Episode 4
1329 Words
OF BOOKMARKS AND BOUNDARIES
Eloise wasn’t sure what she expected to find when she stepped back into the Ashmoor Book Nook that Monday morning. A fresh delivery of romance novels? The scent of cinnamon from the scones they stocked in the café corner? A Rowan-free day, preferably?
She got none of those.
What she did get was Rowan. In a Henley shirt. At the front counter. Wearing reading glasses.
She stopped in her tracks, halfway through the doorway, as the bell above her head jingled in betrayal. Rowan looked up. Their eyes met.
Of course, he smirked first.
“Well, well. Eloise Granger. Punctual and stunning. Should I be worried you’re turning over a new leaf?”
“Only if that leaf is pressed between the pages of a romance novel and thoroughly annotated with red flags,” she said breezily, walking in.
Rowan chuckled, sliding off his glasses and tucking them into the collar of his shirt like some kind of insufferably attractive librarian. “Good to know your talent for snark hasn’t dulled.”
Eloise passed the counter, careful to avoid letting her shoulder brush his. “Neither has yours for unsolicited commentary.”
“Touché.”
The store was quiet. Warm morning light streamed through the tall windows, casting golden beams across the rows of books. She inhaled deeply. Dust and paper. Comfort and trouble.
Their truce—if you could call it that—after the drama of the book fair had extended over the weekend into a text exchange that was dangerously close to banter. Friendly, even. She didn’t trust it.
She also didn’t trust herself.
Especially not when she could still hear the rumble of his laugh, smell the cedar of his cologne, remember how his arms had felt wrapped around her during that brief, unplanned, very ill-advised hug.
“Your workshop’s in the back room,” Rowan said, gesturing toward the rear of the store. “Coffee’s already brewing. Figured I’d sweeten you up with caffeine before you start wielding that red pen like a sword again.”
“Smart man.”
“I try.”
She paused at the door to the workshop space. “Rowan?”
He looked up.
“Thanks. For the coffee.”
He smiled then—one of the rare, real ones that had always undone her a little. Not the teasing grins or the cocky smirks. Just… him.
“Anytime, Lo.”
Lo.
Her breath caught.
No one had called her that in years.
She escaped into the workshop room before she could say something equally dangerous.
Eloise spent the morning navigating a room full of aspiring romance writers, all eager to workshop their first chapters. It was a decent distraction—if only because Sarah Mae, a woman in her seventies who wrote scandalous pirate-themed erotica, had no concept of subtlety or indoor voice.
“Darling, do you think it’s too much if Captain Thorn rips her corset and her petticoat before the first kiss?” Sarah Mae asked, eyes gleaming.
Eloise blinked. “That depends. Does the petticoat have emotional significance?”
The room erupted in laughter.
By noon, she’d collected outlines, assigned homework, and juggled compliments and questions. She felt a little lighter, her purpose settling into place again. Teaching felt good. Leading this workshop felt like something she was meant to do.
It almost made her forget that Rowan Hale existed.
Almost.
Except he showed up again.
This time in the breakroom, holding a plate of chocolate chip scones like a peace offering.
“Don’t say I never give you anything,” he said, sliding the plate across the table to where she sat reviewing a manuscript.
She raised an eyebrow. “Is this how you plan to bribe me into civil behavior?”
“Is it working?”
She picked up a scone. “Mildly.”
Rowan sat across from her, sipping his coffee. He wore his watch on the inside of his wrist—still. A habit she remembered from college. One he said he’d picked up to avoid reflections while sketching.
“You still draw?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Rowan looked up, surprised. “Yeah. Sometimes. Not like before.”
There was a beat of silence. And then, “You still write longhand first drafts in spiral notebooks with doodles in the margins?”
Eloise smiled, despite herself. “Always. I have a process.”
“You had a dozen notebooks just for character names.”
“And I stand by that system.”
He smiled. It was different now—softer. Warmer. She hated how much she remembered of him. How her body remembered too.
“I missed this,” he said suddenly.
She blinked. “What?”
“This. Talking to you. Teasing. Sharing space. It’s… nice. Even if we’re pretending not to walk on emotional landmines.”
Eloise stared at him. Her first instinct was to deflect. Joke. Run. But this wasn’t college. She wasn’t nineteen anymore. And maybe—just maybe—they were overdue for real conversations.
“I missed it too,” she admitted, voice quiet. “You mattered to me, Rowan. A lot. I didn’t just get over that.”
His gaze softened. “Me neither.”
For a moment, they sat there. The hum of the fridge, the distant rustle of pages from the main floor—everything else faded.
Then a crash echoed from the front of the store.
They both jumped.
Rowan stood immediately, coffee forgotten. “Stay here.”
Eloise followed anyway.
Of course she did.
The front display table was overturned, romance novels scattered everywhere. A window near the entrance was cracked. A rock sat in the middle of the mess—one with something scrawled across it in red marker:
LEAVE. SOME SECRETS SHOULD STAY BURIED.
Eloise stared at the message, cold curling through her.
Rowan picked up the rock with a tight jaw. “What the hell?”
“Vandalism,” she said, too quickly. “Probably some kid. Prank.”
Rowan didn’t look convinced. “We should call the police.”
“No.” Her voice was sharp. Then, softer, “No. Let’s just clean it up.”
“Eloise—”
“I said it’s fine.”
He looked at her, frustration clear in the lines of his shoulders. But he nodded. “Okay. Fine. But we’re getting the security cameras checked.”
She nodded mutely.
What she didn’t say—what she couldn’t say—was that the handwriting looked vaguely familiar.
And that the rock hadn’t been thrown randomly.
It had landed right beneath a stack of vintage romance books.
The same stack where she’d found the letter.
That night, back in her rented cottage, Eloise sat cross-legged on the bed with the letter in her lap.
The ink was faded. The paper worn. But the words were burned into her brain now.
She’d read it at least twenty times.
Rowan hadn’t left because he wanted to.
He’d been told to.
Manipulated. Threatened.
By someone neither of them had suspected.
The letter was never mailed. She’d found it hidden in the very book she and Rowan had once read together in their dorm, tucked behind the dedication page.
A secret never meant to be discovered.
Except she had.
And now… someone didn’t want her to know.
Her phone buzzed.
Rowan: Let me know you got home safe?
She stared at the message for a long moment.
Then typed:
Eloise: I’m safe. Thank you. For today.
The typing bubble appeared.
Then vanished.
Then appeared again.
Rowan: I meant what I said. I missed you. I miss us.
Her heart clenched.
But she didn’t reply.
Not yet.
She had to figure out the truth first.
Because someone in Ashmoor had gone to a lot of trouble to bury it.
And Eloise Granger wasn’t the kind of woman to leave a mystery unsolved.
Especially not one that involved her heart.
- Writer
