Page 39 of For My Finale
E veline Auclair unlocked the connecting door to The Turned Page with a practiced flick of her wrist, the familiar jingle of her shop keys providing the only cheerful note to her morning so far. Her normal shower had been cool and distinctly lacking in pressure, a far from perfect start to her day.
She pushed open the door and immediately sensed that something was wrong. A musty smell hung in the air, and when she flipped on the lights, she let out a string of French curses that would have made her grandmother reach for the soap.
Water.
Everywhere.
A steady drop fell from the ceiling near the rare book section, forming a puddle that had already claimed several volumes of what appeared to be first editions.
“Putain,” she swore, rushing forward and carefully lifting the sodden books. Her dark eyes flashed with anger as she assessed the damage. Some of these were irreplaceable. An early Austen, a signed Dickens, and a 1920s poetry collection that she’d spent three years tracking down.
She set the damaged books on the counter and grabbed her phone, dialing the plumber with one hand while pulling buckets from a store cupboard with the other.
“Monsieur Chapman,” she snapped when he answered.
“There is water coming through my ceiling. Again. I thought you said that it was now repaired.”
As she listened to his excuses, she swept up her long, dark hair into a messy knot and secured it with a pencil from the counter.
The man was utterly useless, and yet he was the only plumber she knew, it would take weeks to get anyone else to come out.
She sighed and agreed to an appointment that evening when the shop would be closed.
She was still arranging buckets when the bell above the door jingled, announcing her first customer of the day, right on schedule, as he’d been for the last seven years.
“Morning, Miss Fontaine,” Abe called out, his wrinkled face breaking into a smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Spot of trouble?” He gestured toward the buckets with his cane.
“Good morning, Abe,” Eveline replied, voice warming slightly. “Just the usual. Old pipes in an old building.”
“And a plumber willing to take you for a ride, I’ll bet.”
“Something like that,” she said, straightening up from positioning the last bucket and smoothing out her skirt. “Tea?”
“Wouldn’t say no, love.” Abe settled into his usual armchair by the window, the one Eveline kept specifically for him, though she’d never admit it. “Got any of those nice biscuits? The ones with the chocolate?”
Eveline rolled her eyes, but headed to the small kitchenette behind the counter. “One day, your doctor will scold me for enabling your sugar addiction.”
“I’m eighty-four,” Abe chuckled. “If sugar was going to kill me, it’s taking its own sweet time about it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “I’ve got something for you to order.”
Eveline returned with the tea tray, setting it on the small table next to him. “Let me guess, a thriller about a retired detective solving crimes in a quaint English village that somehow, illogically, becomes the murder capital of the country.”
“Not at all,” Abe said, his eyes twinkling as he handed her a newspaper clipping. “I read this review of an Emerald Pearl book. When a Bride Meets a Groom . Sounds like just the ticket for some light reading.”
Eveline’s face fell as she took the article, holding it between two fingers as if it might contaminate her. “A romance novel? Really, Abe? I thought you had better taste.”
“Don’t be such a snob,” he retorted, helping himself to a biscuit. “Just because they’ve got happy endings doesn’t mean they’re rubbish.”
“They are the literary equivalent of cotton candy,” said Eveline. “All sugar, no substance, and they rot your brain.”
“We call it candy floss over here,” said Abe. “And it rots your teeth, not your brain. Besides, my Agnes loved a good romance novel. Said they reminded her of why we fell in love in the first place.”
Eveline sighed. She knew better than to disparage anything connected to Abe’s late wife. She might have a heart of stone at times, but it turned to cotton wool where Abe was concerned. “Fine. I’ll order it. Just don’t expect me to read it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Abe said with a satisfied smile.
The bell jingled again, and this time a large woman bustled in, a basket over her arm. The smell of fresh pastries immediately cut through the scent of damp books.
“Morning, all,” Maya said cheerfully. Her graying hair was escaping from its bun, giving her a windswept look. “I brought croissants. Well, the ones that didn’t get as curvy as I’d like. Oh dear, is that water?” She frowned at the buckets.
“Leak still not fixed properly,” Eveline said, accepting the basket gratefully. “And you’re an angel, I swear, these are almost as good as French ones.”
“Nonsense,” said Maya, but she blushed. Then she caught sight of the article on the shop counter. “Ooo, who’s reading Emerald Pearl? Her last one had me in tears.”
Eveline’s nostrils flared. “Not you too.”
“Eveline, my love,” Maya patted her arm, leaving a trace of flour on Eveline’s shirt sleeve. “You need some romance in your life. A nice man, or woman, or whatever you prefer.”
“I do not need romance,” said Eveline, brushing the flour away. “What I need is a reliable plumber. And customers who buy actual literature.”
Maya exchanged a look with Abe. “Mmmhmmm. You just keep telling yourself that, dear.”
Eveline busied herself arranging the croissants on a plate, avoiding Maya’s all too perceptive gaze. “Don’t you have a bakery to run?”
“That I do,” Maya said. “And I can also take a hint. Remember though, my nephew is single and he loves a good book.”
“Goodbye,” Eveline said firmly, taking Maya’s elbow and turning her toward the door.
“Fine, fine. Just you think about it,” said Maya. “He’s a good looking man, got a steady job—”
“Out!”
Maya was laughing as she left the shop.
THE REST OF the day passed in a blur of customers, rearranging displays, and frequent bucket emptying. By closing time, Eveline’s feet were aching, and she still needed to deal with Chapman the plumber. She was just counting the till when Clare, her part-time assistant, burst through the door.
“It’s your day off,” Eveline said, looking up, surprised.
“I know, I know,” said Clare. Then she stopped short, taking in Eveline’s disheveled appearance and the buckets still littering the floor. “What happened?”
“Life happened,” said Eveline wearily. “It’s fine. I managed.”
Clare bit her lip. “Um, I don’t think I’m about to help when it comes to managing things,” she said. “The thing is, I can’t work anymore.”
Eveline looked up from the pile of change she’d been counting. “What?”
“I got accepted into a study abroad program,” Clare said, looking genuinely apologetic. “I thought I didn’t get in, but then it turns out that the letter was lost, and I am and… Well, I don’t have time to give proper notice. I leave next week.”
“Next week,” Eveline said faintly .
“You’re not cross, are you?” Clare said anxiously. “I know autumn is your busy season…”
Eveline forced herself to smile. “Non, of course not. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Clare beamed. “I’m honestly really sorry.” She looked down and picked up something off the floor. The article that Abe had clipped. “Emerald Pearl? I ordered twenty of those last week, they should be in any time soon.”
“Twenty?” Eveline said, eyes widening in horror. “I only need one for Abe!”
“She’s doing a signing down the road,” Clare said. “Which means we might get the overspill when they sell out over there. Plus, Pearl always sells, you know she does.”
Eveline sighed. “Fine, fine. Twenty copies of mindless drivel that I’ll have to find space for.”
After Clare had spent twenty minutes talking her ear off about Lisbon, and Chapman the plumber had come and smacked a hole in the ceiling, patched up a pipe, and said the problem was as good as solved, Eveline finally got to lock up the shop.
She trudged up the narrow staircase to her flat.
The small space was the very opposite of the organized chaos below.
Pristine, minimalist, white walls adorned only by a few black and white photographs.
She kicked her heels off, poured herself a generous glass of red wine, and sank onto her sofa. Silence wrapped around her, comforting and relaxing. She glanced at her phone. Not a call, not a text. Just what she wanted to see.
And yet, as she sipped her wine and looked out over the twinkling lights of Notting Hill, Eveline couldn’t quite ignore the hollow feeling in her chest. It wasn’t loneliness, whatever Maya might think.
It was… She sighed. She had no idea what it was.
She was tired, she’d had a long day, maybe it was just that. Fatigue.
The constant battle to keep the shop afloat, the constant competition with online sellers and big chains. Chains that could afford splashy book signings with authors like Emerald Pearl.
Fatigue of the name Emerald Pearl, for that matter. Even the name irritated her. Twenty copies she’d have tomorrow of When a Bride Meets a Groom . And no assistant to help her sell them.
She drained her wine glass and stood up, moving to her small desk where she kept a stack of resumes of people that had dropped in asking about work.
She needed to hire someone quickly. Someone reliable and knowledgeable about books.
Preferably someone immune to romance. The last thing she needed was another Maya in her life.
But as she tried to read through the stack, something distracted her. A noise. The constant tap-tapping of water. She groaned.
So much for the problem being solved.
She put her shoes back on and grabbed her keys. A new assistant would have to be a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, she had more pressing concerns. Like making sure her first editions didn’t dissolve into papier maché overnight.