“Nobody said I was smart,” I say. “I’ve been called boring and dependable my entire life. I wanted to shake things up a bit. It was part of my new year’s resolutions, believe it or not.”

  Noah rolls his eyes. “I hate those. I hate that people pressure themselves at the beginning of the year when they can make a change at any given time.”

  I snort. “It’s not really working out for me, though,” I say. “I haven’t changed all that much.”

  “Because you’re putting everything that you are into running this place. Honestly, I can’t believe my aunt saddled everything with you last minute and then took off.”

  I shrug, uncomfortable with the subject at hand. I don’t want to badmouth Mrs. Bristol, but it’s definitely been on my mind, how she just dumped all of this work on me without giving me time to expect it or adjust.

  “Come on, let me take you out. You can show me different parts of the city,” he says, cajoling me into doing what he wants.

  I glance at everything around me. “Fine, after we close up tonight. I’ll take you to the Old Port.”

  Noah smiles big and wide, like I’ve made him truly happy. He swoops down to kiss my cheek, and when I tilt my head up in a silent demand for a kiss, he obliges me.

  “It’s a date.”

  It’s still bitter cold enough that we have to wear our hats and gloves, and there’s not much to see at the Old Port at night. You can’t see the water or anything like that, and it’s not that busy, even though spring supposedly looms around the corner.

  I chatter about the history of the place, and thankfully, Noah listens to me.

  We walk around the boardwalk, looking around for a cute little café to find solace from the wind and cold, my boots scuffing along the cobblestone streets.

  Once inside a café aptly named Deux Crèmes, we order some hot chocolate with whipped cream and take a seat across from each other.

  It’s weird, seeing Noah out of the context of the store, like it was seeing him at the dinner club we went to last week.

  And yet, he’s very much still the same.

  I’ve got so much at stake and tied up in the book shop that I don’t really know how to be anything, anyone else. But Noah’s sort of leading the way, and I’m following along.

  “How nervous are you that we aren’t at the store right now?” he asks, grinning over the rim of his mug.

  “That’s not a thing that you know,” I say, licking up some of the whipped cream.

  Noah groans, his cheeks going pink as he looks at me. “You did that on purpose,” he says, pushing back from the table and settling deeply into his chair.

  “I just licked up some whipped cream. You don’t have to lose your head over it.”

  “Evie, seriously, do you not know the effect you have on me? Really?”

  I drink some of my hot chocolate, scalding my tongue. I keep my mouth shut and listen to him instead.

  “I don’t kiss just anyone. And I know that we haven’t known each other long, but we’ve been working long hours together for weeks and weeks.”

  I gulp, and nod slowly.

  “Evie, you’re…you’re one of the best people I know.”

  I burst out laughing, trying to stifle it by drinking more hot chocolate. “That’s absurd,” I say on a petering laugh, because Noah’s does not look amused.

  “Why?” he asks, and my throat tightens up at the gentle question.

  I shake my head. “You must not know a lot of people,” I murmur, when I know that isn’t the case. Noah makes friends with everybody. That’s just the way he’s wired. My sister and I, we look like we want to set fire to people if they get too close.

  It’s just the way it is.

  “I’m not that interesting.”

  Noah grins at me.

  “What? What’s so funny?” I ask, spoiling for a fight.

  “Evie, you know random shit from all the books you read, you’re the hardest worker I know even if the place is falling down around our ears. Do you know how many people couldn’t have adapted the way you did when my aunt just dropped everything to go on a trip?” Noah shakes his head, incredulous. “You don’t know. You think everyone is just like you. Well, they’re not. You’re one of a kind, Evie Prewitt, and I want you to know that I—”

  I gulp as Noah glances off to the left, notching his chin to someone behind me. I turn to look to find a familiar-looking guy standing by the doorway, holding on to my cousin Izzy’s hand.

  I gape, my jaw dropping low like one of those cartoon characters. Oh my God.

  Izzy freezes, too, and pulls the guy who I think I know but can’t place his face in my memory, dragging him out of the door.

  I snort, turning back to Noah. “As if running away is going to make me forget what I just saw. The family group chat is going to lose its mind over the news,” I sniff, drinking some more of my hot chocolate.

  Conversation steers away from Noah’s supposed confession and the way he feels about me.

  I can only take it at first glance—he hasn’t said anything about staying, about wanting to stay with me. Maybe I haven’t given him enough reason to stay, either.

  Maybe I haven’t been putting out those reciprocating signals.

  I lick my lips free of chocolate, listening to Noah talk about one of his excursions out in New Zealand (Christchurch) where he bungee jumped from a stupid high place and lived to tell the tale.

  I shiver and shake my head. “Nope, never doing that again,” I say. “Jumping out of the plane was enough for me. Nope, my feet are staying on the ground from now on.”

  Noah’s laughing, and he leans over to the napkin dispenser to give me a couple, scratching at his cheek.

  I wipe said cheek and find a smear of whipped cream that’s been left behind, my blush feeling like it’s eating my whole face with heat.

  Noah reaches out slowly for one of my hands, and I let him cradle it in his grip, my heart hammering in my chest like it’s about to make a run for it, when I want to make a run for it.

  “Noah,” I say, clearing my throat. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m with you. I want to be with you.”

  Again, I try to read between the lines, the subtext, the underlying words that just aren’t said but implied.

  “What does that look like, then, when your aunt comes back, hmmm? You’re not going to work at the store forever, not unless there’s a major overhaul.” My heart skips and trips in panic, just thinking about it. Surely Mrs. Bristol would give her own nephew the boot over me working at the shop, right?

  Just because we’re sharing kisses now and Noah’s holding my hand doesn’t mean I’ve lost sight of the endgame.

  There’s a specially saved amount of money in my bank account waiting to buy Mrs. Bristol out of the lease, waiting to make the shop my own, finally.

  Evie, come on.

  “What? What is it?” Noah asks, and I gulp.

  “I…I like you, a lot,” I say, nodding. “But your aunt’s coming home soon, and I don’t want her to think less of me.”

  Noah shakes his head. “That’s impossible. She loves you.”

  The words sound hollow. She wouldn’t have treated me this way if she loved me, giving me enough stress to have a heart attack at the ripe old age of twenty-seven.

  “Evie, I want to be with you. I want us to be together.”

  I know what I should say, that I should voice how bad of an idea this all is, especially counting down to the fact that Mrs. Bristol is coming home soon, and everything’s going to change.

  It doesn’t matter, though. I want Noah any way I can get him.

  I nod.

  “I need you to tell me out loud, Evie.”

  I clear my throat, find myself choking on the words. So maybe I’m not Evie 2.0, maybe I’m not this super version of myself that constantly has her shit and life together. Maybe I’m not super fit or strong like my sister, and I’m not a social butterfly like Noah or like Izzy.

  Evie 1.0 isn’t so bad, though, I’m slowly coming to learn. She’s dependable and strong in her own way—a lot of people would have already buckled under all the strain I’m under, and I didn’t have to launch a moving car to the moon or be faster than a speeding bullet.

  I can still be me, and Noah thinks that’s pretty great, too.

  Hell, I think he’ll come to love all the versions of me.

  Maybe.

  I’m willing to find out.

  It’s felt a little magical as the days have gone by, as if I’ve been set apart, as if time is waiting for us to have this time together, when I know that Noah’s time is dwindling with me, and Mrs. Bristol is supposed to be coming back tomorrow.

  Does it suck? Absolutely.

  Will I get over it? Sure.

  Doesn’t mean it’s not going to hurt.

  It doesn’t help that Izzy’s been talking my ear off the entire week, as if reminding me that the countdown has commenced and now we’re here and Noah’s aunt is coming home tomorrow and it’s all over. We also don’t talk about the guy I saw her with, and I let her be—for now.

  “Hey, Evie?” Noah calls my name and I surface from staring down at my laptop like it called my mother a bad name, and glance up at him. “Hey, where did you go?”

  I shake my head at him and paste on a weak smile, fooling no one. I shrug. “Your aunt’s coming home tomorrow. A lot of decisions are going to have to be made, finalized.”

  “Yeah, she is,” he says, nodding, wearing that grin that I’ve come to hate and love at the same time. “I’m looking forward to seeing her. You think she got us some interesting candy?”

  I snort. Noah’s told me about all the different kind of candy he’s eaten along his travels—what passes for desserts in different parts of the world. He’s been so many places while I’ve lived my life here, stayed here—why would he want to stay when he can spend his life adventuring?

  “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?” he asks, tilting his head at me, putting his face in his palm, sitting down on the ground and splaying out while I take the reading chair. It’s comfortable and cozy, and Caleb is manning the front desk, but we haven’t had so many customers come in today, and the kid’s studying for his midterms, so we’re as private as can be without going to the back office to freeze our asses off.

  “That’s a loaded question,” I say, saving my work on my laptop and sending a version to the cloud as well. I sigh, thinking about it, ruminating. “I don’t know where I want to go first. Europe has a lot of history, right? I’m a Prewitt, so like, maybe go see where the family tree came from in England, Ireland, Scotland? But then there’s Australia and New Zealand, and then I’d love to go to Japan, and South Korea.” I sigh again. “Somewhere warm where the air is thick and humid, and I won’t have to see snow for a while. Brazil, Colombia…Peru. Canada has some pretty great places, right in our own backyard, but I’d explore outside of the country first, I think. Why? Where would you go next?”

  Noah nods along, listening to me, not interjecting or interrupting me. He’s been to some of the places I’ve mentioned, and while I haven’t actively researched all the places I would love to go visit, I know that the list is extensive.

  But I’m saving my money to take over the lease for the store, and once that’s done, I’m going to have to start saving from scratch again—it’s all written out in my spreadsheets, budgets, expenses—all of it.

  So while it’s nice to think I could go on an adventure this year, I really can’t. Not if I want to have this place all to myself.

  “I don’t know. Haven’t really thought about it too much, yet. I kind of like it here, in Montreal, with you.”

  My heart beats hard against my sternum, and I hold my breath, waiting for Noah to deliver the punchline of a joke that’s in poor taste.

  Except he doesn’t, and he just looks at me, that grin of his getting wider and wider until he can’t see me anymore with his eyes closed.

  “Huh,” I say, letting out my breath in a whoosh. “Huh.”

  Noah laughs, coughing into his hands. “Yeah, Evie. What did you think was going to happen? I was going to leave you behind when we’re starting something?”

  “Are we starting something, Noah? I don’t know.” I want to smile at him, I do, but I have to be sure. Is this the part in the story where everything seems to come together before it falls apart? Is that what this is?

  Can I skip this part, too?

  “You kissed me, remember? You initiated it. In the Dragon’s Hoard series, that’d be like, a proposal of marriage.”

  I blush despite willing myself not to do so. My cheeks burn, and I can feel the heat travel up and around all of my face, and move to the tips of my ears, down to my throat and chest. Honestly, I’m just burning up, and this isn’t fair, it’s no fair at all.

  “Marriage proposal? That’s not true.”

  “So what would you call it then? Are we going to argue semantics about betrothals and soulmate bonds?” he asks, kicking his long legs out and crossing them at the ankles.

  I shrug. “One of them requires consent, and the other doesn’t.”

  Noah shakes his head, eyes widening, sparking with something like mischief, and I know, I know, I’m in a whole lot of trouble.

  Because I can see it, I can see us sniping at each other and discussing books—I can see us in my apartment, or some nebulous-looking apartment in a potential future that feels nearer and nearer every single day, every single time we trade kisses back and forth.

  You kissed me this time, I’m just getting you back for before.

  Whose turn is it—mine or yours?

  I’ll go first, then, and you can pay me back later, right?

  I can see us talking about my one true love—anything book-related—and I can imagine us spending a quiet morning together sipping coffee and munching on breakfast as the both of us are engrossed in our own novels.

  Or better yet, cuddling on the couch while I read to Noah, or even better, when Noah reads to me in his magical voice, and the night becomes even more magical for it.

  I can see it, and I can’t help wanting it, either.

  It feels one step closer now that Noah isn’t going to leave Montreal, isn’t going to leave me behind for his next adventure, for his next step that has him looking forward into the future instead of backwards into the past.

  We talk about it in the here and now—betrothals and soulmate bonds, pairing, whatever the authors are calling them nowadays, and then we speculate about what’s going to happen in book six, as if I haven’t been stalking the author’s website on the daily, waiting for an update post—or triple-checking my personal email to see if a newsletter has been sent out.

  And because the author is an indie author that we do supply from time to time, and I like to keep a least a couple of copies on hand, especially when the authors are Canadian, showcasing Canadian talent—the update is bound to be incoming sooner rather than later.

  We go back and forth about the story, and I neglect work, even though Noah braves the cold in the back and packs up some boxes for me after I’ve sent the shipping labels off to the printer.

  The day goes by slow and fast simultaneously, as if this little corner nook is a liminal space where we’re in our own bubble, safe from time, and everything else in the world outside of it.

  It sure does feel like it.

  “Evie, here,” Noah says once I resurface from my own work and look at the book he’s handing to me. “Stop looking at it like that, I already bought it.” He sighs, waving it in front of me, practically under my nose. “With my own money, yeah… Come on, take it with both hands,” he says, and I grab the book on Christchurch with both hands, frowning down at it, and then looking back at him.

  “This explains nothing,” I say. “Why am I looking at this?”

  Noah shrugs. “Maybe it’ll be nice to go one day, huh?”

  “Noah Bristol, are you trying to say something to me?” I ask, laughing even while I clutch the book to my chest. He’s bought me two physical copies now and every voracious reader knows that friends (and whatever Noah is—maybe-boyfriend?) who buy you books are those people you keep close, close, close.

  “Just for you to read it. I’d thought you’d like it. Give it a go.”

  I nod slowly, glancing down at the book, but when I look back up, Noah’s already halfway down the aisle giving me his back, essentially running away because I think he’s embarrassed of his present to me.

  I peruse some of the opening pages, already captivated by the scenery of one of New Zealand’s biggest cities, a little confused about his intention with this book.

  Does he want to take me here? Is that it?

  Oh, boy.

  FOURTEEN

  My phone buzzes in my jeans, and I fish it out, making sure my laptop doesn’t topple over, and my heart squeezes at seeing Mrs. Bristol’s phone number.

  I’ve been watching that phone number on my incoming calls over the past two weeks and getting flooded with guilt. But now that Noah’s explicitly told me that he isn’t going anywhere, what do I have to be guilty about?

  What?

  “Hello? Mrs. Bristol? Hello?”

  “Yes, duckie, I’m here! Can you hear me?” Mrs. Bristol’s voice is cracking all over the place and her words are breaking down.

  “Yeah, yeah, I can! How are you?”

  “I’ve just landed!” Mrs. Bristol yells, and I feel my heart freeze in my chest. “Headed to get my luggage now!”

  “Oh shit.”

  “What was that? I didn’t quite catch that, duckie,” Mrs. Bristol says, and I have to fight to swallow since my mouth has gone desert dry. “Is Noah around?”

  “Uh, yeah, yeah, let me just get him. One second, one second.” I grab my laptop, lugging it around with me after unplugging it from the charger, and walk around to the back office until I see Noah and mouth Your aunt, your aunt! at him while waving my phone in front of his face.

  He grins, and really he shouldn’t be grinning like that, and then he does the crazy thing and swoops down and kisses my cheek two, three times in a row before swooping in for a kiss, and I’m left dazed, watching Noah press my phone to his ear.