Get an exclusive peek at the secret in Chanel Cleeton's The Lost Story of Eva Fuentes

It's time to go back to Cuba...

Chanel Cleeton, who earned a spot in Reese's Book Club with Next Year in Havana, is back with another historical yarn. The Lost Story of Eva Fuentes spans three timelines, tracing the titular lost book from its origins through to the present day. Entertainment Weekly can exclusively debut the cover for the novel, as well as share an exclusive excerpt.

The Lost Story of Eva Fuentes follows Margo Reynolds in 2024 London, Pilar Castillo in 1966 Havana, and Eva Fuentes in 1900 Boston.

When Cuban teacher Eva Fuentes travels from Havana to Harvard for a cultural exchange, she sees the visit as a chance to work on a book she's writing — but a moonlit encounter with a stranger alters the course of her life, tangling her in a morass of secrets, lies, and forbidden love. In 1966, Pilar Castillo works as a librarian while waiting for the release of her husband, who was unjustly made a political prisoner. But when Eva's book comes into her hands, she is confronted with the possibility of risking it all to protect the literature in her care. By 2024, Margo Reynolds is on the hunt for the book, but she's not the only one, and soon, she's thrust into a quest alongside the man she once loved and lost.

The Lost Story of Eva Fuentes will hit shelves next summer on July 1. See the cover below, and read on for an exclusive excerpt.

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"I’ll keep it safe for you,” Pilar promised.

The words until you can return were on her lips, but she didn’t voice them. In the beginning after Fidel took power, Cubans fled the country thinking their exile would be a temporary one, that surely the actions of a few hundred revolutionaries wouldn’t stand and the revolution would fall. After all, it would hardly be the first time in Cuba’s recent history that a political regime rose to power only to subsequently fail. But the years had tumbled by, and Fidel remained, and it became more difficult to believe this was temporary. Hope was nearly as hard to find as meat in Cuba these days.

“Thank you,” Zenaida replied. “There’s another thing—I know it’s a lot to ask—but would it be possible for you to return the book to the author, to Eva Fuentes?”

Surprise filled Pilar. When people asked for her help, it was to safeguard their books with the hopes that they would eventually be reunited with their owner. She’d never been asked to return a book to its author. Surely, Eva Fuentes had copies of her own book? What was so special about this edition?

“My mother and Eva lost touch after I was born,” Zenaida added. “I never met Eva. I believe my mother always meant to return the book to her friend, but she died before she could. I tried finding Eva once, but all my mother had was an address in Old Havana, and when I went there, the current residents told me she had moved. They didn’t know where she had gone, but they believed she’s still in Cuba. She’s a teacher. I meant to continue searching for her, but—”

Zenaida gestured with her hands as if to convey the utter futility of trying to make plans or navigate the normal details of life amid such uncertainty and turmoil. It was a struggle Pilar knew all too well considering her plans had been thoroughly upended when they took her husband.

“—life got away from me. My son got in trouble right after that, and I was so worried about him, about what would happen to him. The book disappeared from my thoughts. It wasn’t until we were going through our belongings that I remembered it.” She ducked her head. “I am ashamed that I did not try to find her sooner, that—”

Pilar took Zenaida’s hand, squeezing it softly for reassurance before releasing it.

“Please,” Zenaida finished, the look in her gaze—

What could she say? How could she not help?

Pilar nodded. “I’ll do everything I can to find Eva Fuentes.”

“Thank you.”

For a moment neither one of them spoke, the space between them brimming with all the things that were unsaid, the truths they knew but were unable or unwilling to voice. Loss enveloped them, the kind that could not be made whole.

“It’s in English,” Zenaida added. “But Enrique mentioned once that you spoke English. You can read it if you want. I know how you like books. It must be difficult being alone here.”

Tears pricked Pilar’s eyes. Zenaida was proud. They all were. For her to come to Pilar with this and ask her for help must have given Zenaida pause. So here she was, offering something of value—a story for Pilar who loved books above nearly all else.

“Thank you,” Pilar echoed.

When she was lying in bed hours later, Pilar would think back on the moment, on the decision that led her to close the distance between them and embrace her neighbor. It was so wholly out of character for Pilar that she was shocked by the intimacy, and eventually she would conclude that it must have been the way she recognized the quiet pain that rested like a mantle over Zenaida’s shoulders. In a manner of speaking, they had both lost their homes—physical and emotional—to the revolution.

Initially, Zenaida seemed caught off guard by the hug. But then, perhaps realizing how much they both needed it, she relaxed into the embrace, the tension seemingly leaving her body as she held on tight, the book clutched between them.

A minute must have passed, maybe two, and then the sound of her downstairs neighbor returning home—a shut door, padded footfalls—pulled them apart.

Zenaida had places to go.

They offered each other hasty goodbyes, words that inevitably failed to meet the gravity of the situation. After all, how did you adequately express such a depth of emotion, what could you ever say to make the act of fleeing the only home you’d ever known palatable?

Despite everything, despite the understanding that had sprung up between them, truthfully they were just neighbors, little more than strangers but for the act of fate that had placed their apartments beside each other.

And still, they were both Cuban.

That was everything.

When she settled into bed, Pilar turned her attention to the novel Zenaida had left in her care.

A Time for Forgetting by Eva Fuentes

There was a pact that existed between an author and a reader. An agreement that began when the reader picked up the book, studied the cover, and saw the author’s name on the front, and then finally in that moment when their fingers flipped to the first few pages as a bargain was sealed.

Read me and I will tell you all my secrets.

The reader was promised the possibility of sinking into another world, of escaping their problems, the weight of life subsiding for minutes, hours, days at a time. They were promised a story, a fiction, a sleight of hand, a shuffling of letters that altered reality. And yet, in that make-believe world the reader looked for truth—for the words on the page to resonate, for the characters in the scene to make them feel seen, for a thread that they could hold on to, for the book to sink its hooks into them and carry them on an unforgettable adventure.

Pilar began to read.

Excerpted from The Lost Story of Eva Fuentes by Chanel Cleeton Copyright © 2025 by Chanel Cleeton. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.