The CEO's Biggest Lie

Chapter 2

Summer's POV

An hour later, the library had settled into its usual rhythm.

The quiet hum of printers.

The occasional turning of pages.

Soft footsteps against polished floors.

It was the kind of silence that never felt empty.

A little boy wandered over to my desk, holding a dinosaur book almost as big as he was.

"Miss Summer?"

I smiled.

"Hi, Noah."

He frowned.

"I finished this."

"Already?"

He nodded proudly.

"The T-Rex is still my favorite."

"I figured."

"But now I want sharks."

"Dinosaurs weren't enough?"

He considered the question seriously.

"They're both scary."

"You make an excellent point."

His tiny face lit up.

I walked him toward the children's section, scanning the shelves until I found exactly what I was looking for.

"This one has great white sharks."

His eyes widened.

"And this one has hammerheads."

He hugged both books to his chest.

"You're the best."

"No," I whispered conspiratorially.

"The books are."

He giggled before running back toward his mother.

Mrs. Whitmore watched the exchange from across the room.

"You spoil them."

"I encourage literacy."

"You spoil them."

"...Maybe a little."

She laughed.

"You'll make a wonderful mother someday."

The words caught me off guard.

For a second...

My smile faltered.

"I think..." I said quietly, straightening a stack of returned novels, "...I'd settle for owning a restaurant first."

Mrs. Whitmore's expression softened.

"And you'll have one."

"You sound awfully certain."

"I've lived long enough to recognize stubborn people."

"I'm not stubborn."

She snorted.

"You work two jobs and still smile before eight in the morning."

"I like smiling."

"No, dear."

She reached over and patted my hand.

"You like hope."

For a moment, I couldn't speak.

Because she was right.

Hope was free.

And some days...

It was the only thing I could afford.

...

By noon, the library had become noticeably busier.

College students occupied nearly every study table, their laptops open and headphones on.

A mother gently shushed her toddler in the children's section.

Two elderly men debated whether physical books were superior to e-books for what had to be the hundredth time this month.

I smiled to myself.

Some things never changed.

And I liked it that way.

I had just finished checking in a stack of returned books when my phone buzzed inside my cardigan pocket.

Chloe Calling...

I glanced toward Mrs. Whitmore.

She waved me away before I could even ask.

"Go. Before she calls the library phone again."

"She did that once."

"Twice."

"...Okay, twice."

Stepping into the staff lounge, I answered.

"Hello, trouble."

"Excuse me?" Chloe gasped dramatically. "I happen to be the least troublesome person you know."

I dropped into one of the worn chairs.

"You once convinced Elle we could cut our own bangs."

"...We're not bringing up old mistakes."

"We looked ridiculous."

"You looked adorable."

"I looked like someone had trimmed my hair with garden scissors."

Chloe burst into laughter.

"I still have the pictures."

"Delete them."

"Never."

I groaned.

"What do you want?"

"I miss my best friend."

"Aww."

"Don't 'aww' me."

"You called during my shift."

"Exactly."

"You could've texted."

"I wanted to hear your voice."

My smile softened.

"Miss you too."

There was a brief pause before Chloe spoke again.

"So..."

I already knew that tone.

"No."

"I haven't even asked the question."

"You were about to ask if I'm free on Sunday."

"...Maybe."

"I'm free."

"I knew it!"

"But only after church and after I do laundry."

"We're adults."

"Barely."

She laughed.

"Elle already picked the café."

"Of course she did."

"And she's threatening to disown us if either of us cancels."

"Tell her I fear for my life."

"I'll tell her you're excited."

"Traitor."

"Love you too."

"I do love you."

"I know."

"I've got to get back to work."

"Fine."

"But Summer?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't work too hard."

"I'll try."

"No, you won't."

"...Probably not."

She sighed.

"I worry about you."

"I know."

"And I know that smile."

"What smile?"

"The one where you're pretending everything's okay."

I stared at the floor for a second.

"...Everything will be okay."

"I know it will."

She didn't argue.

She never did.

Instead, she simply said,

"I'll see you Sunday."

"You will."

After ending the call, I sat there for another moment.

Sometimes I forgot how lucky I was.

Not everyone got to keep the friends they made as children.

Some friendships faded.

Others broke.

Mine...

Mine had simply grown up with me.

The rest of my shift passed quietly.

Just the way I liked it.

At four o'clock sharp, I signed out, waved goodbye to Mrs. Whitmore and stepped back onto the busy Manhattan sidewalk.

The afternoon heat wrapped around me instantly.

I checked the time.

4:12 p.m.

Just enough time.

My second job wasn't until six.

That gave me almost two hours.

Most people would've gone home.

I walked in the opposite direction.

A few blocks later, the familiar storefront came into view.

Benedetto's Culinary Bookstore.

It was one of my favorite places in the city.

Not because I could afford to buy the books.

Most of them cost more than I was willing to spend.

But because dreaming was free.

The owner smiled the moment I walked inside.

"Back again?"

I grinned.

"You say that like I ever leave."

He chuckled.

"The French pastry section misses you when you're gone."

"I miss it too."

For the next forty minutes, I wandered between shelves filled with cookbooks from every corner of the world.

Italian.

Japanese.

Mexican.

French.

Nigerian.

Each page felt like another reminder of why I'd fallen in love with cooking in the first place.

Not because food filled stomachs.

Because it brought people together.

It turned strangers into family.

Celebrations into memories.

A house into a home.

I carefully returned the final book to its shelf before whispering the promise I'd made to myself countless times before.

"One day..."

One day, I'd write my own cookbook.

One day, I'd own my own restaurant.

One day...

People would gather around tables filled with recipes that started in my tiny apartment kitchen.

"Summer?"

I turned to find the bookstore owner smiling knowingly.

"You found another favorite?"

I held up the cookbook I'd been reading.

"It has the most beautiful mushroom risotto recipe."

"Then why not buy it?"

I laughed softly.

"Because my electricity bill is less forgiving than my dreams."

He smiled, though there was sympathy in his eyes.

"You'll come back for it."

"I will."

"And next time..."

His smile widened.

"You'll buy it."

I looked down at the book one last time before placing it gently back on the shelf.

"I hope you're right."

"I know I am.”

I stepped back onto the sidewalk, adjusted the strap of my bag and checked my watch.

5:18 p.m.

Time for my second life.

I hailed a cab.

Tonight...

I was no longer the librarian everyone called Sunshine.

Tonight...

I was just another waitress trying to survive another shift.

The familiar neon sign of Blackstone Grill glowed against the evening sky as I pushed through the employees' entrance at exactly 5:52 p.m.

Eight minutes early.

Mrs. Hernandez, our head waitress, looked up from the schedule pinned to the wall and smiled.

"You're early."

"I had good traffic."

She blinked.

"In Manhattan?"

"I know. I almost called the news."

A few of my coworkers laughed.

The tension that usually lingered before the dinner rush eased just a little.

I tied my apron around my waist before pinning my name tag to my shirt.

SUMMER.

Simple.

Easy.

One of the newer waitresses, Lily, appeared beside me with a nervous smile.

"I still don't know how you're always happy."

I shrugged.

"I'm not always happy."

"You fool everyone."

"I just don't like making bad days contagious."

She tilted her head.

"...That's actually a nice way to think."

"It saves a lot of unnecessary arguments."

Mrs. Hernandez overheard the last part.

"If everyone thought like you, I'd have half as many headaches."

"I try to be of service."

"You also sing while polishing glasses."

"I do not."

"You absolutely do."

"I hum."

"You sing."

"I hum enthusiastically."

The room erupted into laughter.

"Alright, alright," Mrs. Hernandez said, clapping her hands once. "Enough. Everyone to your stations."

The dinner rush arrived almost immediately.

Within minutes, nearly every table was occupied.

Orders flew into the kitchen.

Plates came out just as quickly.

Someone needed extra napkins.

Another wanted sparkling water instead of still.

A little girl proudly announced it was her birthday, earning free ice cream and applause from half the restaurant.

The chaos...

I loved it.

There was something beautiful about organized madness.

Everyone moved like pieces on a chessboard.

Each person knew exactly where they were supposed to be.

"Table six needs menus."

"I'm on it!"

"Summer, can you help with table nine?"

"Already done."

"Who took the seafood platter?"

"Coming through!"

I balanced three plates effortlessly as I weaved between tables.

Years of practice.

Mrs. Hernandez often joked that I could probably serve dinner with my eyes closed.

She was exaggerating.

Hopefully.

"Careful!"

A busboy nearly collided with me.

I stepped aside just in time.

"No casualties," I said with a grin.

"Sorry, Summer."

"We're alive. That's what matters."

He laughed before hurrying away.

The restaurant buzzed with conversation.

Glasses clinked.

Cutlery chimed against porcelain.

For a while...

Everything was perfect.

Until the front doors opened.