Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Emma

Seriously, this damn glitter was everywhere .

I’d been sweeping for what felt like hours, and still , tiny sparkles caught the late afternoon light streaming through the bookstore windows. It was like a unicorn exploded in my children’s section. And somehow, impossibly, I really didn’t mind.

My lips curved remembering the details of the morning’s reading event. Wade, sitting cross-legged on the floor, doing different voices for each character in “The Gruffalo.” The kids crowded around him, completely enchanted. Even little Sophie, who never warmed up to strangers, had ended up in his lap by the end of the story.

“Traitors, all of you,” I muttered, glancing at Porky sprawled near the door in a pool of sunshine. He’d spent the entire morning following Wade around like a lovesick teenager, accepting treats and belly rubs with shameless enthusiasm. Now he just thumped his tail lazily at my accusation, not even bothering to look guilty.

I dumped another dustpan full of glitter into the trash, catching my reflection in the window. My hair was falling out of its messy bun, and there was a smudge of purple glitter on my cheek that refused to budge. But what caught my attention was the smile I couldn’t seem to shake.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

Wade James wasn’t supposed to be good with kids. He wasn’t supposed to charm my dog, or remember how I took my coffee, or look at me like... like he knew me. Really knew me.

The bell above the door chimed, and Silvy breezed in, carrying two cups from Sandy Sips.

“I come bearing caffeine and curiosity,” she announced, setting one cup on the counter. “Spill.”

“Shouldn’t you still be at your dentist appointment?” I asked innocently.

Silvy had the grace to look a little sheepish, but waved her hand dismissively. “Rescheduled. Turns out my cavity could wait, but town gossip can’t. Now stop deflecting.”

I grabbed the coffee gratefully. “There’s nothing to spill.”

“Really?” My friend perched on the counter, raising an eyebrow. “Because Mr. Thomson said Sandy said Wade’s been back at least three times this afternoon, and Mrs. Peabody swears she caught him teaching Porky to fetch this morning.”

“Omg. Does anyone in this town mind their own damn business? Or you know… maybe just not make stuff up?”

“Nope,” Silvy said, popping the “p” with a little too much relish. “So start talking, sister.”

I sighed, leaning against a nearby bookshelf. “It’s not... I don’t know what it is. He’s just...” I gestured vaguely with my free hand.

“Smokin’ hot? 10/10 charming? 1000 percent smitten with you?”

“Confusing,” I finished. “One minute he’s all smooth-talking playboy with too much time and money on his hands, and the next he’s sitting on my floor covered in glitter, making big bad wolf noises for a bunch of kids.”

Silvy’s grin only widened. “And this is a problem because...?”

“Because people like Wade James don’t just ‘decide’ to settle down in small towns and shack up with small-fry bookstore owners. They don’t read books to a bunch of kids. They don’t...” I trailed off, remembering the way his hand brushed mine earlier, the faint flash of familiarity that came with it. “And they don’t look at you like they know you.”

Something flickered in Silvy’s expression. “Maybe some people surprise you.”

I took another sip of coffee, trying to ignore the way my heart jumped at her words. “Maybe some surprises aren’t worth the risk.”

But even as I said it, I couldn’t quite convince myself it was true.

“Besides,” I added, straightening a row of books more forcefully than necessary, “I’m sure he’ll be leaving soon anyway. Back to his tech empire in Miami or whatever society event his family’s trying to drag him to next.”

Silvy’s expression turned shrewd. “Is that what he told you?”

“He doesn’t have to tell me. Men like Wade don’t—“ I stopped abruptly as a fragment of memory hit me: the smell of coffee, heated debates about fate versus choice, fluorescent lights at 3 AM. For a moment, I could almost hear the passion in someone’s voice, see hands gesturing animatedly across a worn cafe table.

“Em? You okay?”

I blinked, the image dissolving as quickly as it had come. “Yeah, just... déjà vu or something.”

Silvy nodded, then gave me a considering look. “You know, for someone who claims not to care, you’ve put a lot of thought into his life.”

“I just don’t get him,” I said, though the words felt uncertain even to me. “He built this massive tech company, but instead of being at some Miami social gala, he’s here helping kids with glitter and storybooks.”

“Remind you of anyone?” Silvy raised an eyebrow. “You walked away from that world too, remember? All those expectations, the pressure to be someone you’re not?”

“That’s different?—“

“Is it? Em,” Silvy said gently, “maybe the reason you’re so determined to put Wade in a box is because you recognize something in him. That same need to escape, to build something that’s all your own. To just... be.”

“I’m not—“ I stopped, catching my reflection in the window. There was still glitter on my cheek from the morning’s reading session, and unbidden, I remembered the way Wade had ducked another call from his sister and sat on the floor with those kids, completely unconcerned about his designer jeans. Surrounded by books and children’s laughter, he’d looked… at peace.

“All I’m saying,” Silvy continued, “is that maybe you two have more in common than you think. And maybe you should judge Wade by who he is, not where he came from.”

The words hit closer to home than I wanted to admit. I turned away, busying myself with straightening already-straight books. “Don’t you have another dentist appointment to get to?”

“Actually, I have a date.”

That got my attention. “With Dr. Matthews?” I squealed and clapped my hands.

“The very same.” Her grin was infectious. “See? At least some of us aren’t afraid to take chances on hotter than Hades professionals who waltz into our lives unexpectedly.”

“That’s different,” I protested. “You and James only met for the first time last month. And there’s no... complications.”

“Ah yes. Complications. And what complications do you and Wade have exactly?”

I opened my mouth to answer, then closed it again. How could I explain something I didn’t understand myself? The way he looked at me lately… like he was waiting for something. The fragments of memory I kept having that didn’t quite fit together. The feeling that I was missing something important.

“Okay. Stepping off my soapbox for now. Absolutely be careful with that heart of yours, Em, I know you have your reasons to be guarded,” Silvy said softly, heading for the door. “Just don’t be so careful that you forget to use it.”

The bell chimed as she left, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the stubborn glitter that refused to be swept away. Just like the nagging feeling that Wade James wasn’t just another chapter in my story—he might be one I’d read before.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of customers, coffee, and inventory tasks. By closing time, my shoulders ached from restocking the heavy art books and rearranging the new fiction display. The door chimed just as I was about to flip the sign.

“Still finding glitter?” Wade asked, stepping inside.

“I’m pretty sure it’s multiplying.” I tried for a casual tone, despite the way my pulse sped up. “What brings you by so late?”

“Thought you might like some help closing up.” He held out a paper bag that smelled suspiciously like Sandy’s famous chocolate chip cookies. “Peace offering for enabling Silvy’s sparkle revolution this morning.”

We made short work of the rest of my task list, straightening shelves and updating inventory. Wade moved through the store with the same quiet efficiency he brought to everything, pausing occasionally to study titles that caught his eye.

“You never did tell me,” he said as he reshelved a collection of poetry, “why a bookstore?”

I paused in my counting of the register. “What do you mean?”

“Just curious what made you choose this path.” His tone was casual, but something in his expression made me wonder if he was asking himself the same question about his own choices.

“Because books are magic,” I said finally, the truth easier than I expected. “They let you be whoever you want to be. No expectations except the ones you choose for yourself.”

Something flickered in his expression. “A refuge.”

“Yeah.” I looked around my store––my dream––with its carefully curated sections and cozy reading nooks. “Sometimes we all need a place where we can escape the world, if only for a little while.”

The silence that followed felt weighted with understanding––and something else I wasn’t ready to name.

“I should go,” he said finally. “Early call tomorrow.”

Right. Because despite the way he seemed to find peace here among the shelves, Wade still had a life I pretended not to understand. A world I’d walked away from.

“Sure. Goodnight, Wade.”

He paused at the door. “For what it’s worth, Emma? What you’ve built here? It matters.”

The bell chimed, and he was gone, leaving me with the uncomfortable feeling that maybe I’d been too quick to assume which world Wade James wanted to belong to.

* * *

I was just starting to lock everything up when Meg called out from across the street, “Emma! Hey, hold the door!”

She jogged over with her camera bag bouncing against her hip and stepped inside the bookshop. “I just wanted to show you. I got some great candids today. Thought you might want some copies for your store’s social media.”

Right. She’d been shooting the story time event for the Beachy Keen Reads Instagram account I’d been attempting to grow. I’d almost forgotten she was there, she had such a way of blending into the background when she worked.

“Sure, thanks.” I waited as she tinkered with some of the buttons on her camera, muttering under her breath.

“Oh yes, here it is. Look at this one,” she exclaimed, turning the display toward me.

The photo made me pause.

Wade sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by kids, but it wasn’t the posed reading shot I expected. He was laughing at something off-camera, head thrown back, completely unselfconscious. Glitter sparkled in his dark hair, and his rolled-up sleeves revealed the edge of what looked like a tattoo. He looked... content. Happy. Nothing like the billionaire playboy I’d convinced myself he was.

“You know what I love about candids?” Meg asked, studying the image. “They catch people in their truest moments, when they’re not trying to be anything for anyone else.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes way from the photo. From the genuine joy on Wade’s face, so different from his usual careful smile he turned on the rest of the world.

“Want to know something funny?” Meg clicked to the next shot––this one of Porky sprawled contentedly at Wade’s feet. “This reminds me of those photos I took at the Anderson wedding last month. You know, when that guy in the thousand-dollar suit ended up sitting in the grass playing with all the kids?”

I smiled despite myself. “How’d that turn out?”

“Oh, that suit was ruined, full stop. But the shots… they were the best ones of the day.” She gave me a sidelong look. “Sometimes the real story isn’t what people want you to see. It’s what they show you when they forget anyone else is watching.”

Meg smiled and gave me a tiny little salute, before stepping outside and heading back in the direction of her studio.

I finished locking the doors and gathered my things, Porky padding quietly beside me as we walked through the darkening streets. The winter evening was chilly, but I barely noticed, my mind replaying Wade’s words.

What you’ve built here.

Not what you’re doing here, or what you’re playing at here. What you’ve built.

I stopped and turned to look back the way I came. Main Street was quiet at this hour, most of the shops already closed. But my store’s window display still glowed softly, casting warm light onto the sidewalk. Staring at it, it was like I was suddenly seeing through different eyes.

The carefully arranged books, the hand-painted sign, the cozy reading nook visible through the glass. Five years of early mornings and late nights, of tight budgets and big dreams, of creating something that was entirely mine, that no one could take from me or hold over my head to try to control me.

A glint caught my eye––more of Silvy’s rebellious glitter, no doubt––and I found myself smiling despite everything. Maybe that was the real magic of this place. Not that it was perfect or prestigious, but that it was real.

Messy and wonderful and completely authentic.

Just like life in Seashell Cove.

As I turned toward home, something else tugged at the edges of my memory––not the strange coffee shop déjà vu from earlier, but a different kind of remembering. The feeling of finally being exactly where I was meant to be, even if the path getting here hadn’t been what I’d expected.

“Come on, you walking garbage disposal,” I murmured to Porky, who was sniffing hopefully around Sandy’s bakery door. “Those cookies aren’t going to magically appear just because you’ve mastered the sad eyes.”

He gave me his best wounded look before trotting ahead, tail wagging as if to say he’d wear me down eventually. Grinning faintly, I shook my head at the dogs antics and followed him. Still lost in thought, I couldn’t stop wondering if maybe, just maybe, I’d been too quick to assume I knew exactly who Wade James was.