If there’s even a chance the warm and lovely BookshopGirl could be hiding beneath Josie’s cold exterior, isn’t it worth the risk? Getting to know the real her, and letting her get to know the real me?

Only one way to find out.

RJ.Reads: Sorry, it’s been busy. And weird. I’m glad yours was the good kind of busy, though. So, I’ve been thinking, and I hope this isn’t unwelcome, but I can’t stop thinking about it so here goes: Would you ever be interested in meeting in real life?

After pressing send, I remember that she doesn’t know I’m also in Boston. I shake my head and write another message.

RJ.Reads: I mean, in person depending on if we live in the same city, which we don’t know for sure, right? Ha. Or we could talk on FaceTime or Zoom? Or a phone call?

Shit, I sound desperate. Just one more message.

RJ.Reads: No pressure, though. Let me know. Goodnight

15

Josie

I can’t stop staring at the message from RJ.

RJ.Reads: Would you ever be interested in meeting in real life?

He sent it late last night, but I haven’t figured out how to respond.

Georgia is sitting next to me, behind the counter at Tabula—but she’s working on something useful, a paper for class. Me? I’m freaking out.

I know it’s silly, but it’s almost like I forgot that RJ isn’t a fictional character. He’s a fully formed human with his own motivations and expectations. All I know of him is his avatar (a hand holding a small, leather-bound book) and his brief bio: Bookseller x 14 yrs. He/Him. Good endings matter. He could live anywhere in the country. He could be seventy years old or twenty. I’d bet money that we’re similar ages, though—within five or ten years—based on his word choices, abbreviations, and references. Somehow, that’s even more intimidating.

The thought of stepping out of the safety of our online world, of confronting the unpredictable reality of this individual I know nothing about—it terrifies me. What if I can’t be the person I am on the screen? What if I’m a disappointment? What if he is?

BookshopGirl: Sorry, I don’t think that’s a good idea.

I press send and immediately regret it.

“What’s that look on your face?” Georgia asks, and I close my laptop.

“Nothing. How’s your paper coming?”

She leans back in her chair and sighs. “Stuff like this makes me wonder why I decided to go to grad school. Maybe you had the right idea—you figured out what you wanted to do and didn’t waste time in college.”