Emerson Books Novels & Stories

So how could I have sent anything? Agnes Wright lowered her eyes, and I couldn’t read her expression. I thought she would defend Ralph Yule like she always had, but this time, she simply said, “Open it. Let’s see what it is.” The guests immediately started whispering again. “Jacob was Ms. Wright’s former fiancé. And after all that shameless cheating behind her back, it’s only natural she’d want to see what kind of trick he’s up to.” Ralph tried to stop it, but in the next second, Agnes had opened the gift. Inside was an old phone, and I recognized it instantly because it was mine. On the screen, there were seven unwatched videos.

Every corner is in black except the bed sheets and it makes the atmosphere appear gloomy and moody in an Emerson Ford style. There are shelves of books on one side and a desk next to the shelves. A smile climbs on my face as I look back to Emerson before looking back at the shelves – Ford never strikes me as a guy who enjoys reading and it comes as a surprise that he has books with him. I gnaw on my lips as I move from the bed and take quiet steps to the other side. I pick up a book and my eyes widen barely at the cover and the label. Looking through the shelves, the rest are novels too— both old and new. Who could have thought Emerson Ford read novels? Romance ones to be exact.

***** Author's Note: Next chapter will be the last one. I've been working on a book called "Love Amongst the Shadows" it's in the same universe as these stories and eventually those characters will meet with these. You should be able to find it in the app in the next couple of weeks. I will be working on a book for Eric and Lucy after I finish that one. I hope you've enjoyed Ember's story and I hope you continue to read my books! I really appreciate all your support!!

He wasn’t sure if he should stand in line and wait his turn, or just wait for her to finish. With his resolve firmly in place, he got out of the truck, and walked to the bookstore. The clear glass held displays of children’s books, and Emerson’s book was right there, staring at him. A little deeper in the store, Emerson sat behind a table with a long line of people waiting for her to sign their books. Her hair was lighter now, back to her original color. It was longer, too. He couldn’t look away, and he had no idea how long he stood outside that store.

Emerson Em woke up the next morning feeling awful. Her head was pounding, and she felt like she had been run over by a bus. She sat up, dizzily, and noticed she was still wearing her clothes from yesterday, but they were covered in grass stains and dirt. “Oh no.” She slightly panicked at the realization that she couldn’t remember how that happened. But she knew she didn’t go anywhere last night. The last thing she remembered was her bright idea to make soup for Aspen. Did she take it to her?

Emma said, walking deep into the living room. "Thanks." She walked to a set of shelves on the far side of the room, running her fingers over the spines of his books. A lot of them were classics, novels by Dickens, Voltaire, Dumas, Melville, and Hemingway. She smiled when her fingers ran over the spine of not one, but three copies of Mitchell's Gone with the Wind. There were modern novels, too, including Stephen King and Sidney Sheldon, but they didn't look as well read as some of the others.

I told him one afternoon, reading one of his letters. Elijah was sitting next to me, with one hand on my belly. “Emmett has included a reading plan for the first year,” he said with amusement. “What books?” I asked, frowning. “Inter-tribe political history, an introduction to defensive strategy, and illustrated animal stories,” Elijah said with amusement. “At least he added some stories,” I muttered sarcastically. “The note says they’re meant to be a break between serious topics,” Elijah said seriously. I brought a hand to my face.

Emery’s POV I stared at the sleek black envelope that sat quietly on the table. At first glance I had thought it was an invitation to one of those elite events but I had to consider the drama that was happening in my life and I knew. It wasn't an invitation. It had been an invitation. But not one of those fancy invites that had calm music, champagne or even dancing. When I opened the envelope I was right. It wasn't a fancy invitation but rather it was an invitation to dig deeper into the lane that led directly to the very core of the cruel and brutal world I had grown and lived in.

Saturday morning, after breakfast, Don gave Caroline the three books together. Not the individual copies, which she had received over the years of their publication—The Inside Account in the fifteenth year, The Ground Keeps in the sixteenth, The Emergent World in the eighteenth. She had read each one when it was published, had written to them about each one, and had discussed them with Ernest and Don on subsequent visits. But Don had had a set bound together: The Inside Account and The Ground Keeps and The Emergent World in a single volume, the three books bound in dark green leather with a title stamped in gold on the spine: THE INSIDE ACCOUNT / THE GROUND KEEPS / THE EMERGENT WORLD.