Authentically izzy, p.25
Authentically, Izzy, page 25
She stared at him in silence before her smile flared. “My eyebrows ‘ping’?”
“They do.” His grin spread into a chuckle. “Don’t doubt me. Video chatting is not a preferred substitute for in-person communication, but it does provide ample opportunity for close observation and your brows certainly . . . ping.” He held her gaze, sobering. “And I’d wager that whatever you are keeping inside is worth hearing, Isabelle.”
The smile faded from her lips. “Why are you so determined?”
“Because what you think, who you are, matters to me.”
She shifted in her chair, bringing her hands to her lap. “But as far as this bookshop is concerned, this isn’t my business. It’s your family bookshop.”
“How many conversations have we had where you’ve detailed what you’d do to make a bookshop thrive?”
Her teeth skimmed over her bottom lip as it puckered into a hesitant frown. “A few.”
“Dozen.” He bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You have a gift. Something not everyone possesses. I don’t. Mum doesn’t. I can do the numbers and have the meetings and talk about why I love a certain story. Mum can convince anyone to buy a book, and usually two. But you see something I can’t. You have an awareness of how stories fit within a bookshop in such a way to draw people in. I’ve watched you read to children and talk with people on the street back in North Carolina. I’ve seen how you decorated the library and engaged curious readers. Isabelle, why not spread your wings here? I want to see you fly.”
She blinked over at him, those large eyes taking on a glossy hue before she blinked again and cleared her throat. “Brodie, sharing stories in a library with first graders is not the same thing as renovating a family legacy.”
“Or a family antiquity, if we don’t do something to save it. You were made to bring stories to life. And this”—he waved toward the door to the shop—“is a keeper of stories.” He leaned closer to her. “We could share it all together. Life, books, Lord of the Rings references.”
“Why is sharing this with me—hearing from me—so important to you?” The question quivered out of her, piercing him.
“It’s what people do when they care about each other. I want to know everything about you, which includes your dreams and thoughts. I want you to trust me enough to be authentically you.”
A breath puffed from her pout and she turned away. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she see what he did? From all the stories she’d told of her love for books—for all her marketing ideas and creative structure. This opportunity was perfect for her. What was he doing wrong? Pushing too hard?
“Help me understand.” He softened his voice, begging her to cross whatever rift separated him from reaching this spot of her life, her heart. “We’ve had thousands of conversations about all sorts of things, but any time I attempt to ask for your suggestions or critique, you change the subject or deflect. We’ve talked about controversial topics, so fear of some disagreement can’t be the reason.” He took her palm into his. “We’ve even discussed your very poor decision to love Mr. Darcy when he’s clearly a serious and somewhat disgruntled sort of person without one hint of puns.”
She shot him a mock glare. “On that one we’ll have to agree to disagree for eternity.”
He wrapped both his hands around her cool fingers. “I want this relationship to become permanent, which, if you agree, means you’d become a part of my life and my family.” He punctuated his words with a press of his fingers against her knuckles. “We’d be partners, you and me. Your ideas, your silly fictional crushes, and even your criticism—I want you to be free to share all of them with me. It’s how the best romances work.”
“I . . . I know that.”
“Then your ideas matter and you’d end up as an equal part of this family, which means your voice is as important as anyone else’s.”
“That’s not true.” She jerked her hand from his and stood. “You can’t just step into a family like that!”
“Well, I’d expect it to take time with Mum and Anders, of course, but you and I already are at a place where we can share—”
“I can’t just push my ideas on your family. I’m an outsider, Brodie.”
“My entire family has heard a nauseating amount about you for the past four months. You’re not an outsider any—”
“I am. No matter how long people have known each other.” She began to pace as Brodie stood to his feet. What was she talking about? “A family already has particular expectations and roles. There are dynamics already set up.” Her voice broke, raw. He shifted a step forward, but she continued pacing. “You can’t just expect me to believe my opinion is going to make a difference when your family already has places I don’t fit into.”
“But those grow with time.”
She turned to face him, her eyes red-rimmed. “You can’t just walk into a family and expect it to be the same. To really belong. Even if you’re blood-related to them. It’s still their family.”
She blinked as if her confession shocked her.
Brodie stared back, replaying her words, attempting to make sense of her response. Their family? Outsider? Air burst from him like a punch to the stomach. Had she felt like an outsider in her own family all this time? Unable to chart her own future because of the fear of being rejected or unheard? His mind reeled through what he knew about her. She’d taken a job with her cousin because her cousin needed help. She’d taken the job at the library because her aunt needed help. She’d gone to a community college so her uncle and aunt’s finances would not be strapped with “another” kid in college. Could all those things be byproducts of a deeper uncertainty?
He shuffled a step forward. “Isabelle—”
“I can’t.” She shook her head and pressed her palm against her stomach. “I . . . I need to go for a walk or something. Sort this out.”
“Of course.” He ran a hand through his hair and glanced down Welcome Street in Skern. “Of course.” He backed toward the ladder door, gesturing for her to follow. “Skern is a good place to walk. Think. And there’s an excellent pastry shop at the end of Welcome Street, situated directly across from the park.”
She nodded, her eyes glossy with unshed tears, and all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and fix everything. But it seemed he couldn’t reach her pain. This time, only Isabelle could reach those hurting places. Brodie offered a little prayer—as he helped her down the ladder—and a heavenly touch.
* * *
Text from Izzy to Luke: Do you have time for a chat?
Luke: Hey, aren’t you across the ocean?
Izzy: Yes
Luke: How much is this text costing me?
Izzy: You’re hilarious. Not. I’m using Wi-Fi.
Luke: That island has Wi-Fi? That’s good to know. I thought you were going to have to pull out the Morse code.
Izzy: Luke, really. I’m trying to have a serious conversation here.
Luke: Why?
Izzy: Luke!
Luke: Okay, but I can’t get ice cream to you from here.
Izzy: Sometimes I hate you.
Luke: I know.
Izzy: Did you ever wonder why I was closer to you than either of your sisters? That I could talk to you about almost everything?
Luke: Have you been nipping at some of the native nectar on Brodie’s island? Because I’m really not ready for a repeat of your conversation about Joe Kingsley from junior year. There are some things male cousins do NOT need to know. I’m actually getting nauseous right now.
Izzy: I’m not drunk, Luke. I was having a conversation with Brodie (after a text from Josie) and, well, Brodie was trying to get me to open up to him, to be . . . well, he called it “authentically” me, and I realized that I don’t know if I’ve ever been truly authentic with anyone since I was twelve years old.
The phone suddenly buzzed in Izzy’s hand and she brought it to her ear, turning her face away from the table of two under the open patio of the bakery only a few feet away.
“What’s going on? Are you okay? What did Josie do?”
“No, it’s not just Josie,” she whispered, warmth pooling in her eyes at the sound of his voice. “And I’m not in any trouble. I just . . . I just—” Her voice caught and she swallowed.
“Do you need me to come and get you?”
She sniffled through a weak laugh and wiped at her eyes. “I love you, Luke.”
Silence paused the conversation. Just the awareness that Luke was on the other side of the phone somehow drew her frayed emotions back together.
“You lost your parents, Izzy. That’s traumatic.”
“It was.” She drew in a shivering breath. “It is.”
“And it would be for anyone, but you are not hurting alone. You’re a part of our family.”
She smiled at his attempt to help. To fix things, as he always tried to do. “But, Luke, maybe I’d convinced myself that I wasn’t really a part of your family. I was looking in, like through a window. There was already a big sister and a little sister, and . . . and I think I’d convinced myself that your family didn’t need another sister. I was kind of thrust onto you guys.”
“That’s not true.” Came his quick reply. “That’s never been true.”
“I think I had in my head that I would take away from your family, so I had to make sure I didn’t overstep the bounds. Make sure I never got too comfortable, so I didn’t crowd out the people who belonged in your family. I always needed to earn my place, like I didn’t truly belong. That . . . I don’t know.”
“Our family,” he corrected. “And earn your place? Izzy.” And then he released a sigh she almost felt through the phone. “That’s why you turned down going to Georgetown, isn’t it? Because Josephine was going there, and you knew what kind of stress it was causing Mom and Dad.”
She pinched her lips together, the truth piercing into her with sudden awareness. She had.
“And is that why you worked for Josephine instead of taking the store-clerk job at Ebony Books in Winston-Salem?”
She groaned and released a quiet sob. She had! Was that the reason?
“Izzy, you’ve been as much a sister to me as Josephine or Penelope. In fact, sometimes I like you better than either one of them because you talk more sense on a regular basis.”
Her breath released in a half-chuckle, half-whimper.
“But I don’t love you any differently or less, and I know that Mom and Dad and both of our crazy sisters would say the same thing. I mean, we’re all screwed up in ways, and we don’t love perfectly, but that has nothing to do with you. It’s just us being humans.”
“It’s not about you guys.” Her eyes fluttered closed. How could relief also feel so sad? How many years, opportunities, had she wasted because of this fear?
“Stop beating yourself up. I can practically hear it through the phone.”
“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”
“You texted me for a reason.”
She rolled her eyes, but since she didn’t benefit from him seeing her, or her grimace, she huffed instead. “My bad.”
Silence paused the moment. Already, just at the admission, she felt something break inside her. An understanding? Freedom?
“Maybe Eli was good for you.”
Had she heard him correctly? “Eli?”
“I think he got you mad enough about book heroines and romance that it forced you to voice your thoughts as well as that wasted sarcasm you keep in your head. It’s been aching to get out for years, and the difference between him and Brodie just intersected at the right time to make everything explode.”
“Explode seems like the appropriate word right now.” She groaned into her hand as she reached for her cup of tea with the other.
“In a good way. Like confetti.”
“You really can’t pull off Penelope vibes, Luke.”
“You’re right.” He sighed. “It sucks, Iz. All of it. And I’m sorry. But I’m glad too. Because if it took all of this for you to grab the reins of your own life, to really be you, then it’s a good thing.”
“Yeah.” She nodded as the heat from the tea mingled with the tears in her eyes. “I am glad too. I think.”
“You know, Izzy.” His tone sobered, softened. “I wish you’d told me this before now so you didn’t have to struggle through years of wondering.”
“I didn’t even know it until now. Not really.”
Silence paused the conversation, but there was comfort in it. Understanding. And . . . joy? Bittersweet relief? She swiped a hand over her misty eyes.
“That would explain why you always had the jerk boyfriends.”
She almost choked on the sip of tea she’d just taken. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if you didn’t feel like we loved you enough to belong, why would you ever believe you were good enough for the right guy? I mean, it took being tricked into meeting Brodie for you to really act like you do with me. And he sees you. The simple fact he was able to get this conversation out of you says something.”
She nearly buckled over from the impact of his words. Tears clogged her throat, stealing her response.
“So I guess that’s something to thank meddling Josephine about after all, huh?” He groaned. “But let’s just keep that between the two of us. The last thing Josephine needs is reinforcement that she’s a matchmaker.”
“Luke,” his name scraped over her burning throat. She still had so much to sort through, but at least now she’d begun to understand. To see.
“Yeah, Izzy?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too . . . sis.”
Chapter 21
“Where did she go?”
Brodie looked up from his computer at the bookshop’s counter to find his mother standing nearby with an armful of Agatha Christies.
“She took a walk, Mum.”
“For two hours? When she’s come to see you?”
The edge in his mother’s voice didn’t help the twinge in his chest or his forehead. Yes, it had been two hours, and he’d considered going in search of her at least a dozen times, but something stopped him. The sudden realization on her face? The hurt? Wounds he couldn't touch no matter how long he held her. And from his brief acquaintance with Isabelle, she struck him as the sort who needed space to sort through her feelings, much like his elder sister. But if he didn’t hear from her soon, he would take to a full-on woman hunt.
Or at least text first. Then commence the hunt, if necessary.
“She uncovered some news she needed to sort through.” He turned back to his laptop, unseeing. Perhaps he should go in search of her now.
“Well, I hope she’s not lost, dear boy.”
“It’s Skern, Mum.” He shot her a weak grin. “Not Inswythe or Port Quinnick.”
She rolled her eyes for his benefit and placed the books down on the counter, her gaze searching the nearest window. “Yes, well. She liked the shop. I could see it in her eyes.”
“Yes she did.” He drew in a breath and turned completely toward her. “But she also sees more.”
“More?”
“All those ideas in her head, ways to improve what we have. She has that vision, that information, that she’s studied for years, waiting to use it.”
“Yes, well, we shall see.”
He groaned. “Mum, you remember the Book Parade? And the website ideas she sent to Brynna? And the marketing suggestions? Not only is she a wonderful person from head to toe, but she also carries a magic about bookish things.”
She looked away, her gaze roaming over the room. “Your father loved this place.”
“And so do I.” He stood, bringing her attention back to him. “But Father also had to make adjustments from Grandfather’s plan so that Sutherland’s could grow and change with the world.”
Mother gave her head a small shake. “Brodie, there’s so much of him here.” The unvoiced plea in her voice nearly wilted him to the chair. “If we change things . . .”
“Mum, he will always be a part of this place.” He took her hands in his. “And Isabelle isn’t going to turn the shop on its head, but I can assure you, her ideas will help. If I can convince her to share them.”
“You don’t think she will?”
“I’m not certain.” He released her hands and stepped back. “She doesn’t want to intrude on what we have here, but from what I’ve been able to glean from the information she’s shared and my own research, opening a new shop isn’t the right choice. In fact, it would likely only lead to worse financial strain.”
She pressed a fist to her chest and scanned the bookshop, as if saying goodbye to it.
“But we’re not a lost cause.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek and she spared him a shadowed smile. “We’re at a crossroads, but I believe we can make a fresh start.”
“I’m not agreeing to change anything in this shop until I hear what exactly the two of you have in mind beyond website updates and social media exploits. Those don’t impact the walls and bindings of this place.” She shook her head again. “But if you plan to take away what we’ve done all these years, Brodie—”
“Mum, you know I don’t take relationships lightly or carelessly.”
She studied him a moment and gave a slight nod.
“Then trust me. I believe this opportunity may be the very thing Isabelle . . . and Sutherland’s needs most.”
Her lifted brow was her only response as she collected the Christie books. “If she ever finds her way back,” she added, before disappearing into the back of the shop.
Well, it may take more than pretty talk and earnest pleas to reach beyond Mum’s fear of losing Da’s presence in this shop, but at least she hadn’t refused outright. He cringed. Or burst into tears. He sighed down into the chair and looked up toward the window, only to meet Isabelle’s eyes from outside as she came to a stop on the other side.
Her dark hair fell over her shoulders, a striking contrast to the yellow blouse she wore.
He slowly rose from his seat, keeping his gaze fastened on hers. Her eyes pleaded with him through the glass, and he moved a few steps closer. What did he need to do? Stay? Run outside the shop and embrace her? As if she recognized his indecision, her lips crooked and she disappeared from view only to emerge through the front door, the entry bell jingling her entrance.
