I spend the next two hours stewing in misery, cursing myself for putting Josie in this position, and trying not to analyze every sound coming from Happy Endings. Only a few customers come in, so most of the time I can hear everything.

No wonder Josie gets lonely.

A laugh rises above the rest of the noise—a laugh that could be hers? I peek around the bookshelves she’s positioned between her store and Beans, trying to catch a glimpse. Her back is toward me, so I can’t tell if she’s enjoying or suffering through her current conversation.

I’m certainly suffering enough for the both of us. My mind flashes between images of Josie with ten other men (laughing, chatting, leaning in and putting her hand on their arm) and memories of Josie with me: her head resting on my chest as we danced, her eyes glinting on the beach, her breath hitching as I slid my hand under the cup of her bra and felt her hard nipple against my palm.

I had this woman in bed next to me and I kept my distance? I woke up in the morning to find her plastered against my backside and I fucking rolled away? I told myself I was being respectful, but that wasn’t the whole truth.

While my body knows exactly what it wants, my heart and my mind aren’t so sure yet. But right now all I can think is: What if she ends up going home with one of these assholes and I never get another chance with her?

I will hate myself for the rest of my life.

As the painful minutes tick by, it hits me: what I thought was a complication—BookshopGirl and Josie being one and the same—might actually be the most incredible opportunity of my life. Ever since I read my first Harlequin at fifteen, I’ve been looking for a woman I could connect with both physically and emotionally, and now I’ve found both in the same person.

Except that the last person I felt this way about destroyed my ability to trust my own feelings when it comes to any of this, and I promised myself I’d never again fall for someone who doesn’t feel the same way.

Especially not someone who has specifically stated that she doesn’t want to meet me in real life.

Putting my head in my hands, I let out a soft groan; what the fuck am I going to do?

—

“Sleeping on the job?”

I bolt upright, rubbing my eyes. Josie’s standing like a vision before me, a playful smirk on her lips. “It was so slow over here, I had to get Eddie to bring me a triple-shot frappe,” I say.

She rolls her eyes and straightens a book no one touched.

“So, uh…how were your dates?” I ask.

She shrugs, walking to inspect another table. “Fine.”