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  I shook myself right out of that line of thinking. Nope! No way. There would be no surrender nor submission on my part. Not when something I loved so dearly was at stake. I was prepared to fight this thing with every ounce of business sense I had or would have to learn. That last part was more likely. I tapped my lips in determination and headed off to make mugs of cinnamon coffee for myself and Kurt while he put together the Groffman display, which would hopefully sell like mad. Thank God for long-awaited novels and please, oh, please let this one fly off the shelf. I’d had several customers ask about the book’s release date the week prior, which was a good sign.

  “Looking sharp,” I told Kurt as I surveyed his work still in progress and straightened a tilting copy. The shop would open in twenty-five minutes, and although Monday mornings were sleepy in general, I planned to be ready to wow any customers that came through the forest green door of the shop. I’d make them feel welcome, attended to, but not overly so, and excited to take home a few new fictional friends. Or nonfictional, if that’s what they were into. I tried not to judge, but definitely favored getting lost in a make-believe tale myself.

  By midafternoon, we’d had about eleven customers come through. Half had made purchases. All had accepted the complimentary coffee. The world had not been changed yet, nor had our finances. Maybe my premonition about today had been wrong after all. I stared at myself in the mirror of the small bathroom and attempted to scrub the noticeable worry lines from my face with a dousing of cold water. Double sigh. My brown hair needed to be cut. It hung too long and thick, well past my shoulders. I’d make an appointment for a few days from now and try to get my sass back. I lifted a strand and let it fall back into place, prompting me to give it a fluff. Unfortunately, I had not inherited the good curls from my father’s side of the family, but I did get his blue eyes, which made me happy. “What are we going to do?” I asked my weary reflection. “What, indeed?”

  “You’re gonna stop talking to yourself in the bathroom like a semilunatic!” Luna shouted from the shop. “The universe will take care of you because you’re a good human, and that’s that.”

  I laughed, finished washing, and joined her. The store was currently empty and my employee Luna, who also happened to have become my friend, stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the Groffman display like she had a bad taste in her mouth. We’d sold three copies so far, though the day wasn’t over. Luna held up a hand, palm up. “Hear me out about this thing.”

  “Uh-oh. Okay. Hearing you.” Generally, when Luna started a sentence that way, she had passionate feelings about something. They weren’t a rare occurrence. Sometimes her speeches were helpful and logical. Other times, they bordered on overly opinionated, whimsical, or silly. I tried to brace for all.

  “Groffman is great.”

  I nodded. “He’s good. I’ll give him that. I thought his last one took a dip, but it’s bound to happen after so many slam dunks. He’s getting wordier to a fault, but maybe that’s age.”

  Luna studied the display again. “And he sells pretty well. I’m not denying that. Let the record reflect.” She placed her hands on her hips.

  “The record so reflects that you acknowledge he’s a definite best seller.”

  Luna now studied me, clearly preparing for book battle. I wasn’t sure where she was headed with this, but it really could be anywhere. “We also got the new Parker Bristow yesterday.” She gestured with her chin to the storage room, where the boxes were waiting to be unpacked. “Traitorous Heart.”

  “I know,” I enthused. “I was hoping you’d get them on the shelves for tomorrow’s release. Or I can, just as soon as I sort the mail.”

  Luna pointed at the display. Her medium-length strawberry-blond hair sported two blue streaks today. “That’s the part I want to speak with you about, you fairy princess of a boss.” I tried not to wince at the awful nickname I’d never heard before. There’d likely be a new one tomorrow. “Why not feature them up front? Scratch Groffman and go with Bristow? She’s a powerhouse.” Luna turned to me fully. “You know she sells fantastically. She just doesn’t come in hardcover or with a penis. That’s not a crime. People go nuts for her stuff, especially women, and we get a ton of them in here.”

  I scrunched my shoulders. Parker Bristow wrote romance and was at the top of the genre. I was grateful to her and the rest of Romancelandia for the dollars they brought into the store, but I couldn’t really imagine featuring a romance novel in my one and only display, and the space wasn’t large enough to support a second title. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

  Luna studied me some more. She wasn’t done.

  “What?” I asked. “You’re looking at me with judgment, and I feel like ants are crawling all over me. Say what’s on your mind.”

  “You’re being a book snob.”

  I let my mouth fall open. “I am not. I would never do that. I’m being practical.”

  “If you were being practical, you would consider putting our best seller at the front of the store and letting everyone know the new book is out tomorrow. You’re holding back because you think of the romance genre as lesser.” Luna had a way of saying such matter-of-fact stuff without offending others in the slightest. Maybe it was her sweet, innocent face. Maybe it was the sheer earnestness of her delivery. Regardless, peaceful self-expression was her honest-to-goodness gift.

  I exhaled, hating that she was right. My decisions had to take dollars and cents into consideration these days. No, I wasn’t a huge romance fan. Those books were always so hyperbolic when it came to love and sex and perfection. They set unrealistic expectations and always had the formulaic “everything is going to be rainbows and unicorns” ending that I struggled with. I’d read a handful in my teens and enjoyed them well enough, that is, until I outgrew them. I just couldn’t see the appeal anymore. I stared at the ceiling. “Why do people love these things?”

  “Because they are amazing escapes and they offer a little glimpse of what could be when you finally meet the right person,” Luna said, with a faraway glint in her eye. “We slog around going on all the wrong dates with all the wrong people, and these books nudge us to shoot for the stars. To find our true person. I can read one a night if I let myself.”

  “Are you dreaming about what could be in this very second?” I asked playfully. “Are you undressing what could be in your mind?”

  Luna nodded slowly and deliberately. “I also have a date tonight with that hostess at Mementos. The one with the thingy always in her hair? God, it gets me going.” She began to jog in place, suck in her cheeks, and take breaths.

  “I think that’s called a pencil.” I hid my grin.

  “Yes. Gandalf in sneakers, I love girls with pencils in their hair! I wish all of them came that way.”

  “That’s specific. And why would Gandalf wear— You know what? Not important.”

  Luna wasn’t fazed, and instead swooned a little. “She’s so cute. Don’t you think she’s cute?”

  I thought briefly on it. The hostess was less my type than Luna’s. Loud, quirky, and fun. Those were the people I tended to bore after we spent a little time together. I was too reserved for them. Too pragmatic. Didn’t matter if they were men or women, and I did date both. I gave Luna’s blue strand a tug. “She’s beautiful, pencil and all. You’re gonna have a great time on this date. I beg you to tell me all about it afterward so I can live vicariously from my status as queen of couch potatoes.”

  Luna bounced her shoulders. “If we turn into anything even close to a Parker Bristow–caliber romance, I’ll be thrilled and pepper you with every saucy detail I can muster. My heart would pitter-patter in the most luscious, lusty sense. Maybe we can get our palms read together. We should definitely do that. I hear there’s a new psychic on Eighth.” She gestured to the display. “Thoughts? A decision?”

  My head was spinning trying to keep up with her twists and turns. Ah, the display. “A romance novel?” I sighed. I was being a book snob. I felt it that
time, and the self-awareness was like a thump on the back.

  “They’ve come a long way, Hannah. You should really pick one up again and start with a Bristow, because damn. She can rip my heart out with a few well-placed sentences. These aren’t your mama’s romances. Your mama would faint dead away at the angst, the love, the passion.”

  I blinked several times as indecision swirled. “That all sounds really great, the angst and such, and maybe I’ll pick one up to read, but as for the display?”

  “Yes?” Luna stared at me hard, as if daring me to make the right decision.

  “I can’t do it,” I said, finally. “It would break Kurt’s very fragile heart.” I walked to the cashier’s counter. “And go against my literary palate, snobbish or not.”

  Fire flared behind her eyes. Here came her feelings. “Your literary palate is wildly off when it comes to Groffman, by the way, who writes in sentences only containing thirty-five words or more.”

  I shrugged. “It’s a stylistic choice. Not always a fun one for the reader, but it’s his thing.”

  Luna blew out an exasperated breath. She was in her mid-twenties, putting her nearly ten years younger than me, but there were times she seemed even younger in her emotional displays. “Screw Kurt and his Groffman-loving heart.”

  I smiled. “You have deep-rooted feelings about this display. Look at you. You can’t let it go.”

  “I can’t. I’d also like to keep my job.”

  Okay, that one landed, and she meant it to. The air left the room, as I circled around the larger implications of these decisions. I nodded and remembered my plight, my vow to turn this place around, and maybe that meant, damn it, trying something different. I swallowed my own opinion about the Bristow books in the name of business. Luna was right. “You make a very valid point. I need to be smart about this.”

  Her eyes went wide as she predicted victory. “So, the display?”

  I decided to bite the romance bullet then and there. Sometimes you had to make a drastic decision when times were tough. I needed to shake things up, and this could be stop one. “Sign me up for the sexy angst.”

  Luna beamed and nodded.

  “Bring on the Traitorous Heart. I’ll explain gently to Kurt. Maybe we can set up a secondary, smaller display on one of the shelves for Groffman.”

  Luna chuckled in triumph, as if Judge Judy had just awarded her three hundred dollars. She began to remove the Groffman copies, one by one, dancing a little as she went. “This is the right move, Hannah. Gonna be good. I promise you.” While she went about constructing and tweaking a more romance-themed display, including some snaking ivy from somewhere in the storage room as well as art supplied by the publishing company, I began working on next week’s orders.

  “Oh, wow. Oh, wow. Oh, wow. Hannah Tropicana, would you look at this? It was tucked in with the promotional material.” Luna came to the front of the counter and slid a flyer my way with wide, excited eyes.

  I picked up the flyer and skimmed it. “Parker Bristow is doing a book signing tour. Very cool.” I slid it back.

  Luna slid the flyer my way again and landed a finger on the bold print. “They’re still booking cities. It says so right here. We’re a bookstore in a city. We should be a stop on that tour.”

  “I can’t imagine they’d take us.”

  “We should try, at least. One tweet from Parker Bristow about the store and we’re on the map. Do you know how many followers she has? She’s like Twitter’s unofficial queen of quip.”

  I blinked several times. It wasn’t an awful idea, but they were likely hitting the big chain stores. “We’re pretty small.”

  “The worst they could say is no, right? What if they’re into quaint and desolate? We might be totally their jam.”

  “Very funny.” I stared at her as I processed the possibilities. “You really think I should reach out to her people?”

  “Hell, yeah. Parker’s Posse—that’s what her fans call themselves—will drive from wherever for a chance to meet her. She’s not just another successful author. Think about it. She’s a celebrity. She’s made an entire brand for herself and has rabid fans. Throngs of them.”

  “It’s true. She has throngs.” I saw Luna’s point. Parker Bristow had become the face of romance for a reason. She was beautiful and charismatic in addition to being their favorite storyteller. Once her books started hitting the big screen—and there had been two films at least that I knew of—her social media star rose rapidly. Her witty tweets garnered a lot of attention. After that, she’d even become a regular on the talk show circuit and on those podcasts that did things like top ten lists and what not to wear in June. I didn’t want to go as far as to call her a sellout, but it seemed like the limelight carried more appeal for her than maybe the books did. Really, what did I know? People clamored for her, and Luna was right. An appearance at the shop would be a really, really big deal. I met Luna’s hopeful gaze. “I’m doubtful about our chances, but I’ll reach out and give it a shot.”

  Ten minutes later and I was still on hold with the publicist in charge of Bristow’s book tour. I moved my head slightly in rhythm with the elevator music the firm had so kindly provided as I waved at the twelfth customer of the day. Luna quickly took it from there and escorted them to True Crime. When the agent finally took my call, he was clearly in a hurry.

  “Yep. Where are you guys at, this bookstore of yours?” he asked, when I explained the reason for my call. He was clearly a New Yorker, with an accent and clipped tone. I stared at his name on the form: Hill Lawson. Sounded like a law firm to me.

  “Providence, Rhode Island. Downtown. A very trendy area,” I rushed to include. “Great restaurants and entertainment down here. Not to mention the water.”

  “Interesting.” He asked some questions about the store itself. Square footage. Foot traffic. Parking opportunities. I cringed as I answered, hoping somehow, we’d be enough. When we were said and done with the Q&A, I asked the big question. “So, what do you think?”

  “Gonna depend on Ms. Bristow’s current itinerary and how we transition her from one city to the next. I appreciate the reach out. We’ll be in touch.” I opened my mouth to thank him, but he was gone. Not so much as a good-bye from Mr. Lawson, busy guy that he was.

  “Well?” Luna asked, once her customer had made his purchase.

  “Sounds like a ‘no, thanks.’ But he’ll be in touch, which tells me to go back to the bag of tricks. What about a raffle? That could get people excited.”

  “For a Parker Bristow book bundle. I have a lot of friends who would die for a complete set.”

  “We could easily manage that.” I studied the newly assembled display at the front of the store, with the cover of the starry-eyed girl looking off into the abyss. Likely, some alpha male had swooped in and put that dreamy look on her face. I tried not to grimace and instead embrace this new release, Traitorous Heart, as my new cash cow.

  * * *

  I loved the newly billowed ceiling in my bedroom. It seemed like such a simple thing, but it made me want to spin in circles like I lived in The Sound of Music. I didn’t actually do that. But I thought about it in detail.

  Instead, I stood with my hands on my hips, blew a loose strand of hair from my eyes, and stared up at the project I’d poured my weekend into. I was a champion of the billowed ceiling and never even knew it. Project mode served as my true happy place. Fabric selection, placement, and the right amount of billow had been the perfect antidote to keep my mind off A Likely Story’s financial woes. I’d taken Saturday afternoon off, leaving the store in Kurt and Luna’s capable hands, and with shortened Sunday hours, I’d given myself lots of extra time to billow that weekend, and billow I did.

  “Well, look at you,” I murmured to my beautiful ceiling. The finished product was breathtaking, if I did say so myself. I’d gone with a beige fabric that came with a little bit of a gold shimmer and billowed it moderately from the ceiling, with each section meeting just shy of the small chandeli
er in the center. “I can most certainly get used to sleeping under this.”

  The fabric matched my curtains, which I’d also designed for maximum swoop. My entire bedroom now looked like the fluffiest place I knew, complete with lush ivory pillows. I felt damn proud about that. So much so that I let my phone continue to ring while I took it all in. Finally, I clicked onto the call.

  “Hey, Kurt.”

  “Hey, boss lady.”

  “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to call me that anymore.”

  “We did. I’m phasing it out slowly. Feels better that way.”

  I accepted the small win. “What’s up?”

  “A woman from Barrow House called to set up details for the Parker Bristow appearance.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what I’m saying over here. We’re getting Parker Bristow? I had no idea. This is like the day they added that raspberry donut to the lineup at Ralph’s. Well, maybe not as big, but had I known about that raspberry donut, I would have been there right—”

  “Kurt, focus.” I paused and walked down the hall of my apartment to the living room, which sadly had no billowing ceiling. “They’ve actually put us on the calendar? I put in a request to be included on her tour but didn’t expect they’d actually book us.” Kurt was muttering to himself on the other end of the line. It was something he did when he had a lot of feelings. “Kurt, I can’t understand you. Can you enunciate?”