Liza and Millie are listening with wide eyes.
“I tell you what I do miss, though,” I continue. “I miss…the dream of us. I miss the girl who wore a white dress and carried a bouquet of pale pink roses and looked ahead to a full life—of family, love, happiness. I miss looking into the eyes of my husband and trusting him. I miss…what might have been, but now, never will be.” I swallow hard. “But you know what I don’t miss? Feeling lonely. Because, Nick, in our marriage, I was so deeply lonely.”
“Val, I…I’m so sorry. I wish I could say something to—”
“Don’t,” I say. “It’s okay. I want you to know that I forgive you. I’ll always wish the best for you. Goodbye, Nick.” I end the call before he can say anything more.
“Damn, girl,” Liza says, clapping her hands. “That was impressive.”
“You handled that brilliantly,” Millie says.
I wipe away a tear—the last one I’ll shed for him. “It’s over. It’s really over.”
The three of us pause when we notice two men speaking loudly to each other outside on the street. One gestures toward the building with large arm movements, as the other pulls a tape measure from his pocket and runs it along the length of the front window.
“Who are they?” Liza asks, walking to the window suspiciously.
A moment later, the men walk into the store.
“The lot’s an unusual size,” one says to the other. “But it’ll work.”
“Look,” the other says, pointing ahead. “It narrows in the back a bit, like the architect said. Can we work with that?”
“It’ll take some creative engineering,” the other says. “But I don’t see why not. The price is right.” They both laugh in unison.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Millie says, stepping forward like a protective mother bear. “May we help you?”
“Good day to you,” the taller of the two says to Millie. “And who might you be?”
“The real question is, who might you be?”
The shorter man digs into his pocket and pulls out a crinkled business card. “Bayer Construction, general manager. Hate to bring up a sore subject, but after the tax lien’s in place, we’ll be the new owners.” He kicks the edge of a bookcase with a heavy boot. “Look at that. Solid mahogany. They don’t make ’em like that anymore.” He turns to the other man. “Could we salvage these, maybe? Sell them?”
“That’s enough,” Millie says. “I don’t know who you two think you are or what you are doing, but, gentlemen, if you’re not here to buy a book, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
The taller man smirks, squaring his shoulders. “My, my, the old librarian is quite a feisty one.”
“Indeed, she is,” I say, standing my ground. “I’m the owner of this building, and as of today, I’m unaware of any reason—tax liens or otherwise—that allows you to loiter in our store. I’ll remind you that this is private property, and if you refuse to leave immediately, I’ll be forced to call the authorities and make a harassment complaint.”
The doorbells jingle and Fernando appears, reading the situation. His eyes are laser-focused on the two men.
“Gentlemen,” I continue, “I think it’s time we show you to the door.”
“Perhaps you’re hard of hearing,” Fernando adds when the men don’t budge. “The lady asked you to leave.” He walks closer, cracking his knuckles in a loud crescendo, which makes me want to hug him.
We watch in silence as they saunter out, gasping collectively when they’re gone.
Millie rushes to Fernando and kisses his cheek as Percy stands guard at the window, meowing loudly.
“Is it true?” Liza whispers. “What they said about…taking possession once there’s a tax lien on the building?”
I shake my head as Millie and Fernando look over. “No,” I say with more conviction than ever. “Until our very last moment, we’re going to keep selling books.”
* * *
—
“Hello,” I say, answering my phone in my most breathy, carefree voice. It’s 9:13 p.m.
I’ve just finished loading the dishwasher, and I’m in my sweats, about to head to bed with a book.
“Val? Hi, it’s Daniel.”
“Oh, hi, Daniel,” I say breezily, though my heart is beating so fast, I fear it might leap out of my chest. I remember Liza’s “rules,” and pause. “Um, will you just…give me a moment? I had a little party tonight and I…I’m just saying goodbye to…some friends.” I wave to a few imaginary party guests in the doorway, before sinking into the couch.
“How have you been?” he asks.
“Fine, great,” I say. “Excellent.”
“Fabulous,” he says. “Listen, I’m sorry I haven’t called. The craziest thing happened.”
“Oh? What?”
“The day after your event for the bookstore, I left my phone in a cab. It was a drag, and I was out of touch with everyone until I got it back this evening. I had to track it down from the driver, who had left on a trip to Ireland, but anyway, all is well.” He exhales deeply. “Anyway, I want to apologize to you, for the other night—in person.”
“It’s really okay, Daniel,” I say quickly. “Of course, I understand. And I’m sorry about your phone.”
“When I said in person, I meant it. I’m here now.”
I sit up in a momentary panic. “You are?”
“Yeah, I’m standing in front of your bookstore, at least I think I am. It’s the Book Garden, right? Didn’t you say that your flat is above?”
I cautiously peer over the sofa, look out the window, and there he is, standing on the sidewalk outside, holding a bouquet of flowers. I duck down immediately.
“Uh, yes, yes, it is.”
“So, you’re having a party?”
“Um,” I say. “Well, I was, but everyone…just left—through the back alley.”
“A shame,” he says. “It would have been lovely to meet them.” He pauses. “Hey, it might be too late, but I was thinking…maybe I could come up and say hi.”
“Oh,” I say, my heart racing as I immediately begin tidying up the flat. I shove a pile of laundry into the closet and toss an empty wine bottle into the trash can. “Now?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, if it’s too late, I can always…come back another time. I know it’s a bit last-minute.”
“No, no,” I say quickly, “It’s fine. Come up. Use the side entrance. The code is 7893. I’m on the third floor.”
What in the world did I just do? Daniel in my flat? I’m wearing sweatpants, for crying out loud. I race to the bedroom and change into a pair of skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder sweater. My heart lurches when I hear a knock at the door. I take a deep breath and turn the knob, and there he is, standing in my hallway.
“Hey,” Daniel says, a look of surprise on his face.
“Hey,” I say, leaning into the doorframe casually. He hands me a bouquet of flowers, grinning.
“Thank you,” I say, “they’re beautiful.”
“Tell me,” he says, casting an incredulous look my way as I fumble through the kitchen cabinets until I find a vase. “Do you always wear a mud mask when hosting a party?”
I touch my face, then gasp, remembering the black charcoal goo I’d smeared on my face a half hour ago. “Good Lord. I forgot I had this on!”