Cleo and Bertie slipped away to the back office, leaving Natalie at the counter. Although she’d stood in this spot many times, having helped at the shop all through high school and every summer in college, the moment felt surreal, as if she’d been unstuck in time. Everyone—her mother and Grandy included—had assumed she would join the Lost and Found Bookshop team after college. It had been a difficult conversation, telling them she was taking a different path.

“I thought you loved the shop,” her mother had said.

“I do. But, Mom, I don’t love the struggle.”

Her mother had looked genuinely mystified. “The struggle? Oh, the administrative chores, you mean. It’s not so bad. You get used to it.”

“You’re amazing,” Natalie had told her. “I’ll never be as amazing as you. I’m not cut out for it. I’m more the salary-and-benefits type.”

“You might change your mind,” her mother had said, gesturing around the shop with its lofty hammered tin ceilings and ancient fixtures. “This is all such a grand adventure.”

There were times, Natalie conceded, when digital inventory work had threatened to destroy her soul. It was the opposite of a grand adventure. But then she would remind herself about the steady salary, the benefits and pension plan, and decide it was all worthwhile. Stability had its price.

“You pay yourself a smaller salary than you pay the employees,” she had once pointed out to her mother. “Your late notices are getting late notices. You’ve never taken a vacation. Never bought yourself something nice. Your life is all about keeping the shop running.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not, Mom. But it’s not my thing.”

The little girl was looking around so eagerly that Natalie was able to summon her first genuine smile since the accident. “Hi there,” she said. “Can I help you?”

The girl tilted her head to one side, ropy braids following the movement. She wore jeans and high-top sneakers, and a buffalo plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. One elbow bore the faint outline of a recently removed Band-Aid. She was unself-consciously charming, with a crooked smile, a light sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks, skinny legs, and one missing front tooth.

“My mom gave me a gift card for being good at the dentist,” she said. “That’s why I’m not in school this morning, because I had the dentist. I got a filling, see?” She opened wide and tilted back her head, hooking a finger into her mouth and pulling it to one side.

“Oh, gosh,” Natalie said. “Does it hurt?”

“Nope. The Novocain shot did, though.” She shuddered.

That explained the crooked smile. “The shot is always the worst.”

“And then it sounded like they put a whistle in my mouth.” She emulated the sound, her voice making a crescendo.