by Liz Johnson
Irresistible, yes. That’s what they’d make this cottage-turned-library. They’d fill it with laughter until its charm became contagious. Until Mayor Hayden and all the rest of them had no choice but to reconsider their decision.
Rowan’s gaze drifted to the Classics Room now, where Jonah was in one of his usual spots—folded into the window seat, wearing a plaid flannel shirt and jeans, a book propped open against his knees and his glasses sliding down his nose. The man was handsome without the glasses, but with them? He was downright . . .
Adorable.
Not a word she ever would’ve thought to use to describe any man, leastwise a king. But it fit. Without moving his eyes from his book, he reached for the half-eaten pastry on a plate beside him. Surely the Hansen sisters who ran the bakery had his daily pastry and coffee order memorized by now.
Probably had a good-sized crush on him, too. Just like Ashley, who’d just so happened to offer to work extra hours this week.
“So, are we going to talk about this sometime?”
At the sound of Liza’s low voice, Rowan forced her attention from Jonah. “Talk about what? My brilliant plan to save the library?”
Liza rolled her eyes. “So not what I meant.”
“We should have wassail, shouldn’t we? Aren’t they always having that in old Christmas stories?” Rowan reached for one of Hattie’s peanut butter cookies as a clatter sounded from the kitchen. What was Ashley doing back there? “Although, let’s be honest, I don’t even know what wassail is, but I can find out.”
“Play dumb all you want, Row, but I’m your best friend and I’ll pry it out of you eventually.”
“I have no idea what you mean.” Rowan brushed the cookie crumbs from her pale pink sweater.
“I mean four walks in four nights with His Majesty over there,” Liza said, nudging her head toward the Classics Room.
“He really prefers Jonah.”
“And I really prefer honesty.” Liza scooted her chair closer to Rowan’s, the rest of the committee members oblivious to their private conversation. “What’s he like? I know it’s the unwritten rule in Tinsel that we don’t snoop into the lives of all the famous people that end up here, but hello, he’s royalty and clearly this isn’t just a normal vacation for him. What’s he doing here? Did he really abdicate the throne? Why? It can’t be a King Edward sort of situation, abdicating for love and all that. Because if that were the case, he’d be hanging out with his own personal Wallis Simpson. Instead he’s here. At the library. Every day. That’s not what people do on vacation.”
“It’s what Jonah does. He loves books. Like, loves them.” She couldn’t help a glance into the other room. Jonah had slid further down in the window seat and his glasses perched on the very tip of his nose. Uh, yeah, adorable was definitely the right word. “This is his idea of the perfect vacation—a quaint library and an open book.”
“And a librarian he’s been seen around town with every evening since Saturday.”
“Since when did you join the Tinsel rumor mill?”
“Since when did you get so secretive?”
“I’m not being secretive. There’s nothing to tell. We’re friends. We both like to take walks. He tells me about Concordia and living in a palace. I tell him about growing up in the most technologically backwards town in America.”
They’d talked about silly things—family pets and favorite flavors of ice cream. They’d talked about hard things—loss, grief, how sometimes it was the happy memories that hurt the most. She’d told him about her promise to Grandma, how it’d changed the course of her life. He told her how his course had been set for him since his birth.
The only topic he seemed to avoid was the one thing she was most curious about. Why had he abdicated?
As if sensing her study now, Jonah glanced up from his book, his russet eyes immediately connecting with hers. She was embarrassed to be caught staring, enough so that she dropped what was left of her cookie into her lap. And yet, she was too captivated by his slow smile to look away.
And while she watched—perhaps because she watched—he pulled a pencil from behind his ear. Made a show of using it to nudge his glasses up the bridge of his nose, then flattened his open book in his lap and leaned over to write in it. When he lifted his gaze to her again, he raised one eyebrow, as if to ask if she’d scold him the way her grandmother had.
A gooey warmth started in her cheeks and slid all the way to her toes.
Until Liza’s snort interrupted. “Friends. Right.”
At the sound of more racket in the kitchen, Rowan jolted from her chair, her cookie dropping to the floor. “I need more coffee.”
“Fine. Me and my nosiness will still be here waiting when you’re back.”
Rowan was halfway to the kitchen when Liza called after her. “Say, Row?” She turned to see Liza lifting her empty coffee mug. “Forget something?”
She marched back to her friend and swiped her mug, then hurried toward the kitchen once more. She’d refill her coffee. She’d find out why Ashley was making such a ruckus.
She’d pick a chair far away from Liza when she returned.
But it wasn’t Ashley she found in the kitchen.
“Mom? What in the world are you doing?”
Mom whipped her head around from where she’d been pushing an oven—wait, a new oven?—into a gap between cupboards. “You needed an oven, I brought you an oven.” She bent and gave the appliance another shove.
“But—”
“A fire, Rowan. You had a fire here and didn’t bother to call me.” The oven hit against the cupboard, stuck at an angle. Mom thrust away from it, straightening, moving her hands to hips. Straight blonde hair several shades lighter than Rowan’s fell over her forehead. “You skipped Thanksgiving. I’ve hardly seen you in weeks. So forgive me for trying to bribe you with an appliance but that’s what I’m doing. Talk, daughter.”
It was exactly what Grandma would’ve said. Talk, Rowan. She’d always known when Rowan was holding too much inside. Struggling with emotion she didn’t want to feel. Stumbling through decisions she didn’t know how to make.
Oh Grandma, how I miss you.
Maybe now more than ever—considering the library, the ever-growing distance between her and Mom.
And whose fault is that? Guilt pricked her conscience. How many Sundays in a row now had Rowan missed their weekly family dinner after church? She’d skipped the grill-out on Labor Day. Only stayed with Mom, Eddie, and her stepsiblings for half of the Fourth of July parade before wandering off to find Liza and her boyfriend.
“Sorry I didn’t call. But I knew you all were in Boston—”
“We would’ve come home.” Was that a flash of hurt in Mom’s eyes? “It’s bad enough you backed out at the last minute . . . why did you back out? We missed you.”
“Mom—”
“Is it Eddie? He’s tried so hard, Row. He cares about you so much. Your stepsiblings adore you.”
“I know that.” Of course, she did.
But how could she explain to Mom what it felt like—her world standing so still while Mom’s spun somewhere else entirely? After Dad’s death, Rowan and Grandma and Mom—they’d clung to each other. After Grandma died, at least they’d still had one another. Through shared loss, they’d grown closer than ever before.
But then Eddie had come along a few years ago. Kind, generous Eddie, who—along with his four kids—had brought the light back into Mom’s eyes.
And here Rowan was dimming it for reasons she couldn’t fully explain. Because of emotion she couldn’t fully understand.
Nothing was the same anymore. And yet, it wasn’t different enough either. Every day here—here at the library, here in Tinsel, here in this place she loved and yet sometimes might give just about anything to leave if not for her promise to Grandma—was pretty much identical.
Until Jonah had come along.
“I needed to be here,” she finally said. “For the library.”
�
��I know it’s important to you. But it’s just a house, Rowan. We’re your family.” Mom turned back to the stove, shifted it until it was straight and pushed it into place. When it bumped against the wall, she turned once more. “We have some news, Eddie and I. We were going to share it with everyone on Thanksgiving, but now . . . ” She sighed.
“What news?”
“Come to Sunday dinner. We want to tell all the kids together.”
“But—”
“Sunday.” Mom nabbed her purse from the counter and disappeared out the back door.
“You need to see this.” Hamish slapped a newspaper over the open book in Jonah’s lap.
“Must you, Ham? I was just getting to the good part and—” Jonah cut off as the bold newsprint staring back at him came into focus. King George Charts His Course.
Just five measly words. They shouldn’t have the power to choke his thoughts.
And yet, Jonah could feel his spirits buckling as he twisted in the window seat, feet landing on the floor, and scanned the article underneath. Geordie had given a speech? Sounded fairly innocuous—something about using his short-term reign to unify the nation and build goodwill toward the monarchy. Nothing especially provocative. But a public address hadn’t been in the transition plan. Where had that come from?
And since when did the nation need unifying?
Hamish’s form towered over him. Jonah glanced up. “Where’d you even get a copy of The Times?”
“Spent a fortune on express international shipping. You’re welcome.”
“I’m supposed to thank you for this?” Jonah closed his book and set it aside. So much for rereading his childhood favorite—The Magician’s Nephew. He stood. “The whole goal of coming here was to put Concordia behind me for a time.”
“I understand that.” Hamish rubbed one palm over his bald head. “But it may not be possible. Especially if Geordie has a plan in all of this.”
“I really don’t think—”
“That article makes it sound like Geordie’s doing what you couldn’t. Taking the country in a new direction. Did you see the part about Harthingland?”
Jonah paced the room, trying to ignore the clamor of voices from the committee meeting still in progress, not to mention the uproar in his churning thoughts. Yes, he’d seen the part about Harthingland. Geordie had promised a thorough review of the trade agreement Jonah had established with their neighboring country two years ago after first ascending to the throne. The one Harthingland had reneged on earlier this year.
“The king plans to personally read the trade agreement in its entirety to determine what recourse may be possible regarding Harthingland’s failure to abide by the treaty.
‘I understand the impact our trade laws have on the citizens of Concordia—our farmers and tradesmen alike,’ the king said, from the same balcony his brother stood on just days earlier to announce his abdication. ‘It isn’t right or just to allow this situation to continue unresolved.’”
Surely Geordie hadn’t realized how his words sounded. As if he were berating his own brother for dragging his feet in addressing the failed trade agreement. He’d likely only meant to pacify those who were upset at the situation. He wouldn’t truly take some sort of action against Harthingland.
Would he?
No, not Geordie. Geordie had shunned any serious study of government and history during their years of being tutored at home. He’d spent his terms at university—and much of his time since—frolicking from one good time to another.
“Geordie enjoys being the center of attention,” Jonah said, gaze on the line of houses outside the picture window—snow-capped rooftops, windows glazed with frost, walkways and porches cluttered with boot prints in the snow. “It was a fancy speech. Nothing more.”
Hamish stepped up beside him. “You really believe that?”
“He’s my brother and he’s a loyal countryman. He wouldn’t jeopardize the throne or the nation at-large by taking reckless action.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Besides, I’ll be grateful to hear his thoughts on the treaty when I return. Goodness knows I’ve had an earful from the Advisory Council. I think Brickston would’ve preferred action against Harthingland all along.”
Their two countries had been at odds for decades—centuries, really, ever since Concordia had won the Border War of 1759. But the way Jonah saw it, their nations needed one another. Concordia’s was an agricultural society, its sprawling fields rich in bounty. Whereas Harthingland, bordered on one side by the Mediterranean, had a vibrant shipping and trade industry.
But Harthingland’s economy had suffered in recent years. Which meant it had imported less and less from Concordia, thus, leaving Concordian farmers in a bind. They’d raised prices to make up for the shortfall, only for Harthingland’s merchants to retaliate by refusing to export Concordian goods altogether.
It was a rancorous cycle that had come to a head at the same time as Jonah ascended to the throne. At Adelaide’s urging, he’d taken the unprecedented action of meeting with King Nester of Harthingland in person. Absent any advisors or outside council, together they’d come up with an agreement that included tariff ceilings and guaranteed port access while ensuring continued trade between the countries.
Everything had been better for a time. Until Harthingland’s merchants had begun reneging earlier this year. Jonah’s attempts to get involved this time had gone nowhere. King Nester, newly wedded and happily distracted, had declined to intervene in his people’s business affairs.
“Maybe Geordie will have an idea of how to reach King Nester,” Jonah reiterated. “Fresh eyes and a fresh opinion on the whole thing will be a boon.”
He turned in time to see the streak of doubt in Hamish’s expression. But the older man blinked away his hesitation, offering no more than a brief nod.
Jonah dropped his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry, Ham. This hasn’t been much of a vacation for you.”
“It wasn’t meant to be a vacation, Your—Jonah.”
“Why don’t you hit the slopes? Or do some Christmas shopping for your wife and kids?”
“Instead of babysitting you, you mean?”
Jonah reached for the newspaper and refolded it with the back page facing out—the offending headline hidden—and handed it to Hamish. “It can’t be much fun to sit around all day watching me read.”
“No. But the evening walks are entertaining enough.” The man didn’t so much as lift one corner of his mouth, but Jonah could see his hidden grin all the same.
Though he and Rowan had managed to shake Hamish that first night, he’d tagged along every evening since. He kept his distance most of the time. But he was always around somewhere within sight.
“I’m beginning to feel like an old regency lord trying to court a proper English lady, always in need of a chaperone.” Jonah glanced into the Nonfiction Room, noticed Rowan’s empty seat. He’d liked knowing she was watching earlier when he’d underlined that quote, one of his favorites, in The Magician’s Nephew:
“Make your choice, adventurous Stranger;
Strike the bell and bide the danger,
Or wonder, till it drives you mad,
What would have followed if you had.”
Maybe he’d leave the book sitting somewhere she’d find it later. Maybe she’d go looking for his scribbles like she had in A Christmas Carol.
“Is that what you’re trying to do, Your Majesty?” Hamish asked. “Court a lady? Because if so, you might consider doing something a little more creative than taking a walk.”
“She likes walks.”
“So you are trying to—”
“Get away from this conversation? Yes.”
Hamish actually chuckled. Had Jonah ever in his life heard the man chuckle? But as quickly as Hamish let his amusement free, he sobered. “If you don’t mind me saying so, I think it’s a good thing. I’ve often thought—worried, perhaps—that since Adelaide . . .” Hamish’s voice trailed
, but the unspoken words suspended in the space between them.
“She would’ve known what to do,” Jonah said softly. “About Harthingland. About . . . everything. She could always see things so clearly.”
“She was very wise. And a good friend to you.” Hamish rolled up the newspaper and tucked it inside his jacket. “But you’re wise, too. You don’t seem to see it, but I do.”
Hamish was right about one thing—Jonah didn’t see it. Nor had Father.
“I’m worried he’s not cut out for the position he was born into.”
As if it were only yesterday, not twenty years ago, he heard Father’s voice all over again. Felt the weight of the man’s doubt. It stung nearly as much at thirty-two as it had at twelve.
Jonah had been crouching outside the massive oak door of his parents’ palace chambers when he’d overheard the conversation. He’d only meant to slip a homemade birthday card for Mum under the door. Instead, he’d learned the hard truth of how Father felt about him.
“When a king speaks, the people listen. That’s how it’s supposed to be. But it takes a true leader to speak, to inspire faith and fidelity from his citizens. I don’t see that in Jonah.”
It’d taken Mum, who’d been bedridden for days by that point, quiet seconds to answer. “Then you aren’t looking hard enough.”
What had Mum seen in Jonah that Father didn’t? Perhaps if Jonah hadn’t crept away so quickly, biting back his hurt, he might’ve found out.
As it was, Mum had succumbed to illness less than a week later.
And Jonah had spent the next eighteen years trying to prove Father wrong. He’d avoided the royal library, saved any reading for late night hours in his room. He’d worked hard to impress his tutors and his trainer and anyone else charged with preparing him for his eventual rule.
But had he ever impressed Father? Even just once?
He didn’t think so. A week ago when Jonah had signed that abdication letter, he’d been sure Father would’ve roared his disapproval if he could. But now . . . he had to wonder if Father would’ve been pleased, after all. Because it’d paved the way for Geordie, his favored son, to wear the crown.
