Page 43 of The Now in Forever

I work harder than I have ever worked in my entire life. And I’ve taught a room full of fifteen-year-olds, fresh out of sex-ed, Romeo and Juliet. I know hard work. But this is another level. The bookstore demands all my time and energy.

The wallpaper is trickier than I originally thought.

My initial plan was to peel it all off, but I quickly found out that wasn’t going to be possible.

I tried a blow dryer, then a heat gun, and then when that didn’t work, a chemical stripper that stunk to the whole place up for an entire week.

When I finally got one long strip off, it was an even uglier wallpaper underneath. So, the floral yellow stays.

To patch up the holes, I’m having the local artist I hired to paint the steps like a bookshelf add more books inside each gap in the paper.

It’ll look like the wallpaper is hiding secret shelves.

Hopefully, it will be cute. He’s also going to paint the name of the store on the sign too, Story Club Books.

With some help from Robin and Nathan, we should be ready to open on the weekend of Fortune Falls Fall Festival, in two weeks.

This morning, I’m lying in bed a few extra minutes before I continue on the great shelf clean out. I’m going to put a fresh coat of paint on all the shelves, but first I need to box up the books—I’ve already completed a full inventory and ordered some new stock—and wipe all the shelves down.

Burrowing under my soft comforter to keep my limbs out of the chill in the air, I check my email.

There is one at the very top from Ed. Every day when I wake up, there’s an email from him.

He’s a late-night writer. I can picture him lying in his bed, his fingers flying over his phone like they were that day we went to the Hideout.

I’ve told him all about every inch of the bookstore and all my insane tasks to fix it up.

He’s told me all about the famous people he’s met and the fancy parties he’s been to.

My favorite emails, though, are the ones where he talks to me about nothing. Like the one he sent me last night.

Message sent: Friday September 20th 1:53 a.m.

If we were spies, what would our code names be?

Love,

Ed

P.S. I miss you.

Peeling myself out of bed, it’s too perfect a morning to pass up a run.

The shelves will still be there to clean when I get back.

Smiling in my kitchen alone, I brew some coffee.

Miss doesn’t even begin to describe my feelings for him.

I’m dressing in my running gear when the answer finally comes to me.

Message sent: Friday September 20th 5:53 a.m.

My code name would be Hush Hush. Yours would be Covert. We would have them embroidered on satin jackets like the pink ladies in Grease . The real question is, what or who would we be spying on ?

Love,

Hattie

P.S. I miss you too.

Putting in my earbuds, I turn my audiobook up and head out the door on my run.

The nip in the air is much fiercer outside than in my drafty apartment, making me glad I chose running tights and not shorts.

The leaves are turning from their summer green to vibrant yellows and oranges with the occasional pop of red.

The air smells of lit fireplaces, the occasional whiff of coffee and the ocean.

Stopping at a bakery on my way back, I order an egg bagel sandwich. Once I’m home and biting into the savory treat, I open my email again, hoping for the next one from Ed but knowing he’s probably not up yet.

Right at the top is an email from Mandy, the agent interested in my book.

I sent her my manuscript last week, after I made the suggested edits on my novel, which I finished late at night in my bed as a salve for my anxiety.

It was nice to escape into the fictional problems rather than the real-life question of if I made the right decision.

A mix of excitement and dread bubbles up from my toes, settling in my stomach as I open her email.

Message sent: Friday September 20th 6:41 a.m.

I love the changes! Would love to get on a call to discuss working together on this and future projects. When would be a good time?

Mandy

Holy shit. Holy shit. This is happening. My story is on its way to being a real book. I dial without thinking, my face staring back at me as I wait for him to answer.

Ed picks up on the second ring, his eyes sleepy, shirtless in the bed.

“Hattie…” He rubs his eyes. “Is everything okay?”

“Ed, I’m pretty sure I just got a literary agent.”

“Hattie! That’s amazing news! Although I’m not surprised. Your book is so good.” Ed read the latest version right after Mandy. He sits up, the blanket falling, exposing more of his bare chest.

“I know we’re not supposed to call. I was just so excited.”

“I’m glad you did.” His eyes are warm, his face sincere. My heart fills with stars. I don’t know what to say, so I’m not thinking when the next thing comes out.

“Do you think you’ll be able to make it to the opening?”

I invited Ed to Story Club Books's grand opening in an email last week. He replied how exciting but never said if he could come.

He closes his eyes. “I’m not sure.”

I smile. “That’s okay. I was just curious. I miss you, Edgar Allen DeArmas.”

He laughs, opening his eyes. “Still not my middle name.”

“I should go.”

He nods. “Congratulations, really. You’re killing it.”

Floating through my day, I have a great time with my bucket of soapy water and my audiobook on full blast. I focus on the fact that I have a literary agent and not on the feelings of guilt over breaking the email rule and asking Ed if he was coming to the opening.

At lunchtime, I open my email, and there is one at the top from Ed.

Message sent: Friday September 20th 10:37 a.m.

We’d spy on each other. Obviously.

Love,

Ed