“I always loved The Prince and the Pauper,” Taylor said while her friend bought the book. “There’s something about the idea of switching roles, living someone else’s life …”

“We’ve got a copy of that,” Natalie said. “It’s in the case, though, because it’s a first edition.”

“Really? That’s cool. Mind if I have a look?”

Natalie took the Mark Twain out of the rare books case. Over the years, her mother and grandfather had created a special collection of books by authors in the San Francisco literary circle known as the Bohemians, which included Mark Twain. Rumor had it they’d frequented the Ten-Foot Ladder.

Slipping on her mom’s white archivist gloves, she opened the book and laid it on the display counter. “This is in wonderful condition,” she said. A note in her mother’s handwriting had been tucked inside the dust jacket. First U.S. edition, 1882. $1,200.

“Well, that’s something,” the blond woman said. “A regular museum piece. Thanks for showing me.”

“There’s a facsimile edition with the same binding and illustrations for $16.95.” Natalie showed her the replica.

“Now that I can handle. This is really nice. Brings back memories.” The woman set the book on the counter and took out her wallet. Then she grabbed a copy of the Stacy Kendall. “I’m going to get this one in hardcover after all.”

“Sounds like you’re quite the reader, then?” the other woman asked Peach.

“I like reading.” He seemed distracted as he went back to measuring something on the wall.

“Maybe you’d like to join our book club,” she suggested, scribbling something on the back of a business card. “We meet the first Thursday of every month.”

“Hey, that’s nice of you to ask,” he said. “Unfortunately, all my Thursdays are booked.”

She cocked her head and silently questioned him.

“I play in a band, and Thursdays are practice nights for us.”

“You’re a musician.” She sent him a melting look.

He grinned. “I’ve been accused of worse.”

He was in a band. For some reason, Natalie resented the fact that these flirty women were getting to know him better and more quickly than she had. Then she felt ridiculous for feeling that way. What he did when he wasn’t repairing her shop was none of her business.

“So do you play locally, or …?”

“We do, yeah. The group’s called Trial and Error. I think the next gig is at the Smoke and Fog Tavern.”

“I love going to live music. Maybe we’ll check it out,” the woman said, tapping a note into her phone. With a lingering look at Peach, she smiled, then turned away. She and her friend left with their purchases.