THE BOOK SHE DIDN'T BUY

Sometimes, the best love story isn't the one between the covers.

The Friday Visitor

At forty-six, Elizabeth Morgan knew almost everything there was to know about romance novels.

She knew which authors wrote the most beautiful love stories, which heroines were destined to fall for each other, and which books could make a perfectly sensible grown woman cry into her evening glass of wine.

What she didn't know was how to make a beautiful blonde woman stop looking at books long enough to notice the woman selling them.

For six consecutive Fridays, the same customer had visited Morgan's Books, Elizabeth's cozy little bookstore in the heart of the city.

She always arrived around four o'clock.

She always wore something elegant.

And she always picked up the same romance novel from the same shelf.

Then she would spend twenty minutes browsing, smile politely at Elizabeth, and leave without buying anything.

By the third Friday, Elizabeth had noticed.

By the fourth, she'd become curious.

By the fifth, she'd started looking forward to Friday afternoons.

And by the sixth, she had developed the rather embarrassing habit of checking her hair in the little mirror behind the counter at precisely three fifty-five.

"Good heavens, Elizabeth," she muttered to herself. "You're forty-six years old, not sixteen."

The little bell above the door jingled.

And there she was.

Beautiful shoulder-length blonde hair, a fitted burgundy wrap dress, elegant high heels, and that lovely smile Elizabeth had spent an unreasonable amount of time thinking about.

"Good afternoon," the woman said.

Elizabeth smiled.

"Happy Friday."

The blonde laughed.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only because you seem to have developed a very regular appointment with my romance section."

The woman blushed slightly.

"Well, I do enjoy a good love story."

"Apparently," Elizabeth replied.

And watched her walk toward the same bookshelf.

The Most Patient Reader in Town

Elizabeth's bookstore wasn't particularly large, but it was everything she'd ever wanted.

Tall wooden shelves, comfortable leather armchairs, old-fashioned lamps, and a little coffee machine in the back that made surprisingly decent cappuccinos.

She'd opened it after leaving her corporate job eight years earlier, deciding that life was too short to spend every day in meetings discussing quarterly projections.

She had never regretted the decision.

Well, almost never.

There were evenings when she locked the front door, made herself a cup of tea, and wished there were someone waiting at home to ask about her day.

Someone to share dinner with.

Someone to hold her hand.

Someone who might occasionally kiss her between the bookshelves.

Unfortunately, women didn't exactly line up outside bookstores looking for middle-aged lesbian romantics.

Except, perhaps, one particularly interesting blonde.

Elizabeth watched her mysterious customer take the familiar paperback from the shelf.

The cover showed two women standing together against a beautiful sunset.

The Summer We Fell in Love.

Elizabeth knew the book well.

It was a lovely story.

But surely nobody needed six weeks to decide whether to buy it.

Finally, she took a deep breath.

"All right," she whispered. "Be brave."

And walked across the shop.

The Book She Never Finished

"Excuse me."

The blonde looked up.

"Oh! Hello."

Elizabeth smiled.

"I hope you won't think me terribly rude, but may I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you actually intend to buy that book?"

For a moment, the woman looked startled.

Then she burst out laughing.

"Oh, dear. You've noticed."

"Darling, you've been reading the first chapter for six Fridays. At this rate, you'll finish it sometime around Christmas."

The blonde laughed harder.

"You're absolutely right."

"Is there something wrong with it?"

"No."

"Too expensive?"

"Not at all."

"Terrible first chapter?"

"Actually, it's rather good."

Elizabeth folded her arms.

"Then I'm completely mystified."

The blonde closed the book and held it against her chest.

"Perhaps I should introduce myself properly."

"That would be a start."

"Charlotte Bennett. Forty-two. Divorced. Interior designer. And apparently the world's least convincing book customer."

Elizabeth smiled.

"Elizabeth Morgan. Forty-six. Bookstore owner. Single. And increasingly convinced that you're conducting some sort of highly unusual literary research."

Charlotte laughed.

"Not exactly."

"Then what?"

Charlotte looked at her for a long moment.

Then she smiled.

"Elizabeth, I haven't been coming here for the book."

Elizabeth blinked.

"You haven't?"

"No."

"Then why have you—"

Charlotte stepped a little closer.

"I've been coming here to see you."

A Rather Unexpected Confession

Elizabeth stared.

For once in her life, the woman who could recommend a book for absolutely any occasion had no words.

Charlotte looked suddenly nervous.

"Oh, goodness. That sounded much better in my head."

Elizabeth shook herself.

"No, no. It sounded perfectly wonderful. I'm just..."

"Surprised?"

"Completely."

Charlotte laughed softly.

"I noticed you the first time I came in. You were helping an elderly gentleman find a book for his wife. You spent nearly half an hour with him, and when he finally left, you gave him a little gift-wrapped poetry collection for free."

Elizabeth smiled.

"His wife was in the hospital. It was their anniversary."

"I know. I heard you talking."

Charlotte's expression softened.

"I thought you were lovely. And then you smiled at me, and I..."

She hesitated.

"And you?" Elizabeth prompted.

"I forgot every sensible thing I was going to say."

Elizabeth burst out laughing.

"Charlotte, darling, why didn't you simply ask me out?"

"Because you're beautiful, and clever, and you own this wonderful place, and I wasn't sure whether you liked women."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

"You're standing in front of an entire shelf of lesbian romance novels."

"That isn't exactly proof."

"Fair point."

"And then every Friday, I'd come back determined to say something, and every Friday, I'd lose my courage."

Elizabeth smiled.

"Six Fridays?"

"Six terribly embarrassing Fridays."

"Well, I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Charlotte's face fell.

"Oh?"

Elizabeth stepped closer.

"I've been looking forward to seeing you every Friday too."

Charlotte stared.

"You have?"

"Terribly. I've even started checking my hair before you arrive."

Charlotte covered her mouth, laughing.

"Oh, Elizabeth!"

"And I was beginning to wonder whether I'd have to give you that book for free just to get you to talk to me."

A Better Love Story

For a moment, they simply stood there, smiling at each other.

Then Charlotte reached for Elizabeth's hand.

"Well," she said, "now that we've both made complete fools of ourselves, perhaps we could do something sensible."

"Such as?"

"Have dinner."

Elizabeth tilted her head.

"Together?"

"No, darling. At separate restaurants. We can compare notes afterward."

Elizabeth laughed.

"You're rather cheeky, aren't you?"

"Only when I'm nervous."

"Are you nervous?"

"Elizabeth, my heart is doing absolutely ridiculous things right now."

Elizabeth squeezed her hand.

"Mine too."

Charlotte glanced at the romance novel still tucked beneath her arm.

"Actually, I have another suggestion."

"Oh?"

"Why don't you close the shop a little early? I'll buy this book, we can have dinner, and afterward you can tell me whether the ending is any good."

Elizabeth grinned.

"I can save you the trouble. They fall in love."

Charlotte smiled.

"Of course they do."

"And they live happily ever after."

"How predictable."

"Terribly."

Charlotte leaned closer.

"Do you think that ever happens in real life?"

Elizabeth looked into those beautiful blue eyes.

"I've always hoped so."

Charlotte gently touched her cheek.

"Perhaps we should find out."

Elizabeth's smile softened.

"Perhaps we should."

The Happiest Ending on the Shelf

Elizabeth closed the bookstore at six.

Charlotte insisted on paying for the book, despite Elizabeth's increasingly generous offers of a discount.

"No, darling," Charlotte said firmly. "I've spent six weeks borrowing it. I think it's time I made a commitment."

"To the book?"

Charlotte smiled.

"Let's start there."

Elizabeth placed the novel in a little paper bag, then hesitated.

"Actually, there's something I'd like to do first."

Charlotte watched curiously as Elizabeth removed the book from the bag, opened its front cover, and wrote a short message inside.

Then she handed it back.

Charlotte read the inscription.

To Charlotte,

The woman who spent six Fridays pretending to read this book.

Thank you for giving me a much more interesting love story.

With love,

Elizabeth.

Charlotte looked up slowly.

"With love?"

Elizabeth blushed.

"Too soon?"

Charlotte shook her head.

"Not nearly soon enough."

She set the book on the counter, slipped her arms around Elizabeth's waist, and kissed her.

It was a warm, wonderful kiss, the kind that made Elizabeth forget the register, the books, and the fact that she had left the lights on in the back room.

When they finally separated, Charlotte rested her forehead against Elizabeth's.

"Well," she whispered, "I think I've found my new favorite bookstore."

Elizabeth laughed.

"And I've found my favorite customer."

"Even though I never buy anything?"

"You bought something today."

"True."

Elizabeth smiled mischievously.

"Although I rather hope you'll be coming back for more."

Charlotte kissed her again.

"Darling, I intend to become a very regular customer."

They walked out of the bookstore hand in hand, leaving behind the warm glow of the lamps and hundreds of love stories waiting patiently on the shelves.

The following Friday, Charlotte returned at precisely four o'clock.

But this time, she didn't go anywhere near the romance section.

Instead, she walked straight to the counter, leaned across it, and kissed Elizabeth.

"Hello, beautiful."

Elizabeth laughed.

"Good afternoon, darling. Looking for another book?"

"Not today."

"Then what brings you here?"

Charlotte smiled.

"I have a date with the owner."

Elizabeth glanced at the clock.

"You're two hours early."

"I know."

"Any particular reason?"

Charlotte reached for her hand.

"Well, I spent six Fridays looking at a book I didn't want. I thought it was about time I spent a Friday with the woman I do."

Elizabeth smiled and kissed her once more.

And somewhere behind them, on a wooden shelf filled with romantic adventures, a little paperback waited for its next reader.

Charlotte never did finish that novel.

She'd discovered something much better.

A love story she didn't have to read.

Because she was finally living one.