Barb and Eva have one of the best second-chance love stories I’ve ever heard. Both women are in their eighties; they fell in love when they were in college and had to keep their relationship a secret. In the decades since, they each got married, raised families, and lost their husbands. They reconnected last year, and now the world is ready to celebrate their love.

A proposal like this would be a big deal at any time—but especially now that our days could be numbered. If Josie wins, love will come here to wither and die, not blossom.

The bell on the front door chimes and Indira walks in, carrying a Tupperware container.

“What’ve you got there?” I ask, grateful for a distraction.

Indira blushes. “Kansar.” She opens the lid to show me what looks like sweet confetti. “It’s traditionally served at Indian weddings, but it’s supposed to be a good omen, and I thought…”

“Eva and Barb will love it. We’ve got a table set up in the back if you want to put it there.”

Indira smiles, and heads toward Cinderella, Eliza, and Nora, who are helping the couple’s friends find hiding spots around the store. When you’re loved by as many people as Barb and Eva are, it’s impossible to keep things small.

And it will be impossible to keep them quiet.

As if on cue, the door opens again, and Alan, Barb’s son, walks in, carrying his guitar. When Eva said he wanted to play a song for the couple, how could I say no?

The fact that it might cause a little disturbance for the meditation event Josie’s been hawking all week is unfortunate. Maybe those big bookshelves will mute the sound.

And if not? #SorryNotSorry.

I’m not sorry our customers were having so much fun the other night that they got a little loud and disrupted her and all of her…oh, wait. There weren’t any customers in her store. I’m also not sorry that I took so much joy watching Josie get all sweaty and breathless as she struggled with the shelves.

I am sorry that I stared at her ass (though it is an objectively gorgeous ass). Partly because it’s disrespectful, but mostly because I hate that she affects me so much. My dick has not gotten the memo that Josie isn’t someone we want to get closer to.

Maybe it’s a good thing she made that bookshelf barrier. Out of sight, out of mind. Except I’m still thinking about her.

My phone buzzes: Gretchen.

Gretchen: Hi, friend! It’s a beautiful day on the Cape!

The photo attached is a close-up shot of two men wearing very tight Speedos.

I reply with the laughing emoji, and Gretchen comes back with: Have you thought more about my offer?

I’m telling the truth when I say, Yes…