Much Ado About You

However, that didn’t mean I had to stay out of every long-standing issue that plagued the village.

Twenty-One

By the last week in July, the countdown was on.

Five more weeks. That’s how long I had left before I was supposed to return to the States. Since that phone call with Greer, Roane and I hadn’t talked about the future. It was easier just to immerse ourselves in one another and be blissfully fucking happy. Despite my suspicions that Roane was in love with me, I still felt a niggle of insecurity and wasn’t ready to make a huge life decision about staying in England until I was one hundred percent certain that he loved me.

By one hundred percent sure, I meant until he told me he loved me.

Besides, I still wasn’t sure I could leave Greer behind . . . or my mom. I didn’t know what to do about my mother, and I didn’t like thinking about it because it hurt so damn much.

It was a gray day in Alnster, but I was already used to the temperamental weather and kind of glad for it. Summer in Chicago was hot and humid all the time, but moody British weather meant I got a break from the warm climate when I least expected it.

I was sitting behind the counter of the bookstore, working on a manuscript for one of my clients. As much as I’d wanted my freelance editing work to take off, running the bookstore full-time put a kink in those plans. I was pretty much on the same schedule with my editing as I had been in Chicago.

A few tourists had come into the store over the course of the morning, but it was a quiet afternoon, allowing me time to work. Yet I knew when Maggie Foster stepped into the store that my attention was about to be pulled elsewhere. For weeks I’d wanted to talk to Maggie about her daughter, but I just didn’t know how to stick my nose into business that was so personal.

Probably because my nose didn’t belong there.

At all.

“Maggie.” I clicked save on the manuscript and closed my laptop. “How can I help?”

She smiled as she approached the counter. Maggie was a small woman, so I assumed Annie got her height from her father’s side. She had the same lovely “are they green, blue, or gray?” eyes as Annie, although hers were slightly dulled with a perpetual hint of sadness.

“Good afternoon, Evie. I’m here to order a book, if possible. My favorite author only releases one book a year and I always ordered it from Penny.”

“Of course.” I turned to the store’s laptop and pulled up the distribution database. “What’s the name and title?”

She told me and I found the book and processed the order.

“Shall I just pay when it comes in?”

“Yeah.” I looked up from the screen. “I haven’t heard of her. What kind of books does she write?”

Maggie smiled. “Mystery. She’s like a modern Agatha Christie.”

“Cool. Are you a big reader?”

“The gallery can get quiet, so it’s nice to have a book under the counter.” She gestured around the room. “You have your pick of them.”

“I do. I’m kind of living my dream right now.”

“You love books like I love art.” She leaned against the counter. “Where does it come from, Evie? That passion?”

No one had asked me that. Not even Roane. The answer was a deep pang in my chest. “I . . . uh . . . my dad died when I was eight . . .”

Maggie’s face fell. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. It was difficult and, um, my mom fell apart, and books were my solace. My escape.” Suddenly realizing the correlation between my relationship with my mother and Annie’s, I wondered how much I should reveal. Not a lot of people knew about my relationship with my mother, but Maggie and my mom had something in common. They’d both let down their daughters in a big way. But they also weren’t bad people. Not at all.

“My mom’s a recovering alcoholic. In and out of rehab for most of my life. She’s not a bad person,” I hurried to explain. “The very opposite, in fact. But she’s disappointed and hurt me a lot over the years.”

Tears shimmered in Maggie’s eyes as she pressed away from the counter, and I knew those tears weren’t for me. They were for her and Annie.

“Despite all that she’s done to me, how many times she’s broken my heart, I can’t stop loving her.” It was the truth. I loved my mom. I always would. “But this time it’s been harder for me to forgive her. I didn’t think I even would but she . . . she left me a voice mail that surprised me. And I think . . . I mean, I know, that I do forgive her. I think I’ll always forgive her.” My eyes stung as I watched a tear roll down Maggie’s cheek. “She’s my mom, you know.” I walked around the counter and took hold of Maggie’s hand. “You’re her mom, Maggie.”