention on the woman. “It’s a sweet story with a tender romance that started as an unlikely friendship over books.” Izzy’s voice caught on the admission. Like her and Brodie.
“What a marvelous beginning for a romance, don’t you think?”
Could this woman unintentionally make things any more awkward? “Um... it does sound rather fairy-tale–like. Though of course there’s a part where the heroine gets a little messed up with knowing what she wants, but”—Izzy swallowed through her dry throat—“but... but don’t worry. She figures it out in time for a happily ever after.”
“I read for the happily ever afters.” The woman searched Izzy’s face in some strange way.
“I’m fond of those too. My favorites, in fact.” Izzy handed the book to the woman and blinked back the tears while stepping past her back to the bookshelf. “And if you’re interested in another of the same style, you might enjoyDaddy-Long-Legs. Earlier time period but still epistolary. And such a light-hearted read. Good for cheering the heart.”
“‘Cheering the heart’?” She held Izzy’s gaze, her smile growing, and then she took the proffered book. “Well thank you, dear. I’ve always had a soft spot for these types of stories. You see, I fell in love with my husband through letters before we ever met in person. People don’t seem to do much of that nowadays.”
“I think that’s what makes it so special.” Her throat squeezed as she felt Brodie step closer behind her. “You have these wonderful conversations, opportunities to be intimate with someone in such a unique way, so when you finally meet him for the first time, it’s like you’re looking into the eyes of someone who knows you already, maybe even better than you know yourself.”
“Aye.” Her expression softened and she studied Izzy with a knowing look. “It sounds as though you’ve experienced corresponding with a sweetheart of your own?”
“Yes, I have... um... I did.” A sigh pressed her shoulders downward and she refused to look in Brodie’s direction. Her eyes began to sting. “But much like Juliet in this story”—she tapped the book in the woman’s hand—“I’m afraid I... I lost my way and may be too late to make things right.”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes,” the word burst out like something between a sob and a laugh. “I do love him. He’s one of the best people I’ve ever known.”
One of her pale brows took an upswing. “And does he love you?”
Clearly this woman was placed in this moment to incur complete agony upon Izzy’s already throbbing heart. “I think he did before... before I hurt him.”
“I suppose the only way to know for certain is to travel to wherever he lives and find out, isn’t it? A very brave thing to do, if you ask me.” The sparkle in the woman’s eyes flared and she raised a brow to a point just over Isabelle’s shoulder. “Well, Brodie my boy, it seems the next move is up to you.”
