“Yeah, they’re intimidating,” Josie says. “But I don’t think having dyslexia means someone is less ‘smart.’ ”

I shrug. “No, you’re right. But that’s how it felt growing up—because it’s more than just reading problems, my brain’s just wired…differently.” Probably why I struggle with organization and time management, too. “Getting diagnosed was a game changer, and I learned methods to help.”

“Like reading out loud,” Josie says.

“And listening to audiobooks,” I add.

“Would it be better to download samples of these on audio?” Josie asks, nodding toward the giant stack of books beside me.

“The hardcovers are fine—as long as you don’t mind my whisper-soundtrack.”

“Not at all.” She smiles before going back to the book she’s reading.

And that’s that. I exhale, feeling my shoulders relax. A month and a half ago, I never could’ve imagined confessing a weakness—much less that weakness—to my bookish rival. And I definitely wouldn’t have imagined her reacting like it was no big deal. No pity or shame, just acceptance of this new information and moving on.

But I didn’t know her back then. I’d invented a persona for her that had more to do with my own insecurities than reality—and if I hadn’t figured out that she was BookshopGirl, I never would’ve given her a chance. And that would have been a tragedy, missing out on getting to know the real Josie Klein.

I return to my book. But after reading the same sentence four times, I give up and look across the table at Josie. Her cheeks are flushed. She’s only had a few sips of her Irish Flower cocktail, not enough to bring that much color to her face.

It must be the book.

“Good part, huh?” I ask.

“No,” Josie says, too quickly. “I mean, it’s okay.”

“Which one?”

She holds up a copy of a beach read from a few summers ago, and I wonder which part has gotten her all hot and bothered. I don’t remember it being super high on the spice scale.

“Read it to me?” I ask.

“No,” Josie says, closing the book. But she still has her finger on the page, holding her spot.

“It’ll be fun. Here, I’ll read mine out loud first.”

Josie doesn’t look convinced, but I clear my throat and begin reading. “Within its slender frame resides a mosaic of life—dewdrops clinging delicately like jewels.”

Josie’s lips part as she listens to me read. Who knew a blade of grass could be so erotic?

“Each blade, a testament to resilience and endurance, whispers tales of forgotten kingdoms and ancient battles fought silently under the watchful gaze of the sun.” Okay, this is getting weird. I close the book again. “Your turn.”