Episode 2: The Room He Never Let Me Enter
942 Words
Harper had avoided the back room her entire life.
Even as a child, when curiosity ruled her bones and questions spilled endlessly from her mouth, that door had always been off-limits. Her father never raised his voice about it—he never had to. One gentle shake of his head had always been enough.
Now, standing in the quiet glow of the shop after Leo’s departure, that same door seemed to pull at her.
The manuscript.
Her father’s last secret.
Her fingers trembled as she crossed the narrow aisle. Each step felt heavier than the last. The shop was silent now, but the air felt alive—charged with questions she had never been brave enough to ask.
The lock on the door was old.
She slid the small brass key from her father’s ring— the one she’d kept without knowing why—and slipped it into the lock.
It clicked open.
The scent inside was different.
Not the familiar perfume of the main shop—this was deeper, richer. Ink. Parchment. Time.
She stepped inside.
The room was small but packed wall-to-wall with stacked boxes, old furniture, and shelves overflowing with notebooks, loose pages, and yellowed folders. A single dusty lamp sat on a wooden desk in the center.
Her breath caught.
He had been writing.
Not secretly here and there.
But obsessively.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.
She reached forward and lifted the nearest stack of papers.
Her father’s handwriting filled every page.
Strong. Deliberate. Alive.
A story unfolded before her eyes—characters born from his imagination, conflicts rich with emotion, romance threaded through tragedy and hope alike. It wasn’t just a hobby.
It was a novel.
A full one.
Tears welled as she flipped through page after page. This wasn’t just a hidden manuscript—it was the side of her father she had never truly known.
And he’d trusted Leo with it.
Anger flared unexpectedly.
How long had Leo known?
Why him?
The doorbell chimed at the front of the store.
Harper froze.
Footsteps again.
Confident.
Familiar.
She wiped her face quickly and stormed out of the room just as Leo stepped inside, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, holding two coffee cups.
“I figured you’d still be here,” he said lightly.
Her eyes burned. “You knew.”
Leo paused. “About the manuscript?”
“You knew he was writing all this time,” she accused. She held up a sheaf of pages that trembled in her grip. “You knew he was hiding it from me.”
Leo’s jaw tightened as realization dawned. “You found the room.”
“That wasn’t your answer.”
He exhaled slowly. “Yes. I knew.”
Her heart fractured. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” he said gently. “He made me promise.”
She turned away sharply. “Another promise made too late.”
“Harper—”
“He trusted you,” she whispered. “And never once trusted me.”
“That’s not true.”
She spun back to face him. “Then why did you know, Leo? Why were you the one he shared it with instead of his own daughter?”
Leo stepped closer, his voice low. “Because he was afraid.”
“Of me?”
“Of losing you.”
The words stopped her cold.
“He said you’d left to build a life without this place,” Leo continued. “And he didn’t want to burden you with another responsibility. He said you deserved a future not built from his shadows.”
Her breath shattered.
“I didn’t leave him,” she said brokenly. “I left because I was scared of becoming him.”
Leo’s gaze softened. “And he was scared of holding you back.”
Silence fell between them.
Heavy. Honest. Raw.
Harper finally lowered the papers. “What did he ask you to do with it?”
Leo hesitated—then spoke. “He wanted it published anonymously. The proceeds would fund the bookstore’s restoration. He timed everything so that the story would save the story.”
Her legs weakened.
“This wasn’t about modernization,” she whispered. “It was about sacrifice.”
“Yes,” Leo said quietly. “And hope.”
She sank into the nearest chair.
All this time she’d believed her father had left her with nothing but debt.
Instead, he’d left her a legacy.
And Leo.
Unwanted.
Infuriating.
Essential.
“You still want to turn this place into something it’s not,” she said softly.
“No,” Leo replied. “I want to turn it into something it can survive as.”
She studied him differently now.
Not an intruder.
Not a threat.
A complication.
A possibility.
“You really think this manuscript can save the shop?” she asked.
“I think it can save both of you,” he said.
Her chest tightened at the way he said it.
Both of you.
“Then we do it my way,” she said firmly.
He arched a brow. “Which is?”
“We restore it without erasing it,” she said. “We honor the past. We don’t rewrite it.”
A slow smile curved his lips. “Noted.”
“And after the shop is saved,” she added softly, “the story gets released.”
Leo nodded once. “On your terms.”
Their eyes held.
Something deep shifted in the space between them.
Not trust.
Not yet.
But understanding.
And that was far more dangerous.
- Writer
