“Grandy? You call him Grandy? That’s really cute, and it makes me like him already.”

“He’s pretty great.”

“I’m kind of nuts about rare books,” Trevor said.

“Then you’ll be really nuts about this.” She got up from the table and went to the counter. “Legend has it that Mark Twain and Bret Harte used to drink here when this building was a saloon called the Ten-Foot Ladder. It’s never been verified, but I like to think it’s true.” She showed him the glass-front barrister and under-counter display case of rare books.

He leaned close to her. “That’s quite a collection.” He indicated rare copies of A Christmas Carol and Great Expectations down near the floor. “You’ve relegated Charles Dickens to the bottom shelf.”

“Great stories, but he’s not my favorite,” she said. “He was so awful to his wife.”

“Ah. Well, then. Show me one of your favorites.”

“There’s a first edition Prince and the Pauper, but no other Twain in stock at the moment. My very favorite isn’t Mark Twain, even though he had the most epic love story with his wife and treated her like a queen. I like Jack London because of his ties to the area,” she said, opening the case. “This copy of White Fang has his verified signature and a letter in his own hand.” She laid it carefully on the counter, a near-mint volume with a tooled leather cover and the author’s signature on the title page.

“It’s a beauty,” Trevor said. “I started reading him when I was a kid and reread him a few years back. I’ll never forget Burning Daylight, the one about the guy who throws away his entire fortune in exchange for true love.”

“I still have my tearstained copy of Call of the Wild,” she said. “I cried and cried. ‘There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life …’”

“‘… and beyond which life cannot rise.’”

“You did not just finish that quote for me.” She regarded him with cautious delight.

“Sorry, couldn’t help showing off a bit.”

“That’s amazing. As Anne-with-an-E would say, we must be kindred spirits.”

“You can have Anne and her green gables,” he said. “Not a fan.”

“Most guys aren’t. Every girl is.” Part of her stepped back as if she were having an out-of-body experience. She was actually here in her shop discussing literature with one of the most famous people in publishing.

“All right, then. I’ll take this one.” Trevor reached into his jacket.

“Wait. What? You … Are you sure?”

He laughed. “Is this some kind of test?”