Page 40 of Love By the Book
The fellowship letter burns a hole in my cardigan pocket. I should tell him about it. About the six months (or more, my traitorous brain whispers) I’ll be gone. But bringing it up now feels like opening a door I’m not ready to walk through. Like saying, “Hey, just so you know, I’m planning a future you’re not in.” Or worse—like admitting I want him in it.
Eli’s only seen the fun side of me, though. The glitter and charm and half-baked plans. Apparently he finds that kind of thing entertaining. Some people do until they get the flip side of that coin. The part that’s still chaotic, but in a hard way. The kind that feels like too much. Then they run.
As much as I want to believe Eli could be an exception, he already told me he left his last relationship when it stopped being interesting.
So yeah. That hope? Dangerous.
This is my season for gallivanting across Europe and chasing joy and possibility and whatever version of freedom still exists after heartbreak. Not for a second round of devastation.
So, I won’t be telling him. We’ll have a fun summer together like we’ve agreed. And if I get accepted into the program, I’ll end things with him. That was the deal. No commitments. Just two people enjoying the in-between.
Even if part of me already knows I’m lying to myself. Even if part of me knows this already means more to him than he was willing to admit. And if I’m being honest? It means more to me, too.
I push the guilt down and focus on his hand in mine as we make our way through the crowd.
The town square is decked out in a bizarre mix of Elvis memorabilia and celestial decorations. Cardboard cutouts of The King pose next to papier mâché moons. A group of kids run by in sequined jumpsuits and fairy wings.
"So," Eli says, leaning close so his voice carries over a speaker blaring ‘Blue Suede Shoes’."Is it just me or is there a lack of promised rhinestones?"
I bat my eyelashes at him. "Why, Lancaster, are you implying that I oversold the majesty of our Blue Moon Festival?"
He chuckles, the sound warm and rich even amidst the chaos. "I'll let you know by the time the night's over."
"Rhianna! Eli!" A familiar voice cuts through the crowd. Alex waves at us, her other arm looped through Ethan's as they weave through the throng of festival-goers.
I navigate us close enough to speak with them as a couple passes us who are decked out in outfits studded in rhinestones from brimmed hats down to their heeled boots.
I give Eli a look.Hmm, is that a lack of rhinestones?
He rolls his eyes, conceding.Fine.
I'm smirking as we approach Alex and Ethan. "Enjoying the festival?"
Alex grins but her gaze drops to Eli's hand in mine. "Oh, absolutely. Ethan was just telling me about the time he entered the Elvis impersonation contest as a kid when his family visited on vacation one year."
Ethan groans good-naturedly. “I thought we agreed not to share that with others.”
"Hang on," Eli says. "Youentered the Elvis contest?"
The two of them have hit it off since Eli helped ward a wedding cake and spent an afternoon geeking out over rare books and perfectly brewed coffee. Ethan rolls his eyes but dives into the story of how he eagerly wore pomade and cat-eye glasses while singing his heart out.
Alex is half-listening to the story, but her focus remains on me. Or more specifically, on my hand twined with Eli's. She gives me one of her knowing looks. Dang city journalists and their ability to communicate without speaking.
"There's honey candy, Rhianna. Want to get some?" Alex asks when the conversation breaks.
"Sure." I give Eli's fingers a squeeze before joining her. We push through the crowd and get in line for the treat.
Alex tucks her hands into her pockets. “You two seem cozy.”
My fingers graze the edge of my cardigan pocket, where the fellowship letter sits folded like a reminder. A promise. There's a whole world waiting out there—twenty-four libraries, twenty-four chances to experience something new without the risk of losing what I love. I've started carrying the letter with me like a shield. A reminder that I can't let myself get too deep. That getting too close to someone like Eli was never part of the plan. "We're... exploring things."
“Exploring things, huh? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
The line moves forward, and I roll my eyes as we move up. “It’s very casual. We’re just having fun and haven’t felt the need to make any kind of announcement about it. It’s not… a thing.”
My heart gives a warning thud in my chest. Because something is shifting. I can feel it. In the way I scan rooms for him without thinking. In the way his laugh finds its way into the quiet space of my day. But every time I get close to naming it—whateverthisis—fear flares. Like admitting it would make it real. And real means risk.
Letting someone in, really in, feels like reaching for something fragile with soap-slippery hands. I’m not the kind of person who gets to hold on to something this good. I’ve tried before. And the moment my hands trembled, it shattered.
