Page 117 of Battle of the Bookstores

Sunday: (After another round of sweet and slow morning sex) we played tourist and walked down to Fanueil Hall. We took our time reading every quote on the glass columns at the Holocaust Memorial, then went to the North End and did a taste test between the cannoli at Modern and Mike’s. (Mike’s won.) From there, we Ubered back to her place and had every intention of going our separate ways, but our goodbye kiss got so heated that Josie dragged me upstairs and had her way with me. Which I didn’t mind at all.

Monday: We tried to act like everything was normal, but Cinderella knew as soon as she saw the smile on my face. It didn’t take long for everyone else to figure it out, too. After we closed the stores, I took Josie out on a proper dinner date.

Tuesday: I woke up in Josie’s bed, which is as soft and lovely as she is. It’s a queen, which meant it was too small for me. But I’d take being squished with Josie over being alone in my king-size bed any day. We ate takeout Thai and stayed up most of the night, making love and making plans for our final meeting with Xander on Thursday.

Which brings us to Wednesday.

Today.

“Morning, lovebirds,” Eddie says as we walk in the door—one door for the entire store now.

Josie drops my hand. I miss the feel of her fingers, but I don’t take offense. I’ll be patient while Josie dips her toe in the water, getting used to the temperature. Damn it if my mom’s cheesy metaphor doesn’t make perfect sense.

“Things are looking good around here,” Josie says.

She’s right. Construction officially wrapped up this weekend while we were at the conference, but it took the crew a few days to load everything out.

“It’s so…quiet,” I say. “No more clanging or banging.”

“From here on out the only banging I want to hear about is between the two of you,” Eddie says.

Josie’s eyes go wide, and she turns, speed walking to her side of the store.

“Sorry.” Eddie shrugs. “She makes it too easy.”

“White mocha frappe with extra whip for you,” Mabel says, handing me my drink. “And an Americano for your lady.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking the drinks. The store isn’t the only thing that’s changed in the last three months. It feels like a lifetime ago that Mabel was mixing up our drink orders. Back when Josie thought my name was Brian.

When I bring Josie her coffee, she isn’t alone. Georgia’s there, leaning on her bedazzled cane with both hands. Her head perks up as Josie’s falls. From our conversations, I know Josie’s been dreading this introduction as much as I’ve been looking forward to it.

“Georgia,” I say, extending my hand. “It’s nice to officially meet you.”

“He really is shockingly tall,” Georgia says, as if I’m not standing right there.

Her mouth curves into an open smile that lights up her face, reminding me of Josie—except it took me weeks to coax that kind of smile out of her sister.

“Nice, firm handshake,” she says, making eyes at Josie. “So tell me, Ryan-slash-RJ, what are your intentions with my sister?”

I choke on my frappe.

“Okay, I’m out,” Josie says. “Georgia, take it easy on him, please?”

“Yes, dear sister,” Georgia says, smiling sweetly.

But as soon as Josie disappears into the back room, Georgia turns back to me, her expression dead serious. “Listen,” she says, “I’ve never seen my sister this happy with anyone in her life.”

I give a tentative smile. “Thanks, that’s really—”

“It’s not a compliment, it’s a warning,” she says, and I shut my mouth. “Josie has spent her life sacrificing her own wants and needs for other people—especially me, and I can never repay her.” Her voice cracks, and she clears her throat. “She’s busted her ass to get where she is, and I’d hate to see her get screwed over by some guy who’s riding on the coattails of her brilliance and hard work.”

All the blood drains from my face. It’s like she’s speaking my fear aloud: that Josie doesn’t need my help to run this bookstore. Georgia’s right. Josie has worked her way up to her position against all odds, while I lucked into mine. Most of the time, I can barely keep my own staff in line.

“I would never do that to her,” I say. “I adore your sister, Georgia. She’s the most—”

“I know,” Georgia cuts in. “And she deserves someone who will put her first, for once. Do you understand?”

“Of course,” I say, nodding for emphasis.

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