“Do you think this place looks clean enough?” Dixie asked, standing there with her hands on her hips as she surveyed the entire bookstore. They had been sweeping and scrubbing and tidying up since they got there at seven AM.

“It’s fine. We’re not being judged on cleanliness. We’re hosting an author who wants to sign books. We’re doing her a favor!”

Dixie laughed. “I don’t think that’s true. Just the fact that she’s going to be here means we’re going to have all sorts of people lined up outside. It’s going to be great for business.”

“Maybe so, but they’re here to look at her books and meet her. They’re not here to buy more books from other authors, or at least I wouldn’t think so. Just don’t be disappointed if sales don’t skyrocket, okay?”

“Where is that clipboard?” Dixie asked, suddenly running around yet again.

“I put it on the table. People will be able to write their emails so that we can send them regular messages about sales and so forth. I’ve got it handled. You really need to calm down before you end up in the hospital.”

Dixie chuckled under her breath. “I haven’t been this excited in years. I feel like I’m about to meet Elvis!”

Julie rolled her eyes and laughed. “I think you might be getting a little dramatic.”

“I think I’ll run to the back and just make sure that we didn’t miss a box of books that we can sell. Keep an eye out because she should be here soon.”

“Will do, sir,” Julie said, saluting her like she was a military leader.

She finished straightening the books on the table where Charlotte McLemore would be signing. She made sure that their most comfortable chair was pushed up behind it. Although she wasn’t nearly as excited as Dixie, she did like the way the woman wrote.

Julie had always wanted to write a novel, and she had been working on one for almost a year now. But it seemed like life was always getting in the way, and she never could get the thing finished. Even if she did, she didn’t know who would publish it. All of it seemed like a very involved process, and she wasn’t sure if she could take the rejection if people didn’t like it.

Still, she wanted to write a novel about a woman like herself who had had the strength to leave a bad situation and start a new life that was even better than she could’ve hoped for. That was how she saw herself, at least most of the time.

When she looked back at her life over the last couple of years, it was hard to believe she was the same woman who sat with her snooty country club “friends” for lunch every week. She hadn’t spoken to those women in a long time, and she had nothing in common with them now.

It felt like she had been a different person back then, like her real self had been buried for so long that she didn’t even know she was still in there. Seagrove brought her back to life, and she was forever grateful for that.