Laura gazed at Nina and felt her jaw wanting to drop open. Laura had grown up in an opinionated and vocal family, probably more than most, but Nina didn’t talk like anyone she’d ever met and it was freaking her out. Nina’s pattern of speech was so quick and confident that Laura mentally withdrew a little. She herself was more of a doer than a sayer. At least, that’s what her grandma used to tell her when she’d faltered into silence in the middle of a sentence again. Her tongue got tied and her brothers laughed, and she . . . couldn’t.

“I don’t think it’s a boring injury story,” said Liz. “It’s like the librarian in Library Lion.” All three booksellers then smiled in exactly the same way. Not in a creepy Children of the Corn/Stepford Wives way, but from habit.

Laura frowned. “Is that a book?” No flies on you, Costello, she chided herself. Here you are . . . in a bookshop.

“It’s a wonderful children’s book about a lion that comes to the library.” There was a pause, then Liz added, “Nina would read it to you, but I warn you, she’ll cry at the end.”

They all looked at Nina, who Laura would not have thought was an easy crier, and she shrugged.

“Sorry, happy endings make me weepy. Sue me. There is a classic John Hancock commercial . . . Grandma can have my room . . .” She shook her head and looked at Laura, ready to change the subject. “You and I are not the same size, but—don’t take this the wrong way—I have some of my boyfriend’s clean clothes at my house, and his sweatpants are at least dry.” She shuddered. “I do not enjoy wearing damp clothing. They made us swim in middle school and you had to dress fast before next class, and pulling knee socks onto wet legs is surprisingly overwhelming.” She closed her eyes briefly, and added, “I’ll run home right now and grab them. I live super close.”

“You know,” said Polly, “this is why I keep half my wardrobe in the back of my car. You never know when you’re going to need a new ensemble.”

“She didn’t drive,” said Liz. “She took the bus.”

“She what?” asked Polly, frowning. “Where’s your car? Did it burn, too?”

Laura shook her head. “No, I don’t have a car. I’ve only been here a week or two, I keep meaning to get around to it.”

Polly was aghast. “You need a car in LA,” she said. “I mean, loads of people use public transport, but it’s not like New York . . . it doesn’t actually work.”