The bookstore was unusually quiet for a Thursday afternoon. Violet sat behind the front desk, her fingers curled around a mug of Earl Grey, watching snow drift lazily past the shop's tall windows. The calm after Sunday dinner had faded, but the peace it left in its wake had stuck around longer than expected.
She was finally starting to feel settled.
Adam's camera rested on the table nearby, a reminder of the afternoon they'd spent shooting portraits of her in the reading nook. He had convinced her to sit in her favorite armchair surrounded by poetry anthologies, claiming the light from the window was "storybook perfect."
The resulting photos, still unedited, were warm and soft—like the version of her she only let Adam see.
The bell over the door jingled, and Tessa breezed in like a whirlwind in boots and a scarf she had clearly knitted herself.
"Tell me you're ready," Tessa said dramatically. "Because tonight is the open mic night we accidentally promised to host."
Violet blinked. "That's tonight?"
"Did you hit your head or just repress everything not involving Adam's cheekbones?"
Violet set her mug down. "I'm ready. Mostly."
Tessa clapped. "Great. Because Raj is bringing his whole cooking club, and apparently, they're under the impression this is a wine tasting too."
Violet groaned. "Perfect."
That evening, the bookstore transformed into a cozy performance space. Folding chairs were arranged between the shelves, fairy lights twinkled above, and a makeshift stage had been cleared near the travel section.
Adam arrived with Grace and Lucas in tow. Lucas wore a "Support Local Poets" T-shirt he'd clearly made himself, and Grace was already sipping from a bottle of sparkling juice like it was champagne.
"Where's your poem?" Violet asked Adam, nudging him.
He laughed. "I'll read if you read."
"You first."
"No deal."
The room slowly filled with neighbors, friends, and curious onlookers. Raj had brought breadsticks and three types of hummus. Tessa handed out programs she'd printed an hour before.
Violet opened the evening with a warm welcome and a nervous laugh.
Their first performer was Fiona from Petunia & Pearl, who read a surprisingly sultry piece about tulips and betrayal. Then came Maya and Luis, the couple Violet had met during dinner at the shop. Luis recited a heartfelt ode to his favorite bookstore, which made Violet tear up.
Then, Elena walked in.
Every muscle in Violet's back stiffened.
Elena made her way to the front and signed her name onto the list with the air of someone preparing for battle.
"I didn't know she wrote poetry," Violet whispered to Adam.
"She probably just wants to outperform you," Grace said. "Or sabotage the mic."
When Elena finally read, it was a surprisingly tender piece about envy, expectation, and feeling left behind. For the first time in years, Violet saw her cousin as something other than sharp edges.
After Elena stepped down, she brushed past Violet. "It's not personal," she murmured.
"It sounded personal."
"I meant the envy. You chose what I couldn't."
And just like that, Violet softened.
Later, Adam stepped up to the mic, clearing his throat as the lights dimmed slightly.
"This is for the girl who thought she was too stubborn to be loved. And for the town that taught me home isn't where you're from—it's who stays when things get hard."
His voice cracked only once.
Violet's heart cracked open all over again.
When the night ended, chairs were stacked, crumbs swept, and guests drifted out under a sky sprinkled with stars.
Violet and Adam lingered in the doorway, coats wrapped around them, watching the snow fall.
"You're still here," she said quietly.
"I'll keep being here," he replied.
And this time, she believed him.