“That’s not—” I fight the urge to scream. Two nearby customers have paused their browsing to watch our exchange. “Why do you take everything I say in the worst possible way?”

His jaw tightens. “You’re the one insulting my store—”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” I protest. “I like things neat! That’s all I’m saying!”

“And I’m saying that there are enough people out there who judge this store. We don’t need it from you, too.”

He folds his arms, staring me down like a bouncer. His outrage is ironic, coming from the guy who made rude comments about my bookstore to Eddie and Xander and probably plenty of other people, too.

“I think you should get back to your event,” he says. It’s clear from his tone that he means now.

Shaking my head, I move to the door. Near the exit, I notice a sign that reads, Thanks for Visiting! Your the Best.

My right eye twitches. Don’t do it, I tell myself. Just walk away. But it’s like an itch that’ll drive me bonkers if I don’t scratch it.

I whip the pen out of my bun and add an apostrophe and an E, so it reads You’re. When I look back, Ryan is still staring me down—but his cheeks are now flushed.

Without another word, I leave.

BOOKFRIENDS