Natalie felt a pulse of concern. “May Lin is—”

“I see her in my dreams,” he said. “Every night.”

She bit her lip, then reached over and covered his hand with hers. “Let me know what she says.”

“Where’s Prince Charming taking you tonight?” Bertie asked Natalie.

She was wearing her mother’s good red coat and heeled boots. “Not sure.” After the fiasco with her grandfather, Trevor had promised to cheer her up. A comedy club, maybe. She checked her phone to make sure Charlie was on his way. Lately, she worried about leaving her grandfather unattended.

“To bed, I hope,” said Cleo. “It’s time, if you ask me.”

“No one asked you,” said Natalie. “Don’t you have a book club to get ready for?”

She gestured at the snack table and the stack of mystery novels waiting for the club members to arrive. “I’m ready. Really, I don’t know what you’re waiting for. He’s great, and you’re great, and he treats you like a queen.”

“He’s wonderful,” Natalie agreed.

“I hear a ‘but,’” said Bertie.

She sighed. “I’m an idiot. He seems perfect for me.” She wanted Trevor to be the one. He was the easy choice, the no-brainer. Life with him would flow by with no effort. But she’d failed so badly with Rick. She questioned her own judgment now. And with everything going on with Grandy, she was in no shape to start something. Yet Trevor kept coming back, and she kept—

“Oh boy,” said Bertie. “We’ve got company.”

A woman in an army surplus jacket and scuffed boots came in, bringing along the ripe scent of alcohol and recently smoked cigarettes. Her face bore the crags of harsh living, and her eyes gleamed in a restless assessment of the displays. Given the shop’s location, they got their share of homeless visitors and panhandlers. Sometimes, though, people just wanted to talk.

This one made a beeline for the counter. “You Natalie?” she asked.

Startled, Natalie glanced at Bertie, then back at the woman. “Can I help you?”

“There are some things you might wanna know about your boyfriend.” The woman picked up a Trevor Dashwood book that was displayed on an easel. Real and Make-Believe.

Natalie’s gaze skated around the shop. There were a few browsing customers, though they didn’t seem to take notice of the woman. “Sorry, what?” she asked softly.

She turned the book around to the photo of Trevor on the back. “You think you know him? You don’t know him.”

“Ma’am,” Bertie said. “Is there something we can help you with?”

“Help me.” She curled her lip. “How ’bout I help you. For one thing, that ain’t his name. This is Tyrell Denton. I reckon I’d know, being as I’m his mother.”

Natalie looked at the woman through a blur of utter confusion. “Sorry, I don’t understand—”