“And will you be turning Katie Hunter into a story, do you think?” I reply, unable to stop myself. “Like you did with me?”
“Katie?” Elliot frowns. “No, I don’t think so. It’s her grandmother I’m interested in.”
I’m really glad I’ve finished eating that soup, because I’m pretty sure I’d have choked on it, otherwise.
“Her…grandmother?” I splutter, convinced I must have misheard him. “Are you serious?”
“Sorry, no,” Elliot corrects himself. “No, I’m not. It’s hergreat-grandmother,” he goes on, speaking as if this is a completely normal thing for him to be admitting in public. Orat all, even. “Her grandmother would be too young.”
“Tooyoung?”
It’s more of an incredulous shriek than an actual question, but Elliot appears to consider it carefully.
“Well, yes,” he says seriously, dipping some bread into his soup. “Her grandmother wouldn’t have been alive during the war. So Evie would’ve been her great-grandmother. I’m sure that’s right.”
He pops the bread into his mouth.
“This tastes like grated feet,” he says, chewing. “It’s good to see some things haven’t changed around here. The food’s still pretty terrible.”
“Wait. Evie?” I ask, my mind still struggling to get past the image of Elliot and a 90-year-old. “Do you mean Evie Snow? But I thought your girlfriend’s name was Katie?”
“Girlfriend? I don’t have a girlfriend,” Elliot replies, confused. “I’m very single right now, I can assure you. Katie’s Evie’s great-granddaughter.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a memory surfaces. A woman with dark hair and a pale face, laughing up at a handsome American. Katie and Elliot. Or…
“Of course,” I breathe. “The woman in the photo. That’s who she reminded me of.”
“Right,” Elliot says. “Who did you think I was talking about?”
“Wait,” I reply, leaning forward. “So, Katie Hunter is related to Evie Snow. Your mystery woman.”
Elliot nods.
“Uh-huh,” he says, his mouth twitching with the ghost of a smile. “Did you really think she was my girlfriend?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I reply quickly, too relieved to be embarrassed by my mistake. “But… how did you find out, Elliot? I thought it was going to be impossible to track Evie down?”
Elliot stares guiltily down at his food.
“I, um, hired a private detective,” he says, still not looking at me. “I just wanted to know, Holly. You know how much it bugged me, not knowing. And it turns out that nothing’s impossible if you throw enough money at it. Who knew, huh?”
I take in the expensive wristwatch he’s wearing, the designer cologne that keeps wafting over to me, the sweater that looks like cashmere.
I guess being on the bestseller list every Christmas really does pay well.
“But… after all this time?” I reply at last. “You still wanted to find her so badly you paid someone to do it? But why? You already wrote the book. You gave her a story.”
He gave hermystory, is what I mean to say. In the pages ofThe Snow Globe, Evie and Luke became me and Elliot. We didn’t know their story, so Elliot gave them ours, instead. And now he’s telling me there’sanotherstory, just waiting to be told.
And suddenly, everything clicks into place.
“Wait,” I say, my voice tight with emotion. “Is it true, then? You really are writing the sequel? You finally found the story you were looking for, and now you’re getting to write it?”
Elliot doesn’t reply, and in the silence, another realization dawns.
Katie Hunter, laughing up at Elliot, the same way her great-grandmother looked up at his great-grandfather; that’s who they reminded me of yesterday. Luke and Evie. Katie and Elliot.
She may not be his girlfriend — yet — but I think I know who’s going to be the inspiration for Evie Snow in the long-awaited sequel toThe Snow Globe. Because wouldn’t it make sense that the man obsessed with recreating their story on paper might also want to recreate it in real life, too?
