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I let my eyes roam over the display. Jane Austen, the Brontë sisters, Georgette Heyer...all the literary greats were represented. I reverently picked up a beautiful hard-cover copy of Pride and Prejudice, admiring the elegant cover.
“This is incredible, Marla. It reminds me of how timeless and inspiring these stories are.” I turned to her, smiling. “You’ve captured the essence of romance.”
Marla beamed, clearly delighted. “I hoped it might spark some inspiration for your writing, too! Speaking of, how is your novel coming along?”
“It’s going well!” I told her about my unexpected writing spurt last night. “I think my muse is awake after lying dormant for too long,” I said. “I’m almost scared to make any plans if I disrupt this creative streak.”
Marla nodded knowingly. “When the inspiration strikes, seize it. But something tells me your newfound motivation has less to do with your muse and more with a certain silver fox.” She raised her eyebrows at me playfully.
I laughed, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. As much as I wanted to deny it, Alexander had definitely been my inspiration last night. I just hoped the spark would continue to fuel my writing.
I let my eyes wander over the romance novel display, my fingers trailing across the spines of the books. Each title sparked memories of my blossoming story with Alexander.
I paused at a copy of Emma, chuckling as I recalled our awkward first encounter at the publishing house. My clumsiness resulted in spilled coffee and a ripped skirt, not exactly the meet-cute I imagined. But Alexander had been a true gentleman about it.
My gaze fell on Wuthering Heights, and I recalled our intense conversation on the beach when we’d both felt the undeniable attraction. The windswept cliffs and crashing waves had mirrored the storm of emotions inside me that evening.
When I spotted Pride and Prejudice, I couldn’t help but laugh. Our misunderstanding yesterday when Alexander was away reminded me of Elizabeth Bennet’s tendency to jump to conclusions about Mr. Darcy. I had let my insecurities run wild, only to have reality prove me utterly wrong.
“What’s so amusing?” Marla asked, noticing my smile.
“Oh, nothing,” I replied. “Just noticing how some of these stories seem to parallel my own recently.”
Marla nodded knowingly. “That’s the magic of romance novels - they speak to the lovers inside us all.”
I picked up a copy of Jane Eyre, remembering the intensity of Alexander’s gaze, like Mr. Rochester’s dark, penetrating eyes that stirred Jane’s senses. The thought made me shiver.
“Well, I think this display is amazing,” I told Marla. “It reminds me how love takes infinite forms.”
She gave me a playful nudge. “Yours included!”
As I waited for Marla to finish with her customer, I continued browsing the romance display. My gaze fell on a tacky paperback titled Passion’s Tempest. The cover featured an over-the-top illustration of a muscular, shirtless, gray-haired manpassionately embracing a curvy African American woman in a maid’s outfit.
I had to stifle a laugh at how absurd it was. But what struck me was how the older man bore an uncanny resemblance to Alexander, minus the gratuitous muscles and open shirt.
Unable to resist, I picked up the book and read the synopsis on the back:
Powerful plantation owner Adrian Fairmont’s world is turned upside down by the arrival of the alluring new help, Jada. Adrian tries to deny the forbidden passions that ignite between them, but he cannot resist Jada’s spirited charms. Their love defies all convention in this tale of desire and destiny...
I shook my head in amusement. The similarities between Adrian and Alexander were just too eerie, even if the story itself seemed over the top. I had to purchase this risque paperback just to show Alexander later for a laugh.
I went to the counter just as Marla finished up with her customer.
“Find something you like?” she asked brightly, ringing up my purchase.
“You could say that,” I replied with a conspiratorial wink. I couldn’t wait to see Alexander’s reaction when he realized he had a literary doppelgänger.
Marla handed me the bag with a knowing smile. We said our goodbyes, and I headed out of the shop, distracted by thoughts of how I would teasingly present my discovery to Alexander. In my preoccupation, I bumped straight into Clara entering the store, causing me to drop the book onto the pavement.
“My my, if it isn’t Etta, literally falling for someone on the cover, it seems,” Clara remarked wryly, glancing down at the over-the-top illustration of Adrian and Jada.
I laughed and gave her a summary of the absurd, yet uncanny, parallels. Clara looked thoroughly entertained. With a promise not to spill the beans, we parted ways.
***
I wasn’t quite ready to return to my empty house after leaving Whisper of Pages, still feeling energized by my chat with Marla. The late afternoon sun spilled golden light across Pebble Point Park, so I took a brief detour. Finding an empty bench near the duck pond, I settled in, notebook in hand.
As I watched the locals meandering through the park, snippets of overheard conversations and glimpses of interactions sparked my imagination. An elderly couple walked by hand in hand, bickering lightly over directions, and I jotted down their exchange with a smile. The laughter of children chasing each other around the swing set made me think of my carefree youth in this park. Pebble Point was filled with stories just waiting to be told.
