Page 55 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind

I sigh and shut my laptop, looking up in time to hear the little bell over the door jingle. Two people enter the shop, a man and a woman, both of them looking around curiously.

“Oh my goodness, look how cute it is!” the woman says, her head turning this way and that. She’s wearing a short dress with what looks like a pattern of…porcupines, maybe? Or hedgehogs? Maybe very round cats? I shake my head; the pattern isn’t important. Her chin-length hair is a shade of pastel pink, and even though she’s barely stepped in the shop, she moves with the kind of energy that would leave me exhausted.

She tucks a few strands of pink hair behind her ear, and then she glances at her companion—a grumpy-looking man in a tweed blazer with elbow patches. “Isn’t it cute?”

“I…guess?” he says slowly, his face wrinkling as he looks around too. Then he frowns at the woman. “What am I even saying?” he mutters. More clearly, he adds, “No. Buildings aren’t cute. Stores aren’t cute.”

“Oh, sure they are,” she says, waving this away. She doesn’t seem at all put off by the expression on his face; if anything, her smile widens when she sees his frown. “Look at the checkered floor.” She points to the floor of the café. “Look at the cozy bookshelves.” She points to those too. “It’s cute. It’s all cute.”

The man rolls his eyes, but I see the look he gives her when she bounds toward the bookshelves and starts thumbing down the row; it’s nothing short of adoring.

Crap. Is that how I look at Heidi? Am I that obvious?

Probably.

Speaking of the woman I attacked with my mouth—she rounds the corner at that exact moment, looking hurried but in good spirits. She smiles at the newcomers, and into my mind pops her words from Saturday:You’re mine, all right?

Don’t think about that right now,I tell myself.Don’t think about any of that conversation.

But it’s not easy to pull my thoughts away from the things Heidi said to me—from how possessive she got, without even realizing it. Never in my life did I think I’d be attracted to something like that, but…

I shake my head, trying to dislodge those distractions as I watch the newcomers.

“Welcome!” Heidi says to them. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” the pink-haired woman says. “This place is so cute!”

Heidi smiles at her. “Thank you. I think so too. Anything I can help you find?”

“Shakespeare,” the man says immediately, and the woman with pink hair rolls her eyes.

“So pretentious,” she says under her breath.

“Do you sell special editions?” he says, ignoring her.

“A few,” Heidi says, “but not many. You’re welcome to look around.”

“We’re actually here for a writing group,” Pink Hair says with a smile. Her Shakespeare-loving companion turns away from the bookshelves, looking at Heidi instead. He looks less than thrilled to be here, I notice; whether he dislikes writing groups or is just antisocial, I’m not sure yet.

I stand up, grabbing my bag and my laptop and moving them to one of the little round tables. I frown at the spot; now that my stuff is there, I’m not sure three of us will fit after all. But I’ll figure that out in a minute; I approach Heidi and the newcomers by the door first.

“Hey,” I say, nodding at them. “You said you’re here for a writing group?”

The man with elbow patches looks me over, his eyes narrowing the longer he stares. Then he turns to the woman. “Is this the guy you’re going to be meeting with every month?” he says, looking incredulous.

The woman with pink hair frowns at him. “I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t even know his name yet.” Then she turns to me. “Are you Soren?”

“Yep,” I say, giving her an awkward little wave that I really could have done without. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. I’m—” But she breaks off as her companion claps his hand over her mouth.

“He looks like a male model,” the guy with elbow patches says. “And he’s huge. Were you going to go meet a random stranger in a random bookshop and hope for the best? Have you learned nothing?”

The woman pries the man’s hand off of her mouth. “He’s notthatbig,” she says, sounding reasonable. Then she narrows her eyes at me, sizing me up. “Smaller than Gus.”

“That’s not saying much,” the guy mutters. “Everyone is smaller than Gus.”

“All right, fine,” the woman with pink hair says. She puts her hands on her hips and pins me with a look. “Are you going to murder me?”

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