The Day Love Chose Winter

The First Book Club

Thursday came fast. Too fast. Elara woke up with her stomach in knots and her phone already lit up with messages from Evelyn. _6PM. WINE. BOOKS. NO EXCUSES._ Below that was Adrian: _Need help setting up?_ And Mrs. Patel: _I’m bringing oatmeal cookies. The ones with raisins. Don’t complain._ Elara stared at the ceiling and tried to breathe. Book club. In her store. With her town. With Adrian. It felt like standing on the edge of something again, but this time the whole town was standing there with her. She got up and made coffee and went downstairs. The Last Chapter was already warm. Adrian was there. Of course he was. He was arranging chairs in a circle in the reading room, six of them, then eight, then ten. “You think ten is enough?” he asked when he saw her. “Evelyn said she invited half the town,” Elara said. “Ten won’t be enough.” “Then we’ll grab more from the back,” Adrian said. He had flour on his shirt. “You cook?” “I made lasagna,” he said. “For Saturday. And for tonight. Because people eat when they’re nervous.” Elara smiled. “I’m nervous.” “Me too,” Adrian said. “But we’ve done nervous before.”

By 5:30 the store smelled like coffee and lasagna and something sweet from the cookies Mrs. Patel had dropped off an hour early. Elara had set out the book for discussion on every couch. _The Winter House_ by L.M. Hart. About a woman who goes back to a small town after a fire and falls in love with the guy rebuilding it. No one had said anything about the choice. No one had to. Evelyn was the first to arrive at 5:55 with two bottles of wine and a tote bag full of bookmarks. “You look like you’re going to pass out,” she said to Elara. “I might,” Elara said. “Good,” Evelyn said. “Means you care.” People started trickling in at 6. Mrs. Patel with her cookies. Noah with a six-pack of soda. The librarian, Mr. Greene, with a notebook. The mayor’s wife. The pastor. Teenagers from the high school who said they came for the wine but stayed for the book. By 6:15 there were fourteen people crammed into the reading room and three more standing by the shelves because there weren’t enough chairs. The room was warm and loud and alive in a way it hadn’t been since Elara’s mom was alive. Elara stood in the middle of it and felt her chest get tight. “Hi,” she said. Her voice cracked. “Thanks for coming.” Everyone quieted down. Adrian was leaning against the bookshelf in the back, arms crossed, watching her like he was ready to catch her if she fell. “So,” Elara continued. “We’re reading _The Winter House_. It’s about second chances. About rebuilding. About choosing to stay.” She paused. “Sound familiar?” A few people laughed. Mrs. Patel dabbed at her eyes. “Let’s start,” Evelyn said, pouring wine into paper cups. “Who wants to go first?”

They talked for two hours. About grief. About coming home. About the fire in the book and the fire in real life and how sometimes the worst thing that happens to you is the thing that brings you back to yourself. Noah cried when they talked about the part where the main character finds her mom’s letters in the ashes. Mr. Greene argued for twenty minutes about whether the ending was hopeful or just realistic. The teenagers said the romance was “cheesy but cute.” Mrs. Patel said it reminded her of Elara’s mother. Elara didn’t cry. Not until the end. When Evelyn asked, “So, what did we learn?” and Elara said, “That you don’t have to do it alone,” her voice broke and Adrian was suddenly next to her, handing her a napkin. She took it and nodded and kept going.

At 8:30 Evelyn stood up. “Alright, heathens. That’s enough feelings for one night. Next book. _The Book Thief_. Next Thursday. Same time. Bring snacks.” People started standing, stretching, hugging. They didn’t leave right away. They lingered. Browsing books. Refilling coffee. Asking Elara if she had more copies of _The Winter House_ because their sister needed to read it. Asking Adrian if he could fix the wobbly shelf by the window. Asking if book club could be every week forever. By 9:15 the room was almost empty. Just Evelyn, Noah, Mrs. Patel, and them. The lasagna was gone. The cookies were crumbs. The wine bottles were empty. “That was good,” Evelyn said. “That was really good.” “It was,” Elara said. She was exhausted and happy and sore in her cheeks from smiling. “We should do this every week,” Noah said. “I’m not arguing,” Adrian said. Mrs. Patel hugged Elara. “Your mother would’ve loved this,” she whispered again. “She would’ve been the one talking the most.” Elara laughed through tears. “She would’ve.”

After everyone left, Elara and Adrian cleaned in silence. Wiping tables. Stacking chairs. Throwing away cups. The store was quiet again but it wasn’t empty. It felt full. Like the walls had absorbed all the talking and the laughing and the crying and were holding onto it. “You did good,” Adrian said finally. He was leaning on the counter, looking at her. “You did good,” Elara said back. “You brought lasagna.” “I bring lasagna when I’m nervous,” Adrian said. “Noted,” Elara said. She walked around the counter and stood next to him. Their shoulders touched. “Hey,” she said. “Yeah?” “Thank you. For being here. For all of it.” Adrian turned to face her. “Always,” he said. He leaned in and kissed her. Slow. Soft. Like a thank you and a promise all at once. When they pulled apart Elara rested her forehead against his. “Saturday at 7?” she asked. “Saturday at 7,” Adrian said. “I’ll bring dinner.” “You always bring dinner,” Elara said. “Because you always forget to eat when you’re working,” Adrian said. “Also true,” Elara said. They laughed.

Adrian left at 10. Elara locked up and went upstairs and fell into bed without changing. She slept hard. No dreams. No overthinking. Just sleep.

Friday morning she woke up to three texts. Evelyn: _14 people. We need more chairs._ Noah: _Can book club be on Tuesdays too? Asking for a friend._ And Adrian: _Saturday at 7. Lasagna. And maybe dessert. If you want dessert._ Elara replied to all three with one word: _Yes._

She opened the store at 9. The sign said OPEN. The shelves were full. The couches had indentations from where people had sat last night. Outside the snow was melting a little at the edges. Inside it was warm.

On Saturday at 6:55 there was a knock on the apartment door. Elara opened it. Adrian was there with two bags of food and a bottle of wine and a bouquet of wildflowers that shouldn’t have been blooming in January but were. “Hi,” he said. “Hi,” Elara said. “Come in.” He did. They ate at the small kitchen table. Lasagna and salad and bread and the wine. They talked about book club and the store and the town and nothing at all. At 8 they went downstairs and sat on the blue couch. Not reading. Just sitting. Shoulders touching. Hands almost touching.

At 9 Adrian stood up. “I should go,” he said. “Before I decide to stay.” “Okay,” Elara said. She walked him to the door. He paused. “Hey,” he said. “Yeah?” “This. Us. The store. The town. It’s good, right?” Elara smiled. “It’s perfect,” she said. “Even the messy parts.” Adrian kissed her once more. Quick. On the lips. “Saturday at 7?” he asked. “Saturday at 7,” Elara said.

She closed the door and leaned against it and listened to his footsteps go down the stairs. Upstairs her heart was full. Downstairs the reading room was waiting for next Thursday. Outside Frosthaven was quiet and the snow had stopped and for the first time in a long time Elara wasn’t afraid of what came next. Because whatever came next, it wouldn’t be alone.