Chapter 2 — Tough Love

Third Person

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains in Lila D’Arcy’s living room, pooling golden light onto the navy-blue rug that stretched across the polished wooden floor. The room exuded an understated elegance that mirrored its owner—immaculate, orderly, and purposeful. Alina perched on the edge of an overstuffed armchair, her sea-green eyes flicking to the sunlight playing on the silver rim of her teacup. The fragrant aroma of chamomile and lavender rose softly with the steam, but her restless hands fidgeted with the delicate chain of her compass pendant, betraying her frayed nerves.

Across from her, Lila sat with practiced ease, her back straight, her sharp blue eyes unreadable as they fixed unwaveringly on her younger sister. She held her teacup with the steady grace of someone who had conquered life’s chaos—or, at least, forced it into submission.

“So,” Lila began, her tone clipped but measured as she tucked a strand of straight, dark brown hair behind her ear. “You’ve seen the bookstore.”

Alina winced. “I have.”

“And?”

“And it’s… well, it’s seen better days,” Alina admitted, blowing gently on her tea before taking a small sip. Her gaze drifted toward the ornate clock on the mantel, its rhythmic ticking a steady counterpoint to her jittery thoughts. “But it’s not completely hopeless.”

Lila’s sigh came heavy with meaning, a sound that seemed to expand to fill the room. “That place is falling apart, Alina. Theo’s been trying to hold it together for years, but it’s clear he can’t keep up. Honestly, I’m surprised the roof hasn’t caved in yet.”

Alina frowned, setting her teacup down a little harder than necessary. The porcelain clinked sharply against the saucer. “Why are you telling me this? It’s not my responsibility.”

Lila leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharpening with purpose. “Maybe it should be.”

The words landed like a stone in Alina’s chest, momentarily stealing her breath. Of all the things she’d braced for—a lecture about her crumpled sweater or a jab at her avoidance tactics—this wasn’t it. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, her voice defensive, though a flicker of unease undercut her tone.

“It means,” Lila said, folding her hands neatly in her lap, “that you can’t just show up, play tourist, and pretend you’re not part of this town. You know how much that bookstore meant to Theo’s parents. To Theo.”

Alina scoffed, though the sound faltered halfway out of her throat. “Lila, I’m here for your wedding, not to solve a decade’s worth of problems.”

“Oh, please.” Lila’s lips twitched in a faint, knowing smile. “You’re a storyteller. Always have been, always will be. If anyone could help Theo figure this out, it’s you.”

“That’s completely unfair,” Alina shot back, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “You think I can just waltz in with a pen and a few clever ideas and fix everything? This isn’t one of my articles, Lila. This is real life.”

“And you think running away from it is going to make it any less real?” Lila’s voice softened, though her words still cut. “Maybe it’s time you stopped running.”

The remark struck Alina with all the subtlety of a crashing wave. Her fingers instinctively tightened around her compass pendant, its cool surface grounding her even as a lump formed in her throat. “I’m not running,” she replied finally, though her words carried the hollow weight of a half-truth.

Lila’s expression didn’t shift. “Aren’t you?”

The silence that followed was thick, charged. The muted ticking of the clock filled the space where Alina’s retort should have been, but she couldn’t summon one. Finally, she managed to speak, her voice softer, almost fragile. “You make it sound so simple. Like I can just decide to stop feeling guilty or scared, and everything will magically fall into place.”

“Of course it’s not simple,” Lila said, her tone gentler now, the faintest trace of vulnerability softening her gaze. “But you’ve got to start somewhere. And maybe that somewhere is right here.”

Alina stared down at the tea in her lap, her reflection rippling faintly in the amber liquid. Somewhere deep in her chest, something stirred—a flicker of guilt or hope, or maybe something in between. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could find the words, a sharp knock interrupted her thoughts.

“Lila, my dear!” came the familiar, melodic voice of Mrs. Greenfield from the front door. “I’ve brought the fabric swatches you asked for. Let me in before the wind carries me off!”

Lila rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the faint smile that tugged at her lips. “She’s impossible,” she muttered as she rose from the couch with her usual grace.

The door swung open, and Mrs. Greenfield swept into the room like a burst of color against the muted tones of the day. Her scarf fluttered behind her like a banner, and her cheeks were flushed from the brisk air. In her arms, she carried a bulging tote bag that seemed ready to spill its contents onto the polished floor.

“There we are,” she declared, depositing the tote onto the nearest surface with a dramatic flourish. “Now, let’s get to work before I lose track of which swatch is which. Oh, and Alina! Lovely to see you, my dear. Have you been reacquainting yourself with our little town?”

Alina forced a small smile. “Something like that.”

Mrs. Greenfield’s eyes sparkled with mischief as they flicked to Alina’s pendant, then back to her face. “I hear you’ve been by the bookstore. What a treasure trove that place is! Did I ever tell you about the time I found a first edition of *Wuthering Heights* there? Nearly fainted dead away.”

“Sounds like it’s still full of surprises,” Alina said lightly, but the memory of the bookstore’s sagging shelves and watermarked ceiling twisted her stomach.

“Oh, it is,” Mrs. Greenfield replied, her tone softening. “But every piece of history needs someone to keep its stories alive.” Her gaze lingered on Alina, and her words hung in the air like a gentle challenge. “Theo’s parents used to host storytelling nights there, you know. It was the highlight of the week—people gathered to share tales and poems, to laugh and dream. That store brought the town together in a way nothing else could.”

Alina blinked, caught off guard by the sentiment in Mrs. Greenfield’s voice. “Storytelling night?”

Mrs. Greenfield nodded, her expression growing wistful. “Theo’s been reluctant to bring it back, but I think the town could use a little magic again. And so could he.”

Alina opened her mouth to protest, to argue that it wasn’t her place, but the words dissolved before they could form. Mrs. Greenfield’s attention had already shifted back to Lila and the swatches.

“Ah, now this shade of green is divine!” Mrs. Greenfield exclaimed, holding up a sample. “Very chic, very modern. What do you think, Lila?”

Lila tilted her head, considering the fabric with the same precision she applied to everything. “It’s a strong contender,” she admitted, though her eyes flicked briefly to Alina, her earlier words still echoing faintly between them.

Alina sank back into the armchair, her fingers tracing small patterns on the fabric of the armrest. Her gaze drifted toward the window, where the bookstore stood in the distance, its faded sign catching the dying light of the afternoon.

She pressed her thumb against the compass pendant at her collarbone, the small, imperfect needle trembling faintly beneath her touch. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to picture the bookstore as it once was—alive and brimming with stories. A sanctuary. The weight of Lila’s words—and Mrs. Greenfield’s—settled heavily over her, but instead of crushing her, it seemed to root her in place.

Perhaps it wasn’t too late to begin again.