I fly home to Boston. Louisa picks me up at the airport and brings me to the large apartment she shares with her two friends. I really like both of them. They’re fun, lively, and kind. And my room passes muster. It’s bigger than I was expecting—probably a good fifteen-by-fifteen—and gets western light through two big windows. We all use the same kitchen, but everyone is generous about sharing and great about respecting each other’s stuff, and it even looks like we might set up a rotation so we can each cook one or two dinners a week.

I go back to work for the library, this time for a librarian named Brenna Cho, who is also a great boss. I learn the ins and outs of the adult desk, memorize answers to the most common questions our patrons ask, and generally start thinking like an adult librarian. I make myself indispensable there. Brenna says the day Hettie let me go was the best day of her working life, and I know she means it. It turns out I like working with adult readers just as much as I liked working with kids, which surprises me. Maybe it’s because adults are basically just big kids, especially when you get them excited about a new book. Maybe a little slower moving but more likely to wash their hands in the bathroom.

Or not.

In the evenings, I sit in the shared living room. My mom and I finished watching Crash Landing on You before I left Rush Creek, so now I’ve moved on to Start-Up. I binge watch episodes and ugly cry when things go wrong for Dal Mi. When it gets too late to start a new episode, I don’t want to go to bed, so I stay on the couch flipping through my Instagram feed.

Brody doesn’t have an Insta, but Amanda, Lucy, and Wilder Adventures all do. So does my mom’s Real Romance business, and that’s how I find out she’s still doing the parties on the boat. She reposts a photo from Wilder, too, so I hop over there, and see that Brody’s new concept is going great guns. There are photos of Jem leading a book club, of Nan’s gorgeous baked goods (also reposted on the Rush Creek Bakery feed), and of the Glory Day Spa massage sessions, complete with blissed out customers.

In the background of one of the photos, I can just make out Brody, and I enlarge the photo to see the expression on his face.

Louisa snatches the phone out of my hands.

“What the—?”

“You’ve been on that couch for three hours and twenty-three minutes,” she accuses. “And last night you were on it for four hours and twelve minutes.”

“Louisa!”

“I timed you,” she says, frowning at me.

“I’m tired,” I protest.