Page 60 of A Novel Summer
He seemed to consider the question. “I’ll think about it. But why not New York?”
She shrugged. “Boston’s in my blood, I guess.”
“But the idea of you moving to New York gives me much more incentive to start asking around.” He smiled coyly. There was a small gap between his front teeth that she found sexy and her eyes lingered on his mouth.
“Ezra,” she said. “That is very sweet. But I told you, I don’t do relationships.”
“That’s right. You did mention that. So...what then? Just friends?”
She tilted her head. She meant just sex.
“Um, sure?” Was he testing her? His attitude was confusing. Most guys were perfectly fine with keeping things purely physical.
Ezra refilled her glass of wine and then his own. The waiter appeared with their appetizer of panko-crusted shrimp. After he slipped away, Ezra leaned forward and said, “Can you keep a secret?”
“I can.” She held her seafood fork and offered him a flirtatious look, head cocked, chin down, peeking out from underneath her lashes.
“You can’t say anything to Shelby,” he said.
“Oh?” Well, after what happened last night, what was one more secret? “Okay. Sure. I’m a vault.”
“I have a job offer from a different agency. I’m giving notice as soon as I get back to New York.”
“What agency?”
“Paragon.”
Paragon Literary Group was a thirty-year-old literary agency run out of a brownstone at Sixty-third and Lexington. It was legendary.
“I can check if there are any other openings when I get there,” he offered.
“That’s really generous,” she said. He was starting to make her wish she was the type of woman who wanted a relationship. She knew there were a million of them out there who’d give a limb to have Ezra Randall’s undivided attention.
So when he walked her home, kissed her on the cheek, and said, “Well, friend, I’ll let you know if I hear of any jobs in the city. And at the very least, I’ll hit you up if I’m ever in Boston,” she was surprised by how much she hoped he meant it.
Forty-Three
Monday was slow at the bookshop. Outside, rain fell in dense needles, and the sky turned dark. Land’s End hadn’t seen a customer in hours. Mia paced in front of the windows, headphones on. And Shelby, standing at the counter with her laptop, typed the wordsThe End—her favorite in the English language. At least, today they were.
She’d finished her first draft ofBookshop Beach.
Closing her laptop, she exhaled. Writing a novel was usually a marathon; this one had been a sprint. And it was challenging to write about Emily’s illness without losing the upbeat tone of the book, but she felt that storyline was balanced out by the frenemies-to-lovers plot. And in the end, everyone got their happy ending: Emily’s health stabilized and she had her bookshop. Jackson lost his shop but got something more important: the first genuine relationship of his life. Shelby felt, in many ways, it was a better book than her debut; Emily was a more sympathetic heroine, and the love story was more dramatic than the friendship arc inSecrets of Summer.
She wondered if she should reread the whole thing before sending it to Claudia, and decided not to. She was sure Claudia would have notes, as she had forSecrets of Summer, and Shelby would comb through the manuscript again when she got it back from her. There was no reason to stall. She sent the email with a little tremor in her gut. The feeling, like the last time she’d handed in a book, was exhilarating and terrifying. And it felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
She looked up to see Mia sorting through the window display. Shelby was waiting for the right time to bring up her reading problem, feeling a lot of responsibility to get it right. With the store so dead and near closing time, it was as good a time as any.
“How’s it going over there?” she called out. Mia didn’t hear her. Shelby walked out from behind the counter and waved to get her attention. Mia pulled off her headphones. “Hey. You can go home. I’m going to close early.” A clap of thunder made her jump.
“Home is the last place I want to be,” Mia said, pulling the hood of her sweatshirt over her head.
“Okay,” Shelby said, taking a breath. “Well, since we’re here, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you told me—about the reading. I really appreciate that you confided in me. And if keeping it just between us was the best thing for you, I’d have no problem doing it. But I know it’s not the right thing to do.”
Mia’s eyes widened. “You can’t say anything. You promised!”
“Okay, okay, I won’t,” Shelby said, trying to walk it back a little. “Butyoushould. Talk to your mother. Or even your brother. They can help you, and at the very least, they’ll understand why you’re avoiding college applications.”
Mia shook her head. “You’re wrong. They won’t understand.” Her eyes filled with tears. Shelby moved closer and put her arm around her.
