She picked up the book on the nightstand—Acts of Light. The book her mom had been reading before she died. Mom had had a habit of marking passages she liked or wanted to remember. Natalie paged through several. One of them, tagged with a stick-on page marker, jumped out at her: How would you live your life differently if you could start over, what would you do, who would you be, where would you go, what would you embrace?

Natalie sat in the bookstore back office with Bertie and Cleo, trying to stave off a full-blown panic attack.

“We’re staying open,” she said. “I’m going to figure out a way to make it work. Grandy won’t sell, and he refuses to move, and I’m not going to force him. So I’m going to make this the best damn bookstore on the West Coast.”

The show of bravado sounded strange and hollow, coming from a place of desperation. She wished she felt more conviction.

The impulse to walk away from her life had been the most momentous decision she’d ever made. And yet she’d made it on sheer whim, like switching from soy milk to cream in her latte. Normally, she would analyze a decision to death. Not this time. She had thrown away a stable, lucrative job to embrace a failing enterprise with no safety net.

In between the anxiety attacks and sleepless nights, she felt a soaring sense of elation, as if she could fly. It was probably the sense one felt after jumping off a cliff.

Leap, and the net will appear. That had been her mother’s motto, copied in calligraphy from a Julia Cameron book. Judging by the shape of her finances, Blythe had lived her life that way. In the end, there was no net—in the most literal sense of all.

“There’s no turning back,” Natalie told the two of them. “I quit my job, and now I’m doing this thing and it’s terrifying but I’m determined. I’d love it if you could stick with the shop. I’ll do my best to make it worthwhile. If you can’t stay, I’ll understand.”

Cleo and Bertie exchanged a glance, then looked at her. They were both such kind people. Natalie was glad they were in her life. And that reminded her of how small her life had shrunk. Her grandfather. A few friends. And yet it felt rich. Meaningful.

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told your mother,” said Bertie. “If my breakout role comes along, I might need to move on. Otherwise, I’m here.”