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“I didn't think she could surprise me anymore, but I guess that’s the thing about surprises—they come when you least expect.” — Untitled Henry Hayes Manuscript

I’ve barely had time to think or breathe the last few weeks between trying to polish off my manuscript, seeing my family again, and the signing event my publisher threw on me at the last minute.

Amelia has kept popping into my mind since she showed up at my apartment. If I’m honest with myself, she never really left to begin with, but the big declaration she made on my doorstep has left me smiling a bit too much.

Obviously, it feels good to know she’s going to fight for us, but I’m not totally giving in yet.

She needs to prove she can show up and stop running, but I’m not going to make it easy for her.

I don’t know if she expected me to take her back the other day, but I’d like to think she’s smarter than that.

Either way, she has been answering me more, and she has even called me a few times to chat.

I shake my head of all thoughts of Amelia as I finish signing some copies.

This event isn't going to be a huge thing because of how last minute it was. Not even my family is coming because they all had plans, which is fine. They’ve been to enough of my tour stops in Virginia to last a lifetime, but they were upset they were missing this one.

It’s the two-year anniversary of my debut novel that went number one on multiple charts, and to celebrate, my publisher printed an exclusive edition that will only be on sale for a limited time.

And there’s even a bonus chapter at the end, as well as a few book club questions in the back for people to discuss if they choose to do so.

This event doesn't come with a question-and-answer portion, just the signing, but as I step out onto the floor and notice a long line of people swinging around the store, I smile. I can’t believe this is my job, that people actually read what I write.

Today is one of the days I feel lucky for all the hard times writing has given me recently; no matter what happens in my personal life, writing will always be a place I can go to create something, even if it's just for myself.

That small ache still filters through my body at having nobody here to celebrate with me, but if everything works out, maybe Amelia can be by my side for these in the future.

“Thank you all for coming,” I say as I try to project my voice. Heads turn as they see me, eyes lighting up. It’s still weird having that effect on people, but I know I would look the exact same if I saw one of my favorite authors .

I start signing the book that started it all for me as people filter through the line, multiple people telling me they’re excited to see what I do next, which makes me equally excited and terrified.

I just turned in the first draft last week after struggling with it forever.

The trip to Oliver’s wedding helped more than I thought.

I came home from it feeling recharged and full of complex emotions.

The words eventually poured out of me as I sat at my desk each morning, and I couldn't believe I wrote as fast as I did.

Even Mitch was surprised. I ducked some of his calls a few times because I was too enthralled in my manuscript to stop.

He also got an earful of what happened at the wedding when I eventually answered him.

He was proud of me for sticking up for myself and my feelings, and even though he doesn't trust Amelia, he trusts I’m doing what I know is right.

In my mind, Amelia has always been right for me.

She’s always been the one, but this time, she has to prove it.

I don’t know how it happened, but we’ve switched places.

Back in college, I was the one chasing her.

Now, it’s the opposite. I hate that it feels good to be wanted again, and I’m trying my hardest to keep my walls up when it comes to her, but it’s been difficult keeping her at an arm's length.

As if she can sense I’m thinking about her, she suddenly appears in front of me, a small smile on her face as she gets up to my table.

“Hi,” is all she says. “Can you make them out to Mills, please?”

I smile, aware of what she’s doing, but as I open the book and try to get to the title page, my eyes catch on the small scribbles in the margins of my debut—the original cover.

Actually, as I sift through the pile she brought, I realize she has every single edition, foreign and domestic, of my books, all of them with scribbles in the margins.

I look back up to her, my mouth slack. Even while we were apart, Amelia still read my books. Amelia Ellis has read both of my books, and she even has multiple copies of them.

Surprise doesn't even begin to cover what I’m feeling .

“The second one was my favorite, but I was also a huge fan of the way you showed the relationship throughout the first one. It was…complicated, messy, and all too familiar.”

“Is that your review?” I ask, a small smile overtaking my face.

“No,” she says as I sign her books. “But I always knew you would make it as a writer, Henry. I’m still mad you wouldn't let me read your fantasy project when we were in college.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true,” I remind her.

“The first ten chapters of a first draft fantasy novel don’t count. It was all world building.”

I laugh as I sign the nickname I gave her way back when, and I can’t help as my heart starts to beat faster in my chest. Some strange hit of déjà vu overwhelms me, even though Amelia and I have never been in this situation before. “These books seem well loved.”

Her hand drags over the tattered cover of my debut novel, and I can tell by the way the spine is cracked that she’s read it more than once.

She still uses different colored pens when she rereads.

Whenever Amelia rereads a book, she uses a different colored pen than the time before, so she can tell how her opinions or feelings have changed.

There’s a rainbow of colors throughout my books, and I wish I had more time to ask her about them.

I want to know every single thought she had; talking with her about music and novels used to be my favorite thing to do.

Her eyes always lit up when she got in the zone, and I want to see that happen when she’s talking about the words I wrote.

As I sign her last book, she smiles at me as she looks at the inscription.

For Mills, my first reader, my favorite chapter, and the best plot twist.

She was always the person who wanted to listen to me talk about my ideas, no matter how fleshed out they were. We would take turns, in a way. One night, she would talk to me about an album or lyrics, and other times, she would let me rattle on about my ideas.

She was the first person I felt comfortable enough to share my ideas with, and I’ll never forget that. She was with me before I ever became somebody.

“I’ll always be your biggest fan, Hen,” she whispers to me. “Now, I won’t hold up the line.” She grabs her books from the table, and my hand grazes hers as she does.

“Thank you for coming,” I say, grasping her hand. “It means a lot.”

She smiles at me, her cheeks growing pink as she looks around. “I’m going to browse a little bit. I’m going to wait until you're done, if that’s okay with you?”

“That’s perfectly fine with me,” I say as I press my glasses up onto my nose, the next person coming up to the table and holding her books out to me. As Amelia moves to my peripheral, I let my smile take over my face, unable to hold it back any longer.

The signing only took a few hours, but with how late it is, I’m surprised to still see Amelia roaming the aisles of the bookstore, a few more books in her hands.

When she realizes I’m near, her head turns to me, and she looks down at her basket of books, a tote bag I assumed she borrowed from Paige hanging from her shoulder.

“I swear, I only meant to browse,” she laughs. “But you know how it is.”

“Browsing always turns into buying, Mills. As a fellow book lover, you should know that. ”

“Guilty,” she says as she holds the basket up, the two of us browsing before we come up on the shelf that holds mine. “I know him,” she says as she points at my books.

“Amelia…” I can feel my face get bright red as she says that.

“Come on,” she says, grabbing one off the shelf and handing it to me. “Hold it up for me. I want to take a picture of you with your debut novel that got you on all those lists you used to dream about being on.”

I can feel my smile sparkle. “You remembered?”

“Of course I did.” She smiles behind the camera. “I’m really proud of you, Henry. You were meant to be an author.”

“Thank you, Amelia. That means a lot,” I say as I stare at the book on my desk next to my laptop.

I’ve written plenty of manuscripts, but this one will always be special to me.

Not only was it the one that landed me the deal with my publisher, but it was the book I threw part of my soul into.

As I skim the pages, I’m hit with a wave of emotions.

My third book is slated to come out next year. I have lines of people excited to meet me. My life is what I always wanted it to be, and here’s Amelia, pointing out my books on the shelf of this bookstore, forcing me to take a picture with it.

“Are you all done meeting readers?” she asks, breaking me out of my haze.

“Yeah, I’m all set,” I say as we head for the checkout counter. “What do you have in that basket of yours?”

“Just a few recommendations from the girls and Grant. I missed a few books while I was gone, and they gave me a few of the top ones they still rave about. I figured I’d catch up. I have a lot of time on my hands since I’m unemployed.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” I say, my voice fading a bit as she checks out. I feel a bit out of place, unsure of what to do with my hands. Does she want to talk? Or is something else on her mind ?