Page 105 of When Forever Falls Apart

“Oh, Yvonne. I really can’t with her,” I say, suppressing my laugh.

“Yep, wish me luck tonight.” Billie waves goodbye and quickly rushes out the door.

Outside, the afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, almost skimming the horizon on this winter’s day. The snow has been lightly falling, a welcome relief from the recent snowstorms.

With the fireplace turned on, it’s warm and cozy in here, leaving me little motivation to depart the toasty space to head out into the brutal cold. I’ve just begun to open a box when the door chimes.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” I mutter, momentarily lost in my thoughts, battling the overwhelming to-do list growing in my mind.

When silence lingers in the air, I glance up, and the world tilts beneath me as I lock eyes with Elliot. Everything within me begins to unravel at the sight of him. It’s been months since our paths last crossed, and in that time, I’ve foughtto piece myself together amid the wreckage of a shattered heart.

With a heavy sigh, I drop my eyes back to the boxes, attempting to mask the sudden surge of emotions at seeing the ghost of my past. A ghost who, despite looking slightly different than I remember, still looks devastatingly handsome.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice a mix of annoyance and curiosity.

He takes a step closer, and instinctively, I take a step back, scared to close the gap between us. “I’m looking for a book.”

Unable to hide my annoyance, a huff escapes my lips. “You don’t read romance.”

Elliot remains quiet, a flicker of determination in his blue eyes. He’s wearing a thick black wool coat with snowflakes still sitting on his broad shoulders. From my stolen glance earlier, his body looks different, more buff. But then again, with the layers he’s wearing, that could be an illusion.

“I’m after a book with specific tropes,” he states.

I roll my eyes at his pathetic attempt to lure me into a conversation. “Do you even know what a trope is?”

“Yes, it’s a significant or recurrent theme,” he replies, his tone surprisingly confident.

“Did ChatGPT tell you that?” I shoot back, my gaze piercing as I do my best to fight every part of me that is falling apart at the sight of him. “Okay, I’ll bite. So what tropes are you after?”

“Small town,” he answers quickly.

I point to the shelves, resisting the urge to roll my eyes again. “Left aisle.”

“And friends-to-lovers.”

“Middle shelf,” I direct, crossing my arms.

“Second chance.”

Another huff escapes my lips as I place my hands firmly on my hips. “I don’t think you’ll find anything with all three.Usually, friends-to-lovers culminates in a happily ever after. But second-chance? That’s pretty rare.”

“I see.” Elliot moves closer again, but I take another step back.

I take a moment to consider. “My suggestion would be this one.”

My hands reach into the bookshelf to pick up a colorful cover adorned with charming illustrations. “If you enjoy it, the series continues. Assuming, of course, you actually read it.”

To avoid any accidental contact, I place it on the counter.

Then, the familiar blue-eyed dapper best friend of mine moseys on out from the storeroom after a very long afternoon nap. Honestly, I don’t blame him, I could have napped, too.

“There’s a sausage dog in your bookstore,” Elliot points out in disbelief.

“He’s a miniature dachshund. And yes, that’s Douglas,” I answer nonchalantly.

“Douglas?”

“Yes, Douglas.”