Page 44 of Battle of the Bookstores

The warm and fuzzy feelings from my conversation with BookshopGirl evaporate, replaced by the irritation I always feel around Josie. I don’t care what’s going on with her. I shouldn’t. But my curiosity—okay, my nosiness—gets the best of me.

I lift Persephone off my lap. “Sorry, sweet girl,” I say, giving the soft spot between her ears a nuzzle before stepping into Beans. I’ve already had my morning frappe, but there’s always room for another.

As far as guilty pleasures go, mine isn’t that bad. I wonder what BookshopGirl’s is, if she has one. And just like that, I’m back to thinking about her.

Is it possible to have a crush on someone when you don’t know their real name or what they look like? Except I’m pretty sure BookshopGirl is beautiful. Smart, thoughtful, funny, and beautiful.

“Fuckin’ hell, Ry—you won’t believe what Josie just told me,” Eddie says.

Josie’s back is to me, and her shoulders stiffen. She’s in full ice-queen mode today: tight bun, black pencil skirt that hugs her curves, and sky-high heels that make her legs look endless. She gives me a brief glance, then looks away—but not before I see her expression. Totally sour, like she’s sucked on a lemon. Hard to believe that a week ago she had me backed against a bookcase, staring at my lips like she wanted to suck onthem.

“It’s no big deal,” Josie says.

“Come on, it’s ahugedeal,” Eddie says, before looking at me and adding, “The usual?”

He raises an eyebrow and I gulp, hoping my “usual” doesn’t include a wad of spit. I’ve been on good behavior around him—unless Josie told him about the bookshelves…

“It’s fine,” Josie says to Eddie. As if she can’t be bothered to have this conversation with me. “I just had a situation at my event last night.”

“No one showed up?” I ask, unable to miss the chance to razz her. I know she had a full house; I was here working late, filling more than a hundred Book and a Vibe subscription boxes.

“No,” Josie hisses, sounding not unlike Hades. “The event was sold out, thank you very much.”

“Then what was the problem?” I’ll have to ask Cinderella if Mercury is in retrograde—what are the chances that Josie and BSG both had bad events last night?

“The guest author was a racist-ableist-eugenicist asshat,” Eddie says to me.

Josie’s shoulders slump as she mumbles, “I really fucked up.”

I’m not sure she meant for me to hear that last part; it’s unlike her to show any sign of weakness. But I also can’t imagine Josie Klein inviting a guy like that to her store. Just last week I saw her dress down a customer at Beans who made a nasty comment about her sister’s cane.

“Why would you host him?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“His last novel was nominated for the National Book Award,” Josie says, before quickly adding, “and I didn’t read the new book first.”

“Ah man, been there, done that,” I say, remembering when a local author gave off subtle pedophilia vibes at one book launch we hosted. “Just say no if an author named G. T. Offman comes knocking…”

“Same goes with Kenneth Michael Rutherford,” Josie says, a bite in her tone.

“Wait, you broughtthatguy into your store?”

Rutherford was trending on BookFriends last night. The Literary forums aren’t usually my jam, but I came across the post since it was started by BookshopGirl. The things people were saying about this guy…

Josie presses her palms against her eyes as if she’s trying to block out the memory.

“I hope you kicked him out on his ass,” I say.

I would have liked to see that, someone else being on the receiving end of Josie Klein’s death glare.

“She couldn’t kick him out,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “The crowd was all white guys—no offense.”

“None taken,” I say, confused by why that matters.

But then I remember that someone on BookFriends said Rutherford has been linked to a bunch of violent, bigoted organizations, and it makes sense. Josie nearly always worksalone—of course she wouldn’t feel comfortable standing up to Rutherford and his fans without any support or backup.

“She was afraid for her safety,” Eddie continues, putting a hand over his heart. “I wish I’d been here to help you, Josie.”

“Me too,” Josie says quietly.

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