When I first step over the threshold, a little bell chimes, and the guy from the phone calls out, “One sec!”

My first impression is that there’s way too much junk in this place. Boxes upon boxes of books line the floors, cheesy book puns line the walls, and a soft cinnamon smell drifts around me. I hear footsteps before I see the guy as he navigates the massive stock of books.

Then I freeze. It’s Ice Cream Shop Guy.

I silently thank the meet cute gods.

“Hi, anything I can help you with?” he asks. He looks a little different than he did when I ran into him at the ice cream shop—his hair is a little messier, his clothes a little dressier, no group of friends flanking him—but his eyes are just as dreamy. He doesn’t seem to recognize me, but maybe he’s just playing it cool, trying to slow his breathing while his heart races at the very sight of me.

I follow his lead. “Yeah, I’m here for the interview.”

“Oh,” he says like he’s surprised I’m the guy from the phone. I know the feeling.

And my voice tends to be like three octaves higher in person. I haven’t quite unlearned that habit yet.

“Gimme a sec. Amy’s in the back.”

He jogs back through the stack of books, and I wonder if I should’ve read more before coming. I mean, they didn’t really give me a whole lot of time to prep for the interview. If anyone asks, my favorite author is Fitzgerald because I really love fruit, especially when it’s angry.

That is what it’s about, right? Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten all my knowledge of The Grapes of Wrath from VeggieTales.

A woman shouts, “Sorry!” And then I see her jogging up to meet me. She’s short, chubby, her hair in a little pixie cut around her head. “Hi, you’re here for the interview, right?”

“Right,” I say, passing her my résumé.

She smiles and takes it without really looking at it, then shakes my hand. She’s one of those middle-aged white ladies who dramatically overenunciate everything and use their hands to illustrate I don’t even know what. “I’m Amy,” she says. “What’s your name, hon?”

“Noah.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Noah. So, all I’m really looking for is someone to kind of keep watch of the shop. I’ve got lots of stuff to do behind the scenes, and I can’t leave Drew at the register all day without a break. Apparently it’s a felony or something.”

She laughs, and I force a smile. Drew, huh?

“Anyway,” she says, “it’s not a whole lot of work. You just have to run the register and help customers find stuff if they’re looking. The whole shop’s organized alphabetically.”