The little bookstore on the corner had always been Emma’s favorite place. The scent of old pages, the warm golden light filtering through the windows, and the quiet hum of jazz playing in the background made it feel like home. But tonight, it felt different—tonight, her heart pounded as she traced her fingers over the navy blue notebook resting on the wooden counter.
“Are you going to open it?” Lucas asked, his voice gentle yet teasing.
Emma glanced up at him. His messy dark hair, the dimple in his cheek when he smiled—he looked the same as he always had, yet everything felt new between them.
“This is yours,” she said, pressing a hand against the cover. “Why are you giving it to me now?”
Lucas leaned against the counter, watching her with those deep brown eyes that had always made her feel like she was the only person in the world. “Because it’s always been about you, Emma. And I think it’s time you knew.”
She swallowed hard and slowly opened the notebook.
The first page was dated nearly two years ago.
“March 14—She walked into the bookstore today, her hair a mess from the wind, mumbling about how she’d read every good book in existence. I laughed. She wasn’t joking.”
Emma let out a soft breath. She remembered that day. It had been the first time she and Lucas had really talked—he had worked here for months before that, just another face in the bookstore. But that day, something had shifted.
She turned the page.
“June 2—She told me her favorite book was the one with the ending that made her cry for days. I wanted to tell her she’s my favorite story, but I didn’t. Not yet.”
Her heart squeezed.
Page after page, she read about moments she had long forgotten—small details, tiny conversations, things she had never thought mattered. But they had mattered to Lucas.
“December 24—I should have kissed her. It was snowing, she was laughing, and for a second, I thought maybe she felt it too. But I waited. Maybe I shouldn’t have.”
Emma’s fingers trembled as she turned the pages faster.
“February 9—I think she likes him. The guy from the coffee shop. She smiles at him the way I wish she’d smile at me. But as long as she’s happy, I’ll be happy.”
She sucked in a breath, her chest tightening. “Lucas…”
“Keep reading,” he murmured.
She did.
“April 3—She cried in the bookstore today. A bad day, she said. She smiled when I gave her that poetry book she wanted. I hope she knows I’d give her the whole world if I could.”
Tears blurred her vision. She remembered that day too. She had thought she was completely alone in the world—but she hadn’t been. Lucas had always been there.
And then she reached the last entry.
“Tonight—She’s standing in front of me, reading this. If she looks up at me, if her eyes say what I hope they will, I’ll tell her what I should have told her years ago.”
Emma’s breath caught. Slowly, she lifted her gaze.
Lucas was watching her, his expression open, vulnerable. “Emma…”
She didn’t let him finish. The notebook tumbled to the floor as she closed the space between them, her hands cupping his face, her lips pressing softly against his.
He stiffened for only a second before melting into her, his arms wrapping around her like they had always belonged there.
When they finally broke apart, Emma let out a shaky laugh, her forehead resting against his. “You should have told me sooner.”
Lucas grinned, brushing his thumb along her cheek. “I was just waiting for our perfect ending.”
Emma smiled, lacing her fingers through his. “Then let’s make it a never-ending story.”
And in that little bookstore, surrounded by the scent of old pages and the quiet hum of jazz, they began the next chapter—together.
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