There was one beautiful moment where I thought the night might end with a kiss. It didn’t—which is what knocked it down half a point. Not that every date has to end in a kiss, but I was hoping this one would.

I was caught up in the moment, picturing us working together and growing even closer, until she burst my bubble with that one little sentence: We should keep things professional.

Last night proved that what happened in Maine wasn’t a fluke—we do get along well (when we’re not in competition) and we definitely have chemistry. But I’m not clear about what Josie thinks—or wants to do—about it.

I’ve read enough romance novels to know that a happy ending needs to be earned. Like I’ve said for years, it’s not realistic to go directly from enemies to lovers. It makes more sense to go from enemies to friends, then to lovers.

The only problem: I’m still keeping a giant secret from her. BookshopGirl has been very clear that she doesn’t want to know who RJ is, and I promised I’d leave it in her hands. But would Josie want to know?

“Hey!” Josie’s voice breaks through my thoughts like a siren song.

“Hi!” I say, straightening. I’m at the front register, working through my to-do list.

“Are we still on for later?” There’s a spark in her eyes, like she’s as excited about our plans to start working together as I am.

Although I have a feeling she’s more excited about the “working” part, while I can’t stop thinking about the “together” part.

“Can’t wait.”

“Me neither!” Josie’s smile is so wide, she looks like a kid on Christmas morning. Or Chanukah evening? I’m pretty sure she’s Jewish. “I’ve already started thinking of some ideas.”

“Awesome,” I say, even as my stomach twists. The only ideas I’ve had are of the unprofessional variety.

“What’re you working on?” she asks, following my gaze to the computer screen.

“Oh, just an order from Ingram.”

“Ooh!” She lights up. “What’s your strategy? Your method?”

“My…method?”

Josie laughs. “You don’t just blindly guess how many of each book you’ll need, do you?” Her smile fades when she sees my blank expression. “Oh, you do.”

“Show me how you do it,” I say.

She hesitates, then seems to remember we’re working with and not against each other. “Come with me.”

—

Forty-five minutes later, I have even more respect for Josie. She has a whole system to log her inventory and sales, analyzing the data to project how many of each title she should order. Mind. Blown.