“Okay, then,” I say. “What books do you like? Sharing a favorite book with a partner can be a very intimate experience.”

Which makes me wonder: Would Josie have taken my book suggestions if she’d known I was the one making them?

“I don’t read romance,” the man says with the air of someone who looks down on the genre even though they’ve never read it. “My taste skews more literary.”

This is a challenge I like. As much as I’d love to convince him to buy something spicy—he could benefit from his girlfriend reading a book like that—I know he’s trusting me to help him choose something that will make him look good, and I don’t want to disappoint. I flip through the card catalog in my mind, trying to think of a romance that leans literary. More of a love story than a traditional genre romance…

“How do you feel about cherry farms in Michigan?”

A few minutes later, I’m leading the man—his name is Brad—across the invisible barrier that used to separate Happy Endings from Beans and around the bookshelf barrier into Tabula Inscripta.

Josie’s eyes widen when she sees me. It’s moments like this that make me wish I wasn’t such a goddamn giant. I know my size can be intimidating, but I wouldn’t hurt a cat. Not even Hades when he’s acting like the devil he was named after.

“Can I…help you?” Josie’s the epitome of a buttoned-up retail professional today: hair slicked back in a long, dark ponytail; crisp blouse and pencil skirt; glossy red lips that match her high heels. A new image comes barreling into my mind: Josie Klein in nothing but those shoes and a red lacy bra and panties, ordering me to get on my knees.

Flushing, I shove that thought away and try to picture BookshopGirl dressing like Josie. I can’t—I’ve always imagined her as a soft, sweet woman who wears flowy skirts and cozy sweaters, her hair in a messy bun, ink smudges on her fingers.

But like Nora said, there’s no reason for BookshopGirl to be anyone other than her real self online, whereas Josie has plenty of reasons for treating me the way she has. Not that they’re valid. Still, maybe BookshopGirl is there, underneath all that ice…

“Did you need something?” Josie asks in a wary voice.

“Yeah, sorry,” I say, shaking myself. “My friend Brad here is looking for a special gift for a special lady—any chance you have Tom Lake in stock?”

Josie’s dark eyebrows draw together slowly, creating two tiny lines between them.

“Follow me,” she says after a beat, but she still looks suspicious.