When the goddamn door opens and a customer walks in.

Luckily, Josie has him in and out in less than ten minutes, after locating Demon Copperhead among the K’s (for Barbara Kingsolver).

“That would have taken me an hour,” I admit, once the customer has gone.

Josie turns back toward me, but she’s put distance between us, like the bridge has gone up and there’s no chance of crossing the moat to rescue the princess from her strictly regulated world.

“I wouldn’t be able to handle the way you have it,” she admits.

“Does it come back to having control?” I ask. “Your intense need for organization.”

“It’s not that intense,” she says. I arch an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe it’s a little intense. But it’s efficient.”

“Clearly.” Maybe too efficient. Yes, the customer found what he was looking for, but he didn’t have a chance to stumble over anything else he might have fallen in love with.

“Well, my mom—”

“The reader of bodice rippers,” I say.

Josie tilts her head. “Did I tell you about her?”

Shit, shit, shit.

“You must have mentioned it,” I say. “In the car when we were talking about our families.”

Josie nods, but looks uncertain, and I curse myself for mixing up the conversations. I’ve got to be more careful—she’s made it clear she doesn’t want to meet RJ in person, and I shouldn’t press the issue until I’m really sure this is something worth exploring. I’d hate to blow up my friendship with BSG for nothing.

“Mom has some hoarding tendencies,” she says. “She loved going to yard sales, thrift stores, finding ‘super fun treasures,’ bags piled on boxes piled on trash.”

Josie shudders, as if the memory’s reached out and wrapped its icy arms around her. Her left hand is resting on the counter, and I bring mine up next to it, not touching, but almost. “So that’s why you keep the store so organized?” My fingers are itching to slide between hers, to hold her hand.

“That, and it’s my job,” she says.

At the mention of her job—the one she might lose at my expense—she pulls her hand away, and all traces of BookshopGirl disappear. The ice queen is back, her posture stiff, her eyes dark and intense.

A couple weeks ago, this would’ve intimidated me, but now I know that underneath the cool exterior, Josie’s filled with insecurities and worries, just like anyone else. Just like me.

“So, um, there’s something else I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” Josie says.

I look up. “Yeah?”

“Remember what we were talking about that night…in Maine? About how Xander’s playing both of us and we wish we could turn the tables on him?”

“Yes,” I say, intrigued.