With Love from London(96)

I feel weak—and angry—as I sink into the chair beside me. But for the first time in so long, I also feel loved.





Seventeen Years Later

Valentine’s Day



A deliveryman walked into the bookstore holding an enormous bouquet of ivory and pink roses. “Eloise Baker?”

“Yes,” I said, a bit confused. “There must be some mistake.” Who would send me flowers?

He shrugged, handing me an envelope. I tore open the edge and read the card inside:


Eloise,

If I were a country farmer, and you were a sophisticated bookstore owner, would you marry me anyway, would you be my lady?

Yours, always

and forever,

E





At first, I laughed, then tears stung my eyes. Edward.

Millie was on the top rung of a ladder taping red and pink paper hearts to the window when she saw the flowers on the front counter. I wondered if she’d noticed the earth shift on its axis as I read the card.

“Who sent those?” she asked, climbing down.

“A…customer,” I said. “For Valentine’s Day…I guess.” My heart raced as I tucked the card into my pocket. I wanted to keep the moment to myself, at least for now.

Millie watched me curiously, but then turned to the door when a young woman walked in. She was about the age Val would be right now, I guessed.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully. “I’m here about the first-floor flat for rent.”

“Yes,” I said, coming to my senses. I placed a sign in the window just yesterday after we’d had the oven replaced and refinished the hardwood floors.

“Oh my gosh,” she gushed. “Is this the most adorable bookstore of all time, or what?”

She was in her early thirties, I guessed, if that, with a rather eclectic sense of style that matched her personality. I liked her instantly.

“I’m Eloise,” I said. “And this is Millie.”

The young woman smiled. “Is your formal name Millifred or Millicent? Millesandra?”

“Just Millie.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Eloise and Just Millie. I’m Just Liza. And unfortunately, my parents were not the literary types, so there was no inspiration taken from Eliza Doolittle. Dad was a car mechanic, and Mum didn’t finish school. I honestly don’t know if either of them has ever completed an entire book in their lives.” She shrugged. “But I have. A zillion of them. I love books.” She spun around to survey the shop. “And maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll be the girl who gets to live above all these stories. Hey, I wonder if that means you’d have really sweet dreams living here?”

Millie laughed. “I’m not quite sure about that, but I can take you up to see the flat.”

The expression on Millie’s face was a carbon copy of mine—somewhere between amusement and curiosity. I decided, right then and there, that even if Liza’s name wasn’t inspired by classic literature, she was still one of the most interesting characters I’d ever met.

“I’ll take it!” she said thirty seconds after stepping foot in the flat.

“She’s a lively one,” Millie said after she was gone.

“And just what we need around here,” I said, agreeing. “Some youthful energy.”

Millie looked up at the heart-studded window and frowned.

“I see your vendetta against Valentine’s Day is still alive and well.”

“It’s as strong as ever,” she replied, ever the romantic cynic.

“Well, bahumbug all you like, but people expect a whimsical flair from their neighborhood bookstore.” I glanced back at the flowers on the counter. “Besides, who knows what Cupid has up his sleeve.” Percy waddled over with a red bow affixed to his collar and pressed himself against the side of my leg. “Millie, try as you might, you don’t fool me for a second. Underneath all those hardened layers, you’re a softie. And one of these days, some man is going to walk through that door and pierce that jaded heart of yours, you’ll see.”

“We don’t sell that kind of romance novel here,” she said, cracking the tiniest smile as she climbed down the ladder to have a look at the window decorations. “Is it whimsical enough for you?”

“It’s perfect,” I said, grinning.

“Good,” Millie added. “Because I’m nominating you for the St. Patrick’s Day décor.”

“Deal.” I paused, wincing a little, as a surge of pain radiated from my lower back. I reached my arm around and clutched the side of my hip.

“You okay, El?”

“Yeah,” I replied, a bit breathless. “But it’s odd. I’ve been getting these strange back pains lately—probably just digestive issues.” I found a bottle of Advil behind the counter and took two.

“When’s the last time you had a physical exam?” Millie asked.

“I’m embarrassed to admit, but I really have no idea. Maybe sometime after Valentina was born?”

“Eloise, you can’t be serious!”

I shrugged. “You know I never get sick.”

“Still,” Millie said. “You should go see Dr. Hester. Just to make sure everything’s all right.”