As I walk down Highland Avenue, away from Josie’s apartment, my head and my heart battle it out, each making its case.

My head: She was talking to her mom. Based on everything I know about their relationship, they’re not close. I shouldn’t read too much into what she said.

My heart: But she could have easily said we were just friends. She didn’t have to say something so cruel. I don’t matter?

My head: Something else is clearly going on.

My heart: I shouldn’t have left her alone.

Up ahead, I see the pink and orange light of a Dunkin’ Donuts, glowing like a beacon in the night. While sugar won’t solve whatever problem Josie’s having with her mom, it could make her feel better.

And it’s the perfect excuse to go back and try again.

If she wants to talk, I’ll stay. If she wants space, I’ll give her the donuts and go. Either way, she’ll know I was thinking about her, that she doesn’t have to be alone. Maybe then she’ll realize we can be a team in and out of the bookstore.

I’m about to head back to her apartment, a box of twenty-five assorted Munchkins in my hands, when my phone buzzes in my pocket. My heart leaps when I see her name on the screen, but it falls when I realize it’s a message for RJ.Reads.

Me, but not me.

BookshopGirl: Hey. Are you there?

Crestfallen, I pull up a chair at an open table. Even though I’m dying inside, I type out a happy little message, because that’s how far gone I am for this girl.

RJ.Reads: Hey, I’m here! And I was just thinking about you ☺

Not a lie.

RJ.Reads: How are you?

A normal question, even if I already know the answer.

BookshopGirl: I’ve been better.

RJ.Reads: Who do I need to beat up?

I picture Josie sitting alone in her apartment, staring at her phone with a soft, sad smile on her face. Did she ask me to leave so she could talk to RJ? Not knowing she could have the real me, sitting there with her?

BookshopGirl: Oh, it’s nothing like that. Just family stuff.

RJ.Reads: Want to talk about it?

BookshopGirl: I don’t know…

RJ.Reads: It could help.

Her three dots appear and disappear, and I can picture her trying to find the right words. Weighing how much she wants to get off her chest, and how much she wants to hold close to it.

Finally, her message appears.

BookshopGirl: It’s my mom…

In a series of messages, Josie pours it all out, how hard it was growing up with a lovesick mom who chased the wrong men, leaving her young daughters to fend for themselves.