Page 51 of Love By the Book
"They're wonderful," I manage.They could have been mine too, I think, but push the thought away. "I can see why you love them so much."
She steps forward for a quick hug. Her arms brush mine, light and brief, like the memory of touch rather than the thing itself. It’s the kind of hug you give an acquaintance, not someone you've kissed beneath meteor showers and woken up bare and warm and wrapped in their arms—and I breathe in the scent of her shampoo. "Night, Eli," she murmurs, already pulling away.
I wait for a word, a pause, a glance that might signal she’s about to say more. That she hasn’t forgotten. But nothing comes. And by the time I realizethis is it—that she’s not going to start the conversation—we’ve already passed the moment. I open my mouth, but the words catch behind my teeth, tangled in the shock of it. She’s gone before I can untangle even one.
“Night, Rhianna,” I whisper to the empty porch as I watch her disappear inside, taking all my dreams of forever with her.
Standing alone outside, surrounded by the gentle glow ofMagnolia Cove's evening lights, I realize two things: I need to have an honest conversation with her, even if it breaks both our hearts, and maybe leaving Misty Pines was a mistake after all.
When I'd planned my three bold moves to shake up my life, I’d imagined transformation—not heartbreak written in ink I can’t erase.
Rhianna
The acceptance letter sits on my desk like a ticking time bomb, its crisp edges mocking me with possibility. I've read it so many times I could recite it in my sleep:Dear Ms. Wilder, We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for the World Library Tour Fellowship...
Mom's humming floats up from the kitchen downstairs, the scent of her famous sweet and spicy apple pie following close behind. It's her third pie this week, which means she's worried about me. Stress baking is hereditary in our family.
"Honey?" she calls up. “Dinner's almost ready. Your father's bringing home that wine Eli brought the other night.”
My heart does that annoying flutter thing at his name. Stupid heart. Stupid Eli with his perfect book recommendations and his ability to charm my parents in exactly one dinner. Dad hasn't stopped talking about their hour-long discussion over the importance of poetry and spoken word in folklore.
"The pie smells amazing!" I shout back, buying myself another moment alone with my thoughts.
“Eli told me apple is his favorite!”
Of course it is. Because the universe hates me.
I smash my palms against my eyes until I see stars, trying to push back the ache in my chest. This is exactly why I need to accept this fellowship. Maybe even leave sooner than later. Because Eli Lancaster isn’t just clicking with my family—he’s fitting into every corner of my life like he belongs there. Like he’s always been there.
That hurts more than any breakup I've ever had, because this isn't even an actual relationship ending—it's me running away before it can truly begin. I'm the one who insisted on "no strings attached" from the start. I'm the one who's been holding back, deflecting whenever things got too real. Which was fine—manageable, even—until I had to watch him bond with my dad over books and make my mom laugh with his terrible puns and generally be... perfect.
I want to keep him. Just for a little while longer. Want to pretend I'm brave enough to build something real with him, even though I know I'll eventually panic and flee. But seeing him here, in my childhood home, talking about vintage wines with my brother and complimenting my mom's art collection... It's like watching a reality I both desperately want and am terrified to claim. A reality where someone sees me—all the messy, disorganized, passionate, over-the-top versions of me—and loves me anyway.
But to face that means opening the parts of me I’ve spent years keeping locked away. It means risking the kind of heartbreak that would leave me gutted, hollowed out in place that never quite fills back in.
Eli isn’t Jacob.
He’s better.
Which means when it ends, it will cut that much deeper.
The faster I leave, the less it’ll hurt. That’s just math. Or science. Or whatever branch of knowledge that deals with hearts that don’t know how to follow simple instructionslike ‘don’t fall for the cute professor who’s just passing through.’
I pull out my travel planning journal. Twenty-four libraries. Twenty-four adventures. Twenty-four chances to finally take the trip Grandma Ida and I always dreamed about. Twenty-four degrees of separation between me and the kind of love that could break me. The fellowship even includes a stop in Edinburgh, where Grandma once said we would drink strong tea, hunt down obscure poetry collections, and pretend we were scholars-in-residence for the summer.
"Did you respond yet?" Mom appears in my doorway, wiping flour from her hands onto her apron. "The deadline's tomorrow, isn't it?"
I nod, my throat tight. "Just... double-checking some details."
Mom lingers in the doorway, her eyes soft with that knowing look she gets when she’s trying to read between my lines. “Sometimes when we hesitate, it’s our heart trying to tell us something.” She glances meaningfully at the photos of Eli and me from the Blue Moon Festival that I stupidly haven’t taken down. “Or someone.”
I don’t answer, but something must show on my face because she gives me a more gentle mom-smile and takes a step back. “Dinner is in twenty, sweetheart.”
When she leaves, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I've been so focused on protecting myself, I didn’t even notice how deeply I’ve fallen for him despite all my carefully constructed boundaries. But falling doesn’t mean I’m ready to stay grounded.
Eli is steady and thoughtful and good. He’s the kind of man who makes his bed every morning and actually folds the corners of the fitted sheet. The kind of man who remembers to send birthday cards with actual stamps.
And me? I’m a train wreck barreling toward him at fullspeed. Maybe I’m some divine punishment for a transgression he committed in a past life. Like forgetting to return a library book. Or saying he didn’t really likePride and Prejudice.Or using Comic Sans in a syllabus just once.
