“Okay, so you know how I’m opening a bookstore on the Cape?”

“That sounds vaguely familiar,” I tease. Between Gretchen deciding to buy and convert an old ice cream shop in Provincetown and my Xander-drama, the RomSquad—a group chat with romance booksellers across the country—has been more like group therapy than book talk.

“Well, I’m in over my head,” Gretchen says. “And since you might be out of a job soon…” I wince. So much for having my friends’ support. “Anyway, I thought, maybe you could help me with the store?”

“I’m not moving to the Cape.”

“You could commute.”

“Over three hours?”

“Please,” Gretchen begs. “You know we’d make a great team. And even if you win, the new store won’t be Happy Endings.”

They’re right—it’ll be a store that carries a bunch of genres I know nothing about. I sigh and shove my hair out of my face. “I’m not ready to give up.”

“Of course,” Gretchen says. “Just…think of me as your plan B.”

It’s not a bad idea to have a safety net that doesn’t involve moving back in with my parents. Boston has dozens of bookstores, but would they want a bookseller whose expertise starts and ends with romance? Then I think about my staff and how hard they’re working. How this store feels like home in a way nothing else ever has.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ll think about it.”

“Bless you,” Gretchen says.

We say goodbye and I hang up. I will think about it, but I’ll also channel everything I’ve got into this competition.

“Welcome to Happy Endings!” I say as two customers walk in—an older woman and a teenage girl. With any luck, they’ll be in and out before all the sex talk starts.

“Let me know if I can help you find anything,” I add.

“We’re here for Knitting and Knotting,” the older woman says, chuckling to herself. “So clever.”

My eyes go wide. “Indira!”

She appears moments later, wearing a black shirt that says: Introverted but Willing to Discuss the Omegaverse.

“We have a problem,” I say through a smile. “Remember how I said people might think this was a PG event?”

Indira follows my gaze and laughs. “I’ve got this,” she says, clearly not thinking about all the ways this can go wrong—including our store getting canceled. All it takes is one offended customer posting online, and bam! Forget profits, Xander won’t trust me if we get bad press.

I pretend to busy myself straightening a new display. Indira’s girlfriend works in visual merchandising, and she suggested moving things around to increase the average basket value per customer.

“Are you guys here for the event tonight?” Indira is asking.

“Yes!” the girl says. “My grandma taught me how to knit.”