Page 62 of Love By the Book
“What if I’m guessing wrong?”
She shrugs. “Look, I’ve known Rhianna since we were setting off illegal magic-infused fireworks behind the elementary school. That girl’s got more layers than a wedding cake, but she’s also predictable in her unpredictability if that makes any sense. I’d bet good money that whatever place just popped into your mind? That’s exactly where she is.”
I release a heavy breath. I know she’s right. I know exactly where to find Rhianna. But marching up that hill sweaty, disheveled, and not even remotely pulled together doesn’t exactly screamgrand romantic gesture. It doesn’t feel romance-novel-worthy at all. It’s not even a mid-tier made-for-streaming kind of moment.
Unfortunately, I don’t have days to come up with something better. I’m currently homeless, all my possessions are—hopefully—on a ferry docked in Charleston, and Rhianna’s leaving soon.
I must act now.
Still… there has to be something. Something small that says to Rhianna that I know her. That I love her. No matter how messy or chaotic life may get.
That’s when I see them—the lingering chocolate chip cookies behind the bakery glass, edges golden and glistening with magic that feels like a warm hug.
Not exactly the same as hiring a skywriter or penning anepic of our own mythology, but she once said that Ethan and Zoe’s chocolate chip cookies tasted like childhood dreams. So maybe it’s close enough.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to begin.
I exhale slowly, hope rekindling. “Do you have any more of those chocolate chip cookies?”
Zoe grimaces. “We’re about to close and only have the two left…” My face must fall visibly because she quickly adds, “But we always have time for a love-mergency. Boss?” she calls out louder.
Ethan emerges from the back room, flour dusting his apron. “What’s up, Zoe?” His eyes widen when he spots me. “Hey, Eli. I thought you were leaving.”
Zoe grins, and a mischievous twinkle sparkles in her eye. “We have a cookie catastrophe. Fire back up the ovens.”
Ethan chuckles and pulls out his phone. “Let me see if I can get enough service to text Alex and tell her I’ll be late.” He gestures toward the kitchen. “Eli, grab an apron if you want and come on back.”
As I follow him toward the kitchen, I feel a strange sense of calm settling over me. I don’t know if this will work. I don’t know if Rhianna will even want to see me. But for the first time in my orderly, carefully planned life, I’m completely fine with not knowing what happens next.
The same calm somehow stays with me as I stand alone, a box of freshly baked cookies under one arm, a flashlight in the other hand, staring at the darkening path that leads to the hill. The evening air is heavy with the scent of salt water and blooming crepe myrtle and the first stars are just beginning to appear in the twilight sky. Crickets chorus in the underbrush as if urging me forward.
For a man who spent his life charting every step, I now find myself stepping into the unknown withnothing but hope and cookies. And somehow, that feels like the boldest move of all.
Rhianna
I’m wrapped in Grandma Ida’s scarf, its once-vibrant colors muted with age and tears. My stomach grumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since… yesterday? The day before? Time has become fuzzy, measured only in tissues and tears.
I look down at my sweatpants and oversized Fleetwood Mac t-shirt, both rumpled and tear-stained. My hair is a disaster, pulled back in the world’s messiest bun, complete with a pencil stuck through it that I don’t even remember putting there. Objectively, I know I’m disgusting. But somehow, I can’t bring myself to care.
The hilltop is quiet except for the distant rhythm of waves, and the occasional rustle of leaves. Below, Magnolia Cove glitters in the gathering dusk, its lights turning on one by one like earthbound stars. It’s beautiful—heart-wrenchingly so—and I almost hate it for continuing to be magical when I feel so utterly broken.
I twist another tissue between my fingers, then tuck it into my bag alongside its dozen crumpled siblings. I’m already becoming the island’s eccentric tissue-hoarding grandmother, skipping right over my actual life phase. Great.
The realization has been creeping up on me all day, settling into my bones with a certainty that makes my chest ache: I messed up. I made the wrong choice. I let fear end something beautiful before it had a chance to fully bloom.
And then my boss told me that Eli had moved back to Misty Pines.
Gone. Just like that. The thought makes me pull Grandma’s scarf tighter around my shoulders, as if it could somehow shield me from the cold reality of what I’ve done.
I won’t reach out to him, though. That would be selfish. Because what if he answered? What if he came rushing back with that big, steady heart of his, ready to forgive me? I’d only break him again. I’m still scared. Still unsure. Still a mess in all the ways that make me terrible at relationships. I don’t know how to love someone without eventually unraveling everything good between us.
As bad as this hurts, it's better this way. He escaped with memories of the best version of me—the fun, adventurous, magical side. Not the mess who cries into decade-old scarves and hoards tissues like they’re rare books.
A beam of light dances between the trees, weaving as someone ascends the path. My heart leaps into my throat as I scramble to my feet, squinting into the darkness. A flashlight’s glow brightens, growing steadily closer, until finally?—
“Eli?”
He steps into the clearing, slightly out of breath. His hair’s wild, his button-down wrinkled, and he’s… holding a Whisk bakery box?
