“And I want you to know . . .” She reaches over and grabs my hand. I fight the urge to yank it back. Physical touch is def not my love language. “I’m just so sorry about Alice, she was always so kind to me.”

My fingers curl into hers, my aversion to touch temporarily forgotten as I seek the comfort I have yet to find since my grandma passed away a year ago.

“Thank you.” I can’t get the two small words out without my voice breaking. Sympathy swims in the woman’s eyes the same way I’m sure unshed tears are swimming in mine.

The woman, whose name I don’t remember, gives my hand one more gentle squeeze before walking away, off to bury her problems in a book with a happily ever after that’s so elusive to actual humans.

Alice Young was the best person I’ve ever known. The best person anyone has known. Every stranger who walked into her little bookstore walked out with more books than they probably wanted—and a new friend. The Book Nook sells books, obviously, but the real draw was getting to come and chat with Gran. She was wise beyond her seventy-two years and had a way of listening that made you feel like your biggest problem was actually just a pebble in your shoe. She made you feel as if you could accomplish anything. In the age of the e-book conglomerates and chain bookstores dominating the market, the Book Nook never struggled.

Until she left it to me.

It’s not that I have self-esteem issues as much as I know my strengths and weaknesses. And my strength is definitely not sitting with a sympathetic ear and listening to other people’s problems. I’ve never been good at it, but I’m especially terrible at it when my own problems seem so big.

Huge.

Gigantic.

Insurmountable.

Because yeah, this isn’t my dream job or anything, but Gran left the bookstore to me. And sure, sales were through the roof the first couple of months after she passed away, with well-wishers coming to show their support. But now that the months have crawled by, people are going back to their lives. Unfortunately for me, that doesn’t include spending money at a store where Alice no longer greets them with her cheerful smile and welcoming ear.

If I don’t figure it out soon, I will lose the only tangible link I have left to my grandma.

On that thought, the bell above the front door rings and I look just in time to see Collette, Vivian, Mona, Ethel, and Beth file through the front door.

Oh shit.

I really need to check my calendar more often.