Two women came in, their cheeks bright with color from the chill air. They looked like affluent young professionals in their luxurious infinity scarves, well-cut blazers, half boots, and expensive shoulder bags. Since moving back to the city Natalie had observed changes in the neighborhood of her youth, and these ladies were a prime example. There were still traces of the bohemian vibe here and there—a new age school for interpretive dance, a psychic healer, a crystal peddler—but the majority of businesses and shops were now decidedly posh, catering to a stylish, well-salaried clientele. Natalie wasn’t quite sure how to make the bookstore posh, or if she even should.

The women scanned the displays, their eyes lighting on intriguing covers and handwritten book review cards from the staff and regular customers. There were several in Blythe’s urgent scrawl, with an overabundance of exclamation points. As time went by, Natalie would probably need to retire the cards, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so yet.

“Let me know if I can help you find something,” she said to the newcomers.

“Thanks,” said one of the women, checking her phone. “Just browsing for the moment.”

Great, thought Natalie. More cell phone pics? Maybe she ought to consider Peach’s suggestion—an outright ban.

The buzz of a power tool shrieked from the corner where Peach was working. He leaned around a shelf and waved. “Sorry about the noise,” he said. “I’ll be done in a sec.”

“No problem,” the other woman murmured, slipping on a pair of couture glasses and picking up a novel with a vibrant red-and-white cover.

The friend gave her a nudge and jerked her head toward Peach, then fanned herself. The first woman wandered over to the travel section, feigning interest in a pictorial guide to Estonia.

The drill buzz stopped. “Hello,” Peach said. “Am I in your way?”

“Oh no,” she said quickly. “Being nosy, is all. Looks like a pretty major repair you’re doing here. I love these old buildings.”

Peach nodded affably. “They can be high maintenance.”

“Well, you look like you know what you’re doing,” she said, not quite batting her eyes. “I’ve always got something around my place that needs fixing. Do you have a card?”

He’s married, Natalie thought, trying to concentrate on her inventory chores. He’s got a kid.

“Sure.” He set down his drill and straightened up. At his full height, he was even better looking.

“I’ll take one, too,” said the woman with the glasses. “I’m hopeless when it comes to home improvement. I just bought a place on Russian Hill, and I’m renovating. Or I should say, I’m begging for contractors who can do the renovation. You gentlemen are hard to find.”

He handed out the cards. “P. Gallagher,” the blond woman said. “P as in Peter, like the actor? Or Philip, like the best character in Shameless?”