I wrapped two thick novels in brown paper and stuck them into a red paper bag, handing it to Mrs. Hansen with a smile. “Alexandre Dumas isn’t exactly a read-in-one-day type author,” I said. “But Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers are so enjoyable you’ll be finished with them before you know it.”

Mrs. Hansen took the bag from me gratefully. “I’ve heard of the swashbuckling fun and witty humor and I’ve decided I just can’t procrastinate Dumas any longer,” she said with a laugh. “Thank you, Emalee. Tell your mom I said hi.”

Mrs. Hansen left the small bookstore, and I glanced at the Hobbit clock hanging behind the cash register. “Amy, I’m taking my lunch,” I called to my older sister, who was busy stocking a new shipment of books on the shelf.

“Grab me something, please!” Amy called back. “I’m starving.”

I grabbed my purse from under the register. “We’re getting Chinese. What do you want?”

Amy peeked her strawberry blonde head around the bookshelf. “Peanut butter chicken? And rangoons!”

I made a mental note and exited the bookshop, the little welcome bell jangling in the doorway.

Stepping onto the New York street, I breathed in the smell of the coffee shop conveniently located next to our store and the Italian pizza place across the street.

Leaving McLaughlin Books behind, I took the subway. Cory said he’d meet me at Wang’s Kitchen at noon for lunch. I wasn’t about to miss a rare lunch date, it was hard to convince him to pull away from work for even five minutes.

I reached my destination and glanced around the small sit-down restaurant. No Cory. Sighing in frustration, I sat on a cracked waiting bench and pulled my phone from my purse. I gave him a call, pressing the phone against my cheek.

It went to voicemail.

I noted the time – ten after twelve. He was late, but not that late. I sent him a quick text letting him know I was there and waited.

He walked through the glass door five minutes later, his phone pressed against his ear. “Yeah,” he was saying. “Yeah, we’re going to need to work with more than that. I need results, and fast. Okay. Just get it done.” He spotted me after hanging up the phone and strode over with a smile.

I stood. “Busy day at work?”

“The usual,” he said, but he was distracted. He made eye contact with the usher, who already had two menus in hand. “Two, please. Booth.”

We were led to the back and we slid into the red cushioned seats. “How’s work?” Cory asked, opening and staring at his laminated menu.

“Today’s a good day,” I said, watching him. “Mrs. Hansen came back in. Ever since my mom gave her that free book on the house…”

Cory’s phone vibrated. He held up a finger, answering it.

I clamped my mouth shut.

The waiter came by. “What to drink?” he asked.

“Just water for me, thanks,” I answered him, and we both turned to Cory. He pulled the end of the phone away from his mouth. “Cherry Coke,” he said quietly, and then refocused on his conversation.

The waiter smiled with a small bow and retreated.

I waited for Cory to finish his phone call, scrolling through Facebook. The politics and picture-perfect families irritated me, so I switched to Pinterest, looking for a way to freshen up McLaughlin Books with a summer flare. A beautiful stick-on map of the world caught my attention and I stared at it, wondering if we could make space for it along the children’s wall…

The waiter brought our drinks and I ordered crab rangoons.

Cory finally hung up. “Sorry,” he muttered, grabbing a rangoon. “This project with Covill is proving to be more work than I thought. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

I smiled at him. “At least they have you, you little worker bee.”

Cory didn’t reply, but I saw him flush with pride at my acknowledgement.

I cleared my throat. “So,” I said, “Phantom of the Opera. Where do you want to eat before we go? I was thinking we could—"

Cory was staring down at his lap.

“Cory?” I asked. “Are you on your phone? Come on, I want to talk to you.”

“Just a second, sweetheart,” he said, and he slid his hand out of mine so he could reply to an email.

I sat back in my seat, irritated. “I feel like I never get to spend time with you anymore,” I pouted.

“That’s nice, Em,” Cory said.

I bit at my bottom lip and silenced myself.

The waiter returned for our orders, and I requested sweet and sour chicken while Cory ordered orange chicken.

“Look, I know you’re busy,” I tried again. “But… I mean, you have enough money.”

Cory’s eyes snapped up to meet mine in a harsh gaze. “I need to work, Em,” he said. “You know this. I can’t stop, not when I know I can do more. I can create more. I can earn more.”

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “Okay, but you don’t give me any time. I don’t want to be one of those girls who appears clingy, but…”

“Then don’t,” he snapped. “I’m sorry you’re feeling like I don’t give you enough attention. But there are more important things going on with my newest company right now.”

It was like a verbal slap to the face. I sat there, silent, as the waiter brought us our food. Cory took a bite of his chicken and made a face.

“Why did you want to meet here?” he asked. “This is basically a two-star restaurant. We could have gone to Ramsey’s new place.”

Frustrated tears stung my eyes.

Cory had been sweet when we first met. He’d appeared intellectual, engaged in conversation. But within the short eight months of dating him, I’d seen him slowly revert to a workaholic. The appeal of dating a billionaire was dying off fast. Why bother when he didn’t have the time to spare for me?

I poked at my chicken and rice. “Cory…” I started. I sighed. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Cory stuffed a forkful of food in his mouth. “What?”

“This. Date. I… thought I could handle it. But I can’t.”

Cory stared at me, his fork suspended in midair. “You…. You’re breaking up with me?”

I bit my bottom lip, trying to stay strong. “Not… really. I just… I think we need a break. To reevaluate what’s important.”

Cory frowned at me. “I can give you whatever you want,” he said.

“I know. But I want time with you. And you’re not giving me that. So… I want a break.”

Cory looked like he was going to argue, but took a slow breath, setting his fork down. “If that’s what you want,” he said. “You can still crash at my place until your apartment is ready.”

I smiled. This was the generosity I sometimes glimpsed in him. Maybe we weren’t through yet. “Thanks,” I said.

Cory stood. “I need to get back. I’ll see you tonight.”

He brushed a quick kiss on my forehead before I could stop him. I watched him leave the restaurant, wondering if he knew what I meant by taking a “break.” I sighed, I’d have to set boundaries tonight.

I ordered Amy’s food to go before leaving the restaurant and heading back to my family’s bookshop.

Six o’clock chimed on the Hobbit clock, and I stood from my spot behind the register. “I’m going home,” I told Amy.

“You sure?” I heard Amy ask from a bean bag behind some bookshelves. She was most likely on her phone or reading a book. “Mom’s stopping by with cookies.”

It was tempting. “I should get back to Cory’s and unpack the rest of my stuff,” I said.

“Suit yourself.”

I left Amy and began my trek to Cory’s apartment, taking the subway. It took twenty minutes for me to get to the luxury apartment, which was good time for a New Yorker. Amy had an hour commute.

I entered the large and extravagant complex, taking the elevator up to the fourth floor. My keys clinked together as I drew them out of my purse. I flipped through the garage key, the bookstore key, the safe key, and the mail key before finding the one to the apartment.

Exiting the elevator, I made my way to apartment 418.

I paused as I inserted the key into the lock, listening. Rock music pounded on the other side of the door.

Did Cory come home early?

Unlocking the door, I peeked inside.

Cory was in the ornate living room, shirtless and doing one-handed push-ups. I hadn’t seen that man work out in months.

He glanced up as I entered the apartment. I breezed past him, setting my purse and keys on the kitchen counter. “I wasn’t expecting you to be home so soon,” I called above the noise.

The music was lowered. “What’s that, love?”

I peeked my head out of the kitchen and watched as Cory stood, wiping sweat from his neck with his t-shirt. His eyes ran up and down my body. “Damn,” he said.

I felt a slight blush rise to my cheeks. “Hello to you, too,” I said. “Look I know we’re on a break but I’ve already planned dinner so how does lasagna sound for dinner. Double meat, the way you like it.”

Cory raised his brows. “Do I, now?”

“And zucchini and mushrooms, the way I like it.” I smirked. “You’re not getting a pass on veggies.”

Cory laughed. “Picky as always, is he?”

His remark confused me, but I ignored it, opening the fridge and pulling out ingredients. Cory always insisted he could hire a gourmet chef, but I wanted to repay him somehow for letting me crash at his place.

Cory slowly strode behind me. “He didn’t tell you, did he?” he asked.

I turned to face him and found his gorgeous hazel eyes feet away from me. There was a humor and attentiveness in them I wasn’t used to seeing…

Something was off. Cory’s hair seemed longer than it had been when I met him today, and his stubble was darker on his jaw than he’d usually allow.

Cory cocked an eyebrow. “Come on, you’re not really mistaking me for my pompous ass of a brother, are you?”

Everything clicked loudly in my head. “Oh, my gosh,” I breathed. “Tristan?”

Tristan grinned. “In the flesh.”