It’s not even seconds later before the bubble indicating Jasper is typing pops up. And it’s even less time before I get his response.

Thank freaking god.

No wonder he’s an author.

Because three words have never made me happier.

I pull out the list he gave me and recognize the title of a book I’ve been asked to help find more than once. I leave Gran’s office and head back into the store to do something I haven’t done in ages: find a book that I’m going to read and actually feeling excited about.

Jasper Williams, Author, is a certified miracle worker.

CHAPTER 9

After I agreed to the craziest plan in the history of plans, I pulled my tail from between my legs and fired off a text to Elsie and Daisy.

It wasn’t easy, but I did it because, let’s be honest, I’m in way over my head with this mess. I’m not sure either of my reinforcements knows what they’re doing either, but strength in numbers. Right?

Maybe.

Probably not at all.

All I know is if the group text I added them to is any indication at all, they’ve formed quite the alliance over the last couple of days and I’m screwed.

I’m putting the finishing touches on my charcuterie board when there’s a knock on my door. Elsie had to skip story time this morning because her mother-in-law signed the twins up for soccer and they had their first game. And even though Elsie isn’t thrilled with me, she still sent me a copious number of pictures and videos of the entire event. Including three videos of Wren scoring goals and one video of Willow modeling the grass crowns she made as she sat on the sideline, protesting having to wear cleats.

I freaking love those girls so much.

I hurry to the door, not wanting to leave her waiting for long, since I already did that once this week.

I swing open the door, and even though I’ve known Elsie for almost my entire life, I’m still knocked back by how freaking beautiful my friend is. She’s sleep-deprived and has a diet that consists of whatever food her kids didn’t eat, but she’s never looked better. She has the glow of a well-loved woman.

“Hey!” I gesture her into my essential-oil-infused apartment, which is supposed to smell like Zen. I don’t know, I just saw it at the natural grocery store when I was grabbing cheese and crackers and figured what the hell, anything could help. “You look great! I love your hair. When’d you get those done?”

Instead of the mom bun she’s been rocking, her hair has been parted and braided into long box braids falling to the top of her butt. It’s a great look on her.