Page 127 of Battle of the Bookstores

My throat feels tight, and all I can do is nod.

“Why did you do it?” I ask, swallowing. “Why did you always chase after those guys?”

She frowns. “I guess it’s because I couldn’t stop hoping. And I’m not ready to give up—”

“But where’s the evidence, Mom? Falling in love doesn’t magically make everything work out perfectly. Maybe it’s time to put away the hope, stop reading silly books that feed into unrealistic expectations, and be practical.”

“That’s not what I mean by hope,” Mom says, her voice surprisingly calm. “And that’s not why I read those books.”

“Then why?”

“Because you know what happens to the characters in a romance novel?”

I sigh. “Yes, Mom. They fall in love—”

“Theychange.They grow.” Her voice goes serious. “Even when they have painful pasts or have made mistakes. Those ‘silly books’ show me that anyone can be brave and try again. It’s not that love makes everything work out perfectly—but love can create the perfect environment to face our fears.”

I’m stunned; she’s speaking in a way I’ve never heard before, with confidence and conviction. Georgia was right—our mom is doing better.

“I used to think I’d never be able to stand up for myself with a man, but I did it with Darrell. For the first time, I asked for what I deserve, and when he couldn’t give it to me, I walked away.” Mom smiles, her eyes soft. “And for the first time, my independent, successful older daughter has trusted me with her heartbreak, and I’m able to givehersupport. So yes, I think that’s cause for hope.”

My eyes fill with tears. This is exactly what Ryan’s beentrying to get me to understand about his beloved books: the point isn’t the sex, or the fantasy of the perfect partner, or even falling in love. It’s about being willing to be vulnerable, to dig deep, to confront your shadows, embrace your own story, and become a stronger, braver version of yourself.

It’s not about the happy ending—it’s about believing that you’re worthy of one.

“Thanks for sharing that, Mom,” I say, and I mean it. It may take some time for me to trust her, but for the first time in years, I’m willing to give her a chance.

“Enough about me,” she says, smiling brightly. This is a classic Liz Klein tactic, changing the subject when she’s uncomfortable, but I understand. Baby steps, for both of us. “Do you want my advice?”

“Sure,” I say, surprised that for the first time ever, I do.

“First, you need to tell him how you feel about him moving away.”

She’s right. I didn’t share my true feelings about his plan, his new job, and Ryan deserves better. He deserves to know just how deeply I care about him, that I’m desperate to find some other solution because the thought of him being anywhere else is tearing me apart.

A flicker of hope sparks, and I’m about to tamp it down, but I stop myself. Hope may be dangerous, but just like a fire, it can also be warm and comforting.

“I will,” I say. “Thanks, I should—”

“Wait!” She tilts her head, studying me. “One last piece of advice. Something I wish I’d learned years ago. No matter what he says, do you know whatyouwant?”

I want him to stay. But if he doesn’t?

“I—I’m not exactly sure,” I say.

“Well then,” my mom says, smiling. “I think you need to figure that out first.”

After ending the call, I lean against the railing and consider that.What do I want?

Three months ago, I was hell bent on beating Ryan. Then I joined forces with him and laser-focused on us winning together. But I’ve never stopped to ask myself: Is this truly what I want to do with my life?

I close my eyes, letting an image of my store fill my mind, the way it used to be before construction started. Neat and orderly, cozy and safe, the perfect place to rebuild my confidence after my life fell apart. But recently, it’s started to feel a little…small?

I think back to the months after Georgia’s accident, when she was relearning how to walk, using her brace and cane. She was confident getting around our apartment, but she refused to go outside—too scary, she said, and every step reminded her of how much she’d lost.

I told her she couldn’t spend the rest of her life stuck in an apartment, that even though she was scared, she needed to get out. She was frustrated, at first, but eventually she listened. And now she’s living on her own, rocketing toward her goals.

Meanwhile, I’ve done exactly what I didn’t want Georgia to do. I’ve gotten comfortable, focusing all my efforts on the bookstore so I don’t have to face what scares me.

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