Page 64 of Love By the Book
“I wish I’d known you then,” he continues, voice low and unwavering. “I wish I could’ve loved you through it. I wish you’d had someone by your side who showed you that you never had to earn love by being okay. That you were worthy of it in every single moment, even the messy, painful ones.”
He cups my face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing my cheeks.
“I would love that chance, Rhianna. To walk through the chaos and the quiet with you. To stand by you through the highs and the heartbreaks. To build a life that feels real and true, because with you that’s exactly what life would be for me.”
My heart feels too big for my chest, like it might burst through ribs at any moment. “But… I’m leaving. Is that what you want? Postcards and text messages for six months?”
“Yes!” His response is so enthusiastic it makes me jump and he grabs my hand again. “Yes, I’ll take it. I’ll write you a letter every day if you like. I’ll call you in whatever time zone you're in. I’ll rearrange my class schedule—whatever it takes. I’m in, Rhianna. All the way.”
“But I want you to be happy too,” I protest weakly. “You deserve more than me.”
“Rhianna.” His voice is soft but steady. “There’s no such thing as ‘more than you.’ You’re magic itself. When we met, I honestly thought you’d never look twice at someone like me—a buttoned-up, routine-driven professor who has an unhealthy relationship with his planner. I’ve been amazed you’ve let meinto your life. The question was never whether you’re enough. It’s if you could accept someone like me.”
“Like you?” I whisper, taking him in. The flashlight’s glow throws soft shadows over his face, but the stars have finally come out above us, silver pinpricks in the sky behind his dark hair. His eyes—so warm, so steady—hold my gaze without flinching. His hands, confident and sure, cradle mine like something precious.
“You’re thoughtful,” I say softly, “and steady, and brilliant in a way that never makes anyone feel small. You remember people’s favorite books even if you’ve only met them once. You notice the details that matter. You make the best French toast I’ve ever had. And you always make space for other people.”
My throat tightens. “Eli, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You make me feel safe and seen and entirely, terrifyingly known. And I don’t know how to be someone who deserves that… but I want to try. I want to try with you.”
Then he’s kissing me, and I’m kissing him back, and it feels like coming home after the longest journey. His hands tangle in my disaster of a bun, and I don’t even care how gross I must look because he’s here. He sees the worst of me and still wants me.
When we finally break apart, both breathless, he reaches for the bakery box. “I brought your favorite cookies.”
I accept the package and open the lid to find what once were chocolate chip cookies, now reduced to a pile of delicious crumbs.
Eli’s face falls. “Oh no, my grand gesture is decidedly sub-optimal in presentation.”
“Grand gesture?” I tilt my head.
“I guess it’s not a very good one.” He rubs his neck. “Our story has gone off the rails.”
“You’re the one who said you didn’t want a ‘by the book’ romance. I think this solidly deserves a check mark.” My voicedrops. “Besides, I couldn’t imagine a better grand gesture. Eli, you showed up for me when I didn’t deserve it. Crumbled cookies and all.”
“You always deserve it, Rhianna.”
The next kiss is softer, slower. Then we sit side by side, passing the box between us as we eat cookie crumbs with our fingers, watching as stars appear one by one in the darkening sky above Magnolia Cove. And for the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe again.
“So,” I say, leaning my head against his shoulder. “What happens next?”
His arm wraps around me, pulling me closer. “I have absolutely no idea.” The wonder in his voice makes me smile. “And I’m perfectly fine with that.”
Eli
The box of rare books sits unopened in my living room, exactly where I placed it a week ago. Under normal circumstances, this would be unthinkable—these volumes need proper shelving, climate control, careful handling. But nothing feels normal anymore.
"You haven't even unpacked your Whitlock collection?" Piper's voice carries from my kitchen, where she's perched on my counter despite my many lectures about germs. She does it just to irritate me. I’m currently so far above trivial annoyances that her antics barely register. She seems to realize this and frowns at me. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"
I glance at the box, then at my sister, who's swirling a glass of wine with an expression that's far too knowing. "I've been busy."
"Busy staring at your phone waiting for Rhianna to text?"
"I do not stare at my phone." My hand stills where it’s slipped into my pocket to remove my phone. “I merely check it at regular intervals.”
Piper snorts. "Right. Because that's so much better." Shetakes a sip of wine, her dark eyes studying me over the rim of her glass. "You know, Brubba, for someone who just found the love of his life, you look miserable."
"I'm not miserable." The protest sounds weak even to my ears. "I'm just... adjusting."
The truth is more complicated than I can explain to Piper, even though she's been my confidante since we were children. How do I describe the constant push and pull in my chest? The joy that bubbles up every time my phone buzzes with a message from Rhianna, followed by the ache of not being able to see her smile in person. The way I keep turning to share something with her—a passage in a book, a thought about Welsh mythology, even just a terrible pun—only to remember she's not here.
