With Love from London(25)

How foolish I’d been. To Edward, I was clearly no more than a fleeting memory. But I’d built up our connection in my mind, which I realized was only a work of fiction. It was all a silly fairy tale.

I turned to Frank, finally giving him the attention he deserved. “Yes,” I said, this time without hesitation. It was a reflex. It was the only answer. “Yes, Frank Baker. I will marry you. I will come to California.”





The Next Day



Millie waves from the children’s book area, where she’s helping a mother and her two young boys.

I stand over to the side and watch her pull a copy of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea from the shelf, listening as she tells them all about Captain Nemo and his adventures chasing after a giant monster roaming the high seas.

The boys stand in rapt attention. They are hooked.

“Excuse me,” I say, kneeling on the rug beside one of the children. “I couldn’t help but notice that you like adventure stories.” I scan a nearby shelf, then reach for a copy of Beyond the Bright Sea, my mind still fresh with the memory of reading the book when I’d covered for the children’s librarian during her maternity leave several months ago. As I describe the story, I can feel salty air on my cheeks, and my young client’s interest rising.

After she rings up the purchase for both books, Millie waves goodbye to them, then approaches me as I look through a stack of new books. “I’m sorry for my…tone yesterday,” she says. “Your mother poured her heart into this place, and”—she looks around the store, a thousand memories evident in her eyes—“I guess my fears got the better of me. Clearly, you are here to help.” She swallows hard. “Forgive me?”

I have a lump in my throat, too, but am quick to navigate our conversation to friendlier seas. I tell her about the copy of The Last Winter I’d taken with me yesterday, and the mysterious commentary inside. “Sounds fascinating,” she says, raising an eyebrow.

“And even more, I found a letter from my mother inside.”

Millie nods. “That sounds like the work of Eloise.”

“Yes,” I say. “She loved scavenger hunts. When I was ten, she planted fifteen clues in the house that led me to a chest hidden in the garden.”

“And what was inside?”

“The new release from my favorite author, and a note that said the freezer was stocked with my favorite ice cream.”

“That sounds about right.”

I smile. “But I might need a little help with this one.”

“Oh?”

“She mentioned something about a culinary place where flowers grow. Something about finding a clue on a shelf. The fourth shelf, I think.”

Millie nods. “Down the street—Café Flora—the owner was one of her dearest friends.”

Before I can thank her, or ask for more, a couple enters the store—the man and woman make a beeline to Millie.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the woman says, frowning. She’s about my age, and her tone is pressing, urgent. “I need your help.” She’s very pretty, but has the air of someone who knows it, with her coifed blond locks and razor-sharp features. Her black leggings and cropped hoodie accentuate her svelte figure.

Millie smiles placidly, like a retail veteran who has survived many a battle with the public, though I know the bulk of her thick skin was built in the courtroom, not on the bookstore floor. “Yes, of course, what can I do for you?”

The woman sighs—clearly, this has been a very hard day. “I need to find a book for my niece—a particular copy she wants. Today’s her birthday and if I can’t find it, I…well, it wouldn’t be a good thing, if you know what I mean.” She forms her hand into the letter L and holds it to her forehead. “You know, total auntie fail.”

Her husband, or boyfriend—a tall, dark-haired man in a gray sweater—nods at Millie as if they’ve met before, then shrinks into the historical fiction section. They’re attractive—each of them—and yet, somehow, they seem like an odd couple together.

“I tried to order it online,” the woman continues, “but I got an email last night saying the delivery would be delayed until next Tuesday. I mean, seriously? I paid for overnight shipping, and now I actually have to get in my car and drive to a bookstore? At first, I was like, do bookstores even exist anymore? Didn’t the Internet put them all out of business?”

Millie and I exchange knowing looks.

“But what do I know? My boyfriend, Eric, is a bookworm, and he knew about this shop.” She smiles sweetly. “He said you could help.”

“Yes,” Millie says calmly, although I can tell she’s boiling over inside. The woman’s comments were infuriating. Ignorant, even. But to Millie and me, these were also fighting words—and our common ground. How dare she. I glance at the boyfriend nearby, and he’s either oblivious to her ramblings or he’s trying his best to ignore them—judging by his uncomfortable expression, I’d put money on the latter.

Somehow, Millie is as cool as a cucumber. “I assure you, Miss…?”

“Easton. Fiona Easton.”

“Miss Easton, yes. You see, my dear, you’re quite mistaken. Bookstores are far from dead.”

“Well,” Fiona says, “I didn’t mean that, I only meant—”