I lift Persephone off my lap. “Sorry, sweet girl,” I say, giving the soft spot between her ears a nuzzle before stepping into Beans. I’ve already had my morning frappe, but there’s always room for another.

As far as guilty pleasures go, mine isn’t that bad. I wonder what BookshopGirl’s is, if she has one. And just like that, I’m back to thinking about her.

Is it possible to have a crush on someone when you don’t know their real name or what they look like? Except I’m pretty sure BookshopGirl is beautiful. Smart, thoughtful, funny, and beautiful.

“Fuckin’ hell, Ry—you won’t believe what Josie just told me,” Eddie says.

Josie’s back is to me, and her shoulders stiffen. She’s in full ice-queen mode today: tight bun, black pencil skirt that hugs her curves, and sky-high heels that make her legs look endless. She gives me a brief glance, then looks away—but not before I see her expression. Totally sour, like she’s sucked on a lemon. Hard to believe that a week ago she had me backed against a bookcase, staring at my lips like she wanted to suck on them.

“It’s no big deal,” Josie says.

“Come on, it’s a huge deal,” Eddie says, before looking at me and adding, “The usual?”

He raises an eyebrow and I gulp, hoping my “usual” doesn’t include a wad of spit. I’ve been on good behavior around him—unless Josie told him about the bookshelves…

“It’s fine,” Josie says to Eddie. As if she can’t be bothered to have this conversation with me. “I just had a situation at my event last night.”

“No one showed up?” I ask, unable to miss the chance to razz her. I know she had a full house; I was here working late, filling more than a hundred Book and a Vibe subscription boxes.

“No,” Josie hisses, sounding not unlike Hades. “The event was sold out, thank you very much.”

“Then what was the problem?” I’ll have to ask Cinderella if Mercury is in retrograde—what are the chances that Josie and BSG both had bad events last night?

“The guest author was a racist-ableist-eugenicist asshat,” Eddie says to me.

Josie’s shoulders slump as she mumbles, “I really fucked up.”

I’m not sure she meant for me to hear that last part; it’s unlike her to show any sign of weakness. But I also can’t imagine Josie Klein inviting a guy like that to her store. Just last week I saw her dress down a customer at Beans who made a nasty comment about her sister’s cane.

“Why would you host him?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“His last novel was nominated for the National Book Award,” Josie says, before quickly adding, “and I didn’t read the new book first.”