Page 43 of Battle of the Bookstores

“That’ll be up to whoever’s managing the store.” There’s noise on the other end of the line, then I hear Xander talking to someone else. “Gotta run,” he says, back to me. “Keep up the good work.”

I hang up and try to blink away an unsettling mental picture of the future: Josie handing out pink slips or making things so difficult my staff quits on their own. I have to figure out some way to get ahead.

Even still, I find myself pulling up this morning’s message from Gretchen.

Greetings from your plan B! Any update?

I hesitate, chewing on my lip, then type:Can I call you later? No decision yet, but I’d love to hear more details.

Gretchen texts back immediately:OMG! Really?! Yes of course—call anytime.

Their enthusiasm is gratifying, especially after Xander’s news. At least someone thinks I have something useful to offer.

I slump back against the couch and open the Libro.fm app. I wish I was listening to a comfort read, something with a guaranteed happy ending. But right now, I’m listening to a book that I know won’t end happily—after BookshopGirl mentioned the best way to get to know someone is to read their favorite books, I put a few from her Favorite Reads shelf on my TBR list, including this one—Atlas Shrugged. I wasgoing to buy the hardcover, but it’s more than athousandpages. The audiobook is sixty hours, but still easier for my mind to digest.

I’m about to hit play when a message from BookshopGirl comes in.

BookshopGirl:Good morning! Guess what? I started The Princess Bride after we finished chatting last night.

RJ.Reads:And…

BookshopGirl:And the one I got is apparently abridged. Do you know where I can get a copy of the original? It’s OK if it’s longer. When we read Les Misérables for English in 11th grade, our teacher assigned us the abridged version, but I read the original even though it’s 1,463 pages.

A laugh bursts out of me, startling Persephone, who just got comfortable on my lap. She gives me an annoyed side-eye before falling back asleep.

RJ.Reads:There isn’t an unabridged version.

BookshopGirl:Yes, there is, the author says right at the beginning that the original was written by S. Morgenstern. Maybe I should try a vintage retailer.

RJ.Reads:Did you google S. Morgenstern?

BookshopGirl loves unique structures, so I figured she’d get a kick out of this one—but maybe I should’ve just come out and told her. The last thing I want is to make her feel stupid for not knowing.

But that’s the genius of the book. The author (William Goldman, a legendary screenwriter) frames the entire novel as the “good parts” of the original history written by the fictional S. Morgenstern.

The longer I wait for a reply, the more nervous I get. She’s probably rolling her eyes and promising herself she’ll never ask me for recs again. Good thing I didn’t suggest one ofmyfavorite books—I wasn’t kidding when I said I couldn’t handle it if she hated it.

I’m about to give up when my phone pings again.

BookshopGirl:WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

BookshopGirl:ARE YOU SERIOUS??

My stomach sinks.

BookshopGirl:This author is either a genius or a total nutjob. Either way, I’m hooked.

A huge smile spreads across my face as I lean my head back against the chair, relieved.

RJ.Reads:I’d never steer you wrong.

BookshopGirl:Thank you. Really—it’s just what I needed. It’s been a rough few weeks, which is another reason why last night hit extra hard.

BookshopGirl:Got to go. Chat soon!

“Holy fuckin’ shit!” I hear Eddie say ten minutes later. The whir of his espresso machine has almost blurred into white noise, but Eddie’s voice—especially at its most dramatic—can cut through anything.

I glance up, less than half interested until I see the person he’s talking to.

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