Page 47 of Love By the Book
Rhianna
I’m balancing on a stepladder, trying to attach sparkly vines to ourEnchanted Reading Forestdisplay for next week’s Library Comes Alive night, when my fingers brush against the thick envelope in my cardigan pocket. The one with the World Library Tour Fellowship’s golden seal Dad handed me this morning. The one I’ve been too nervous to open because somehow holding onto the possibility feels safer than knowing for sure.
My mind wanders back to the beach. To Eli’s almost-confession. To the way my heart had nearly burst through my chest because I knew—I knew—what he was going to say.
I’m terrified and wobbly and mentally all over the place, but I’m also… strangely ready.
Eli isn’t Jacob.
Even if my heart has been living in my throat ever since I blurted out that invitation to meet my parents, I think—maybe—I’m finally ready to try again. Who knew my failed matchmaking plan would result in me finding love? My mom would absolutelylovethat line of thought. Unfortunately.
“Miss Wilder!” Jasper calls from below, where he’s sortingthrough the costume box I’d dragged out of storage that morning. “Can I be the Lorax? I already practiced twitching my mustache!”
“Only if you promise to speak for the books,” I tell him as I step down and pull a measuring tape from my cardigan pocket. I’ve been carrying it around to get the dimensions perfect for my Mary Poppins costume. Somehow, I thought designing my own was a good idea. I stretch the tape out before Jasper who has his shoulders rolled back and is nearly on his toes to stand as tall as possible. “And according to my calculations, you’re exactly the right height for a Lorax. Practically perfect, in fact.”
Jasper beams and starts practicing his grumpy voice while I adjust my daisy-decorated hat—a trial run for the one I’ll wear that evening. Claire’s going as the White Witch (complete with Turkish Delight samples) and Michael from acquisitions is planning an impressive Mad Hatter ensemble. I’ve got my carpet bag all ready to go, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll speak with the Council and see if someone will add a bit of actual magic to make it seem bottomless. What’s the point of being a librarian in a magical pocket town if you can’t have a little fun with it?
I climb the ladder and begin decorating again but a vine slips from my fingers and bops me on the nose. “Most unsatisfactory,” I tell it in my best Mary Poppins voice.
I pin the final vine in place then hop down from the ladder and push my fists onto my hips to survey my handiwork. The display glitters under the library’s soft lighting, constellations of books arranged in spiraling patterns. A council member has already worked a bit of subtle magic to keep it from toppling. It’s exactly the kind of whimsy that makes kids’ eyes light up when they walk in.
Just like the way his eyes light up when he looks at you, my brain offers in an annoyingly sincere voice.
I groan and press my palms against my heated cheeks. Because I’ve made up my mind.
I’ve spent summer convincing myself this was temporary. That we’d agreed on no strings. Just a summer of stolen moments and soft laughter and pretending the future wasn’t coming fast. But now? Now I want something more. A chance, maybe.
I think I’m going to ask him to wait for me.
And I can’t believe I’m even entertaining the idea. But I am. I’m going to try.
Six months. That’s all I’m asking. Time for me to finish what I started—to honor the dream Grandma Ida and I shared. To see the world, to grow, to come back knowing not just what I want, but who I want.
And maybe that’s what I need anyway—space to choose him without fear, to let the wanting stretch into something real.
I almost laugh. I’ve never been the girl who asks someone to wait. I’ve always been the one left behind. But maybe this time, I’ll be the one who comes back.
Maybe—
“Rhianna!”
I spin around to find Eli himself hurrying toward me, looking adorably flustered. His glasses are slightly askew and his dark hair ruffled like he’s run his hands through it. My heart does its ridiculous jig it’s taken up whenever he’s in my presence.
“I just got a call about a potential first edition Cyrus Whitlock.” He waves a folder frantically. “A private collector on the mainland is considering selling. I wanted you to know I’ll be out of town just for the night. These opportunities disappear in hours. Oh shoot. I need to take these research papers back to my office before I leave, and I have to grab my authentication kit from my apartment and?—”
“I can take it for you,” I offer, trying not to smile at his scattered state. It’s so unlike his usual composed self, but his eyes sparkle with that gleam he gets when talking about unique editions of rare books. It’s unfairly attractive.
“You’re a lifesaver.” His shoulders sag, though he’s practically vibrating with excitement. I get it—Cyrus Whitlock is his literary white whale. A smile tugs at my lips. I gave him a Whitlock book weeks before I even knew about the depth of his obsession. My magical intuition strikes again, though this time it feels less like magic and more like proof that some part of me justgetshim, right down to his bookish soul. And that maybe this person is someone I can actually risk trusting my heart with again.
“No problem.”
He goes completely still despite his rush, and something in his expression makes my breath catch. Like what he’s about to say matters. “I’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner tomorrow.” His voice is low and sure. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
My stomach flips—nerves and excitement mingling in a way that makes me feel sixteen again. “Yeah. Me too.”
He lingers just a moment longer, looking at me like he sees all of it—my hope, my fear, the thousand emotions I’m still learning how to name. Then he leans in and presses a quick kiss to my cheek before heading out the door.
Maybe telling my parents about him wasn’t a mistake after all. Maybe Mom’s knowing smiles and Dad’s not-so-subtle hints about having plenty of space at the dinner table weren’t premature. Maybe having the talk—the one where I tell Eli about the fellowship, ask if he’ll wait, admit I’m hoping for something more—isn’t the wrong move after all. Maybe it’s all coming together as it should.
