I sigh. Xander Laing has spent the past few years buying up the entire block, including the coffee shop next door, though he doesn’t care about books or coffee—just his bottom line. When he bought Tabula Inscripta, Xander questioned if “a girl with nothing but a high school diploma” could handle being the manager. I convinced him to give me a shot, and since I pull a profit each month, he keeps me around. Still, I always feel like I’m on thin ice.

I send a message to RJ, wishing I could chat longer.

BookshopGirl: Gotta go—have a great morning!

RJ.Reads: You too. And congrats again. I’m so happy for you.

After that, I lock the door behind me and step into a crisp, sunlit morning. My bookstore is right in the heart of Davis Square, my favorite neighborhood in the Boston area—tree-lined streets, brick-paved sidewalks, charming shops, and eclectic restaurants. It’s late May and the day is already warm, the air filled with the gentle hum of traffic and the occasional ting of a bicycle bell.

I step into Beans, where I breathe in the life-giving aroma of coffee. Xander’s not here yet, thankfully.

“Josie!” Eddie Callahan, the manager, calls. His classic Southie accent, tattoos, and gruff exterior hide the fact that he’s a total softie. “Good mornin’, sweetheart. The usual?”

“Yes, please,” I say, smiling as I walk up to the counter. “How’s the morning rush going?”

“Nearly over, thank god.” Eddie motions over his shoulder at a blonde barista, who’s struggling with the complicated espresso machine. “You know how it is—you hire someone, hoping to get some help, and it ends up taking ten times as much energy to train ’em.” He shakes his head. “I shouldn’t complain when you’re staffing that place alone seven days a week.”

“My sister helps when she can,” I say.

Eddie gives me a worried-uncle look. “You’re gonna burn yourself out, kid. Let’s get you an extra shot of espresso and a cheese croissant. On the house.” He winks.

He fusses over me like a mother hen in a way my own mom never did, and his concern unexpectedly makes my throat tighten.

“You’re the best,” I say.

“That’s a fact.” Another wink. “I’ll have Mabel bring your order. Good luck with the boss man today.”

I thank him and turn. Xander’s arrived; he’s seated at a table next to a man whose back is to me.

“Good morning,” I say as I pull up a chair.

Xander—short and balding and with a perpetual irritated frown—gives me a curt nod, then motions between me and the other guy. “I assume you two know each other?”

“No,” I say, as the guy turns and says, “Yes.”