So Jane began. She wrote. She added word after word until full sentences began to take shape in front of her. She wrote about Annie, about the shop downstairs, about Sheryl and Kristin, and about herself. Just to get it all out of the way so, perhaps, tomorrow or the day after or the the day after that, she could start on something real. A new story. A new beginning. It crackled somewhere in the back of her brain. A new idea was forming, she just hadn’t got hold of it yet.

Jane wrote, her fingers flying over the keyboard, unleashed and eager. A picture formed in her head, one she couldn’t dislodge: Mia’s face. Mia, who was downstairs right now, and with whom Jane had had many an unexpectedly satisfying chat. Mia with her smile and her questions and her easy way. The great coffees she made and the wonderful, laid-back events she put on. Mia who walked around the Pink Bean as if she was born for nothing else.

Jane paused, trying to grasp what her brain was trying to tell her. Something about Mia. They weren’t romantic thoughts. This was her subconscious sending her a message about something important. About her next book, perhaps. Jane wrote down her stream of consciousness, hoping that whatever needed to be uncovered would emerge soon. Then it hit her.

Something Annie had said about the Pink Bean potentially being a great setting for a new series. And to Jane, Mia represented the Pink Bean in her life. Yes, that was it. Jane paused. She leaned back in her chair. The idea she’d been craving had been right under her nose all along. A coffee shop. A book shop. A bunch of lesbians frequenting both. What better recipe for drama?

Jane closed her eyes. She didn’t even have to invent any of the settings. And if she needed the sort of inspiration that came from a snippet of overheard conversation, she had only to descend the stairs, sit down with a cup of coffee, and observe. What better way to expel her own recent demons than to layer them into a story about a place so close to her heart—and her home. Or was it all too close to the bone? Jane wanted to run down the stairs right now and tell Annie. How ironic that, because of the Pink Bean, and how business had picked up, Annie was hardly ever alone in the shop anymore, so she couldn’t do that.

Unless she asked Mia, or Taylor, or whoever was minding the shop that day, to keep an eye on their side of the store. Because she needed to run this idea by her wife before she could take it any further. Excitement burned in her chest. Her stomach tingled. Jane hoped her idea would pass the Annie-test. She had to know now.