Page 16 of Came the Closest
I decide not to mention I haven’t read a romance novel since the divorce.
“Well, we have plenty of all three genres—especially romance, since that’s my favorite.” She comes around the counter, and even though she’s notably shorter than me, she carries herself confidently in pink jeans, a lace edged camisole, and a pale-yellow blazer. Floral perfume hangs in the air as she leads me toward the front of the shop. “As far as romance goes, I have to mention my own novel because otherwise Graham and my whole family will scold me. It’s—”
“Darn right we will.” Graham appears from the back with a large brown box in his hands. Dirt smears his navy slacks/white polo combination, and he dips his chin when he sees me. “Cheyenne.”
My fingers itch to touch the wave necklace at my collarbone, but I don’t. Stephen called it a weird nervous tic and insisted I break the habit—it’s like when people bite their nails, he’d said. I learned quickly not to do it around him if I didn’t want unfavorable consequences. Here, though, the instinct flares back to life.
“Hey,” I say with a halfhearted smile. I don’t know how much Colt told anyone about us, but either way, I ran the risk of running into a Del Ray by coming here. Just like I do by working at Hazel’s flower shop.
For a fresh start, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
“Ember tends to forget how amazing her book is,” Graham continues, his gaze shifting to his fiancée, “so we have to remind her.” He lifts the box in his hands. “Where do you want this? I think it’s books.”
“Books? For a bookstore?” Ember feigns shock, but she’s smiling as she crosses to take the box from Graham. “Oh, wow, you made this look way lighter than it is.” Her mouth curves higher. “Would you be willing to take it back to my office? Pretty please?”
Graham sighs dramatically, but he takes it from her hands. “Yes. But only for a kiss.”
With a grin, Ember bounces onto her toes, one hand resting on Graham’s forearm for balance, and presses a kiss to his stubbled cheek. I shift my attention to the display of romance novels in front of me. I don’t mind their affection, but a lump is forming in my throat, something like sadness stinging my eyes.
When I finally scrounged up enough emotional strength to consult my lawyer brother on a good divorce attorney last year, I thought I’d feel free. Free of the control Stephen had over me and free of the emotional abuse I’d endured while trying to save my marriage. And to an extent, I guess I did, but it didn’t come without a healthy dose of guilt.
All I’d ever known were healthy, thriving marriages. My grandparents, my parents, Uncle Ty and Aunt Rosie, Beau and Kaia. I knew unhealthy ones existed, but I didn’t think I would be the one to fall into one. Didn’t think the successful, charming man I met at The Art Institute of Chicago would destroy my confidence and strip me of my identity.
I trace my fingertips over the velvety soft cover of Ember’s book, taking in the pastel colors and the gentle way the hero embraces the heroine. Not unlike Graham’s tenderness with Ember, from the few interactions I’ve witnessed.
Quietly, Ember sidles up next to me again. “Don’t feel at all like you have to buy—”
“Lou Lou,” Graham hollers, “don’t sell yourself short!”
Pink stains her cheeks and she lowers her voice. “He’s a bit protective sometimes, but he means well.”
She’s not talking about Stephen, I remind myself silently, because Stephen didn’t mean well.
“As he should be,” I tell her, keeping my tone light. “Your book sounds really good.”
Like the wildflowers turned toward the sun, Ember perks up. “You think so?”
“Of course, I do. And between us, as someone who’s known Graham since he was in diapers,” I say, “he only acts that protective if he really, truly cares about someone. But you probably already know that.”
Ember laughs. “I absolutely do. I think that’s probably partially why I fell for him.” Wistfulness softens her features as she glances toward the back, then straightens. “Anyway. If you have any questions, let me know, but otherwise I’ll just let you look around. Oh, and the poetry is right across from the checkout counter.”
The subtle acceptance of my hesitance multiplies my respect for Ember. I assure her I’ll be fine, and even though I don’t know when I’ll read it, I tuck her novel into my elbow before venturing across the store. Graham pops his head around the corner to tell Ember the computer froze up, so she hurries back to help him, leaving me alone in the front.
Well. Only as alone as one can be while surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands, of fictional friends waiting to be brought to life in the vivid mind of a reader.
I’m not looking for anything specific, but as I pull books from the shelves, flip through their pages, and let the words penetrate my soul, I feel a little more at peace than before I came in. So much so that, when the bells above the door jingle, I don’t even bother looking up from the Josephine Kennedy book in my hands.
Which is, I discover seconds later, a big mistake.
With three new books in my arm, I turn to head up to the counter. I still need to get to Falls Market before I go home because my fridge is mostly empty. And then the next ten seconds go like this:
I pull my phone out while I turn.
My eyes are therefore downcast.
The patron who walked in has the unfortunate experience of me colliding directly with his broad chest.
I look up, mumble a sorry, and realize with a start that the patron is Colton.