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Book Lovers Audiobook
Book Lovers Emily Henry Audiobook 🎧
During the summer. Two adversaries. A plot surprise they weren’t expecting…
Nora Stephens’ life revolves around literature, and she is not the typical heroine. Not the courageous one, the laid-back ideal girl, or the darling. In truth, the only people Nora is a heroine for are her clients, for whom she secures lucrative agreements as a ruthless literary agent, and she adored little sister Libby.
This is why, when Libby asks her for a sisters’ trip away, she agrees to fly to Sunshine Falls, North Carolina, for the month of August, with ideas of a slight town metamorphosis for Nora, who she’s persuaded has to become the heroine in her own story. Instead of picnics in the countryside or encounters with a lovely country doctor or a bulging-forearmed bartender, Nora runs across Charlie Lastra, a bookish moody editor from the city. It would be a meet-cute if they hadn’t met so many times before and it had never been cute.
If Nora recognizes that she isn’t an ideal heroine, Charlie recognizes that he isn’t anyone’s hero, but as they are thrown together again and again—in a series of coincidences that no editor worth their salt would allow—what they discover may just unravel the carefully crafted stories they’ve written about themselves.
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Emily Henry Biography
Emily Henry is the author of A Million Junes and The Love That Split the World. She works as a full-time writer, proofreader, and donut expert. She studied creative writing at Hope College and the New York Center for Art & Media Studies, and she now lives in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the Kentucky region just below it.
Book Lovers Audiobook Excerpt Transcript
The city is baking. The asphalt sizzles the trash on the sidewalk and reeks the families we pass. Carry ice pops that shrink with every step melting down their fingers. Sunlight glances off buildings like a laser-based security system in an out-of-date heist movie and I feel like a glazed doughnut, that’s been left out in the heat for four days. Meanwhile, even five months pregnant and despite the temperature, Libby looks like the star of a shampoo commercial.
Three times she sounds odd, how does a person get dumped in a full lifestyle swap three times just lucky? I guess I say really it’s four, but I never could bring myself to tell her the whole story about Jacob it’s been years, and I can still barely tell myself that story. Libby sighs and loops her arm through mine. My skin is sticky from the heat and humidity of mid-summer, but my baby sister is miraculously dry and silky. I might have gotten mom’s 5 feet and 11 inches of height, but the rest of her features all funneled down to my sister from the strawberry gold hair.
To the wide mediterranean sea blue eyes and the splash of freckles across her nose, her short curvy stature must have come from dad’s gene pool, not that we would know he left when I was three and Libby was months from being born when it’s natural. My hair is a dull ashy blonde and my eyes, the shade of blue less idyllic, vacation, water, and more last thing you see before the ice freezes over and you drown she’s the Mary Anne to my Eleanor, the meg Ryan, to my parker posey. She is also my absolute favorite person on the planet. Oh, Nora Libby squeezes me to her as we come to a crosswalk and I bask in the closeness, no matter how hectic life and work sometimes get. It always felt like there were some internal metronomes keeping us in sync.
I pick up my phone to call her and it would already be ringing or she’d text me about grabbing lunch and we’d realize we were already in the same part of the city. The last few months, though, we’ve been ships passing in the night actually more like a submarine and a paddle boat in entirely separate lakes. I miss her calls, while I’m in meetings and she’s already asleep by the time I call back. She finally invites me to dinner on a night, I’ve promised to take a client out worse than that is the faint uncanny off feeling when we’re actually together, like she’s. Only halfway here, like those metronomes, have fallen into different rhythms, and even when we’re right next to each other, they never manage to match up.
At first, I chalked it up to stress about the new baby, but, as time has worn on, my sisters seemed more distant. Rather than closer we’re fundamentally out of sync in a way, I can’t seem to name and not even my dream, mattress, and a cloud of diffused lavender oil are enough to keep me from lying awake. Turning over our last few conversations, like I’m looking for faint cracks, the sign has changed to walk, but a slew of drivers rushes through the new red light when a guy in nice suit strides into the street Libby pulls me along after him. It’s a truth. Universally acknowledged that cab drivers won’t clip people who look like this guy.
His outfit says I am a man with a lawyer or possibly just I am a lawyer. I thought you and Andrew were good together. Libby says seamlessly re-entering the conversation as long as you’re willing to overlook that my ex’s name was Aaron, not Andrew. I don’t understand what went wrong. Was it work stuff?
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