Page 57 of Love By the Book
But with Rhianna…
“I’m fine.” My voice sounds hollow and broken and very not-fine even to my own ears. “It was a summer fling. A temporary adventure. That’s all it was.”
“Eli…” She lets out a soft sigh. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Not about this.”
I grip the bridge of my nose. “What do you want me to say, Pipes? That I fell in love? That I forgot who I am and what my life is actually like? That I let myself believe in something magical only to wake up and realize that it’s a kind of magic that doesn’t exist?”
A long pause. Then Piper says quietly, “Maybe you should say those things to her?”
“I can’t,” I whisper, then clear my throat. “She ended it. She made it very clear that this was never a good idea.”
“Oh, Brubba.” Her pity is worse than any teasing she’s ever dished out.
“It’s fine. I wanted to move away, try something new. I’ve done that. Now it’s time for me to return home and back to my real life.”
“Well,”—she says after a moment, her voice carefully light—“I’m at least looking forward to a giant hug and a lunch date. It’s your turn to pay.”
My lips curve into what might be a smile, though it doesn’t feel like one. “I’m looking forward to that too.”
“See you soon.”
After we end the call, I pick up the Cyrus Whitlock book. My hand moves automatically to open it, to look at the pictures one last time. Instead, I wrap it carefully in bubble wrap and place it in Box 12: Personal Items—Books (Special Collections).
I close the lid. The label is perfect. No wrinkles. No air bubbles. Everything in its ideal place.
Gold Dust Womanplays softly in the background, crackling faintly through the record player’s worn speakers. Rhianna had been aghast when she discovered I didn't own the album. She’d changed our entire plan for the evening and bought me a copy.
Now it plays in a room that feels far too quiet.
I cross to the record player and gently lift the needle. The music dies with a sigh. I slide the album back into its sleeve, careful not to crease the cover.
Chapter closed.
Rhianna
I’m sitting in the most hidden corner of Alex’s cafe, the one where no one can see your tears. Not that I’m crying. Okay, maybe I am, just a little—the kind of crying where you feel like your heart is leaking out through your eyes no matter how hard you try to hold it in. But I’m trying so hard to keep it together, to look professional. Like my entire world didn’t just reshape itself around losing someone. Like I’m not counting the days since I last felt his lips against mine, brushed my hand through his hair, or received one of his soft smiles that made everything inside me feel like warm honey.
This was supposed to be easy. I ended it before it could hurt this much. So why the heck does it feel like I just broke my own heart with a first-edition book and no return policy?
Thankfully the universe has handed me a distraction. I finally have another matchmaking client. My trusty notebook is open in front of me, but the words on the page blur. My brain feels like it tripped and fell into quicksand and my heart aches.
I don’t know what happened to Eli. He hasn’t come into the library for days. I keep telling myself it’s for the best—wewere a temporary thing, like the pumpkin spice latte. Deliciously perfect for a season but inevitably going to end. But just like how I pretend I’m totally fine with regular lattes the rest of the year, I’m pretending I’m fine without him. My heart knows better, though. It keeps searching for that particular flavor of joy, that specific blend of warmth and excitement and possibility that only Eli could create.
But my chest feels hollowed out every time I think of him.
I take a shuddering breath and try to shift my focus to Iris, my newest matchmaking client. My first being Eli isn’t much of a recommendation for my services if I say so myself, but I’m willing to call myself the issue in that situation and give it another try.
“So,” I say, mustering in myI’m totally fine and not at all heartbrokenvoice. “Tell me what you’re looking for in a partner.” I poise my pen over the paper, ready to take notes even though my fingers tremble.
Iris twines an ivory strand of hair around her finger. She’s as pale and ethereal as an orchid in her flower shop, all platinum blonde hair and delicate features. I’ve known her forever but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this nervous. “Well, there’s actually someone specific…” She grabs her glass and takes a long swallow of water.
Oh boy. I know that feeling all too well. “Unfortunately,”—I say gently—“sometimes the whole ‘someone specific’ doesn’t work out.” Understatement of the century. “But tell me about him, anyway.”
I don’t know who Iris is specifically interested in. But maybe if I figure out her type, if option A doesn’t work out I can brainstorm some other candidates. That’s what I need to do—focus on someone else instead of wallowing in my own heartache. Even if said heartache feels like it’s carving a gaping hole in my chest. And worse, it keeps gnawing at me that I’mthe one who put it there. That I hurt Eli. That I walked away and left him standing in the wreckage.
At least I ended it now. At least I had the sense to stop this before it became something even deeper—before we got in too far and truly ruined our lives when it inevitably fell apart.
Iris’ cheeks flush pink. “Well, he’s kind and funny.” A genuine smile stretches across her face. “Whenever I’m with him, time flies. And he makes me feel like I can be the real me—the real me no one else sees. Like my ideas aren’t completely ridiculous.” Her voice gets softer. “The problem is, I’m afraid he’s not interested in anything serious. With me or maybe with anyone.”
