Page 19 of Battle of the Bookstores

“Yes!” he roars.

I smirk; he’s way too easy to rile up. “My mistake. By the way, you owe me for the broken bottle of wine and three broken glasses.”

Ryan’s face reddens, and he reaches into his pocket for his wallet. “How much? Twenty bucks? Forty? Here, have a hundred and let’s call it good.”

He thrusts the bills at me, and the fabric of his T-shirt strains across his chest and shoulders. He’s not wearing his usual cardigan, I realize, and he’s…

My mouth goes dry. I didn’t know he was so…

Well. Broader and thicker than I would’ve expected. My mind fills with an image of him grabbing a full box of books, the sleeves on his T-shirt tightening around his arms as he easily hefts something that would take all my strength to lift.

I flick the thought away and pocket the cash.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” I say, “I need to get back to my customers and clean up your mess.”

—

Later that night,after I’ve swept up the glass, put away the books, and paid the sommelier, I walk the four blocks to my building—a triple-decker Victorian—and climb the stairsto my apartment, where I flop onto my sofa without turning on the lights.

I’m exhausted. Mind, body, and soul. After the debacle with the feline god of the underworld, my event never got back on track. Half the customers were gone by the time I returned, and only a handful ended up buying additional books.

My phone vibrates with a text from my sister:

How did it go? I’m heading out with friends but I want to hear everything!!

I’m not going to bug her with more of my problems—she deserves to have some fun. She’s been so focused lately, so serious. Georgia was such a happy kid, always smiling and laughing, twirling around our apartment in her tutu and ballet shoes.

Until the accident.

Unbidden, my mind slips back to the evening I got the call. I was in my dorm room at Emerson with my roommate. My phone rang: my mom, her voice hysterical.

Your sister’s been hit by a car.

She’s at the hospital.

They don’t know if she’s going to make it.

The next hour was a blur: rushing to the hospital, racing through the hallways to my sister’s room. Georgia had just come out of surgery. I’ll never forget the sight of her body, tiny and broken in the hospital bed.

I thought that was the worst day. But somehow the worst part came later, when I was back at school and Georgia called to tell me that our mom had taken off with a guy.

After that, everything fell apart. I don’t regret choosing mysister over my own plans, but it took me years to crawl out of that hole. To create a life I’m proud of, even if it’s not what I always hoped for.

And now that life feels fragile. Like those wineglasses shattered on the floor.

Trying to brush the memories away, I pull my laptop toward me, the glow of the screen illuminating my dark living room as I navigate to BookFriends. RJ.Reads has added a new book to his Read shelf—an ARC I finished a month or so ago—but no rating or review yet.

BookshopGirl:Hey! I saw you read that new debut that’s getting all the buzz. What did you think??

His light turns green; he’s online. For the first time in hours, I smile.

RJ.Reads:Oh my god, so good. It made me cry. Four times.

BookshopGirl:Only four? I cried at least nine times.

RJ.Reads:Well, one cry session encompassed the last hundred pages.

I laugh, my shoulders relaxing. We don’t often like the same books—RJ tends to go for lighter fare than I do—so it’s extra fun when we find common ground.

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