Chapter 3

HANNAH

This place is adorable.Circular wooden tables, half of them occupied by patrons enjoying morning tea or brunch, took up the front of the store. A long wooden counter with an enormous shiny red espresso machine and an inviting display of cakes stood behind the tables on the right side. Behind the left of the counter stretched aisles of books. The walls were exposed red brick, except for the left wall, which was covered, floor to ceiling, with books on wooden shelves. Two comfortable-looking armchairs were arranged next to the shelves. Perfect for cozying up with a good book and a hot drink. The café smelled of coffee and baked goods, warm and comforting.

My shoulders relaxed. Apart from some early morning walks, which I’d timed and routed to avoid human contact, I hadn’t left my new home since I’d moved to Sapphire Springs four days ago. I’d dreaded leaving the house this morning, but now that I’d arrived, it wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. Bookstores were my happy place. And so were cafés. While completing my English Literature degree at NYU, I worked as a server in a tiny French café, Café Mignon, in the West Village. I’d loved getting to know the regulars, serving wide-eyed tourists, and the delicious free meals were an added bonus. Although I’d left my hospitality days behind me, I still enjoyed sitting in cozy cafés by myself, sipping a good coffee, either reading, people-watching, or writing. While I wasn’t in the right mindset to do that today, perhaps after I finished signing all the books, I’d grab a takeout coffee and have a quick browse of the bookshelves instead of fleeing immediately.

I sensed eyes on me and looked over to the counter. A woman stood at the espresso machine, frothing milk while she watched me. Her face broke into a warm grin as we made eye contact, revealing the hint of a dimple in her right cheek. For my first face-to-face contact since the movers left, I felt surprisingly at ease. In fact, I found myself smiling back at her.

“Feel free to grab a table anywhere you’d like, and I’ll be right over,” she yelled over the hiss of the espresso machine before turning her attention to the coffees she was making.

I blinked. I’ve been standing here, looking around. Of course she’d assume I’m looking for a table.

I walked toward the counter, taking the opportunity while the woman’s head was down to examine her more closely. Perhaps it wasn’t just her warm, relaxed demeanor that had set me at ease. The woman’s brown crew-cut hairstyle and button-down shirt gave off major queer vibes. Ever since I’d developed a crush on my super-fit, short-haired yoga instructor in college, convinced she was a lesbian, only to run into her with her husband and baby at the local supermarket a few weeks later, I didn’t put too much stock in my gaydar. Although, of course, the instructor might’ve been queer, bi, or pan. But I still found this woman’s presence comforting. I wonder how LGBTQ-friendly Sapphire Springs is? Not that it matters, given I have no plans to socialize or date.

She handed a gigantic takeout coffee cup to a man in his fifties and then turned her attention back to me.

“Sorry, I thought you were here to sit down. What can get you?” Her voice was warm and friendly.

“Hi, sorry, I’m actually not here for coffee. I’m looking for George?”

Emma had emailed me to confirm the books would be delivered this morning and told me to ask for George, the owner. I hadn’t seen any sign of a man working here. Perhaps he was in the kitchen or at the back of the bookstore? For the first time since I’d entered, my nerves reappeared, making my mouth dry.

I was an intensely private person. I didn’t do public events, social media, or share photos of myself online, and I kept my pen name locked down to a few key people—Tania, Barb, Emma, Michael, my publicist at my publisher, and—any nerve-racking minute now—George.

“Well, you’re in luck.” The woman grinned again, and that dimple reappeared. “I’m George.”

“Hannah,” I said, my stomach erupting into butterflies at the news that this attractive woman in front of me was George.

“Nice to meet you. Are you here about?—”

The café door opened, and two women walked in, laughing, drowning out the rest of George’s question. Damnit. I still hadn’t found my hearing aid, and this was exactly the type of situation where I really needed it. Background noise. Wooden floors. George standing on my left side.

I smiled and nodded—my usual response when I didn’t hear something. It seemed safe enough in this case. Surely she’d just asked if I was here to sign the books?

George’s smile widened. “Oh, excellent! When would you be able to start?”

To my relief, George still seemed relaxed in my presence. I exhaled. One of the many reasons why I kept my identity secret was because I didn’t want anyone to treat me differently because of who I was. But George clearly wasn’t a Realms super fan.

“Um, right now?” I flexed my hands in anticipation of a long signing session. How long would it take to sign 841 books? A few hours? It would have to be at least that. The last time I’d signed around 200 books, it had taken me well over an hour, and by the end of it, my hand was aching. I’d never signed anywhere near 841 in one sitting before.

“Oh, wow.” George’s brow furrowed. “Look, I’m not sure you’re really meant to start before we’ve done all the paperwork. We should probably do a proper interview as well. But I’m in a bit of a pickle today. Ben, who you met yesterday, is out sick. So, if you could help, that would be amazing. It could be a trial run for both of us, and I’ll pay you, of course. It’s twenty-three dollars an hour, plus tips. Does that sound okay?”

I stared at her blankly. What the hell is she talking about? Ben? Interview? Tips?

Slowly, realization sank in. My stomach dropped. George thought I was here for a job to work at the café. Oh god.

And it didn’t help that she was staring at me expectantly with her warm, brown eyes.

I opened my mouth as I searched for the right words to rectify this situation—and searched some more.

Someone coughed, and I looked over to see that a line of customers had formed in front of the counter waiting to order. A wave of panic swept through me, sending blood pumping through my veins and making my head fuzzy.

“Yes, sure. That sounds good.” I bit down hard as soon as the words left my mouth. What the hell, Hannah? Why didn’t you just tell her who you are?

The short answer was I panicked. The long answer was that I’d always had a tendency to be a conflict-avoidant people pleaser. And there was something about George—even though I didn’t know her at all—that made me want to please her. But I’ll have to tell her who I really am at some point. Those books won’t sign themselves. Shit.

“Oh, great!” George’s eyes sparkled. “If you want, I can put your bag in the drawer under the counter. I keep it locked—not that I really need to. Sapphire Springs isn’t exactly known for its high crime rate.”

Despite the situation I’d just created, I couldn’t help smiling.

“Sure.” I handed my satchel over to her. “So, um, what can I do to help?” I asked when George had finished stowing my bag away.

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind taking this tea over to the woman at table nine, near the window, and then clearing the dirty tables, that would be great. After the lunch rush, I’ll show you how to use our ordering and payment system. Meanwhile, I’ll serve these customers.”

“No problem,” I said, taking the tea from the counter and walking over to the table on autopilot as self-chastising thoughts churned through my mind. You’re supposed to be signing the damn books and bunkering down to start the book you’ve only got six weeks to write, not getting a frigging job, Hannah! Twenty-three dollars an hour isn’t going to pay Barb’s nursing home bills.

The customer smiled and thanked me for the tea as I placed it next to her.

The next three hours were a blur of delivering appetizing-looking food, coffee, and cakes; cleaning tables; and sneaking glances at George. She was extremely understaffed. Even with the two of us, we struggled to keep up with demand, but she remained calm under pressure, warmly greeting customers, whipping up coffees, and shooting orders through to the kitchen. George knew most of her customers’ names and their coffee orders by heart.

The lunch rush was over, and I was carrying a pile of dirty dishes to the kitchen when George appeared at the end of the counter, a warm smile on her face.

“Thank you so much for stepping in. Lunch was hectic. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” Her smile faded, and she raised her hand to her forehead. “Shit, I just realized—have you eaten? You should take a break. Would you like some lunch and a coffee? Choose anything on the menu. It”s on the house.”

I blinked. I’d been so caught up in my new role as a server that I’d forgotten to eat. But now that George had raised the subject, my hunger levels skyrocketed from zero to one hundred in seconds.

“That would be amazing, if you’re sure that’s okay. I’d love a grain salad and a latte.” I’d been salivating over the salad all morning. Full of fresh herbs, freekeh, lentils, pomegranate seeds, currants, and slivered almonds, it was a favorite with the locals.

“Of course that’s okay. One grain salad and latte coming right up. Just take a seat wherever you’d like, and I’ll bring it out.”

Relieved to get off my feet, I collapsed on a chair at a table near the window. While the sandals I was wearing were thankfully flat, they didn’t offer much in the way of support.

Tomorrow, I’ll wear my comfy flats… I ran my hand through my hair. Tomorrow, Hannah, really? There won’t be a tomorrow. You need to come clean with George, sign those damn books, and get back to writing. I cringed. I was not looking forward to any of those things.

I chewed my lip. George didn’t strike me as someone who would ever panic-agree to a career change on the spot. At best, when I confessed who I really was, she would think I was weird. And even though I hardly knew her, I didn’t want that.

“Here’s your latte and salad,” George said a few minutes later, placing the mug and bowl in front of me.

“Thank you.” I smiled gratefully at her.

“Take your time. It doesn’t usually pick up again until the afternoon coffee rush, but I should be able to handle that, anyway. So let me know if you need to head off. If not, I thought I could train you on the systems after the coffee rush, but no problem if you’ve got other commitments.”

Yes, you do have other commitments—signing mountains of books hidden somewhere in this store. I had to tell George, but the words to explain what happened escaped me. My eyes dropped to the salad in front of me and my stomach rumbled. Maybe I’d be able to think more clearly after I’d eaten.

“Nope, that’s fine. I’m free all afternoon.” I inwardly sighed, frustrated at myself. The longer this went on, the more awkward it would be when I told George the truth. Typical Hannah. If I’d had enough courage to confront Tania when I’d first had suspicions about her infidelity, I wouldn’t have wasted years on our relationship.

I demolished my lunch and the latte, which were both delicious, and then spent a few minutes observing the café. It was clear that someone—perhaps George—had created this place with a lot of love and thought. Each item, from the stylish wooden pepper grinders on the tables, to the wooden floating shelves, pressed tin tiles on the ceiling, and brass pendant lights, had clearly been chosen with care, creating a cohesive whole. I peered down the left side of the store, where aisles of books stretched back. I was eager to see if George’s selection of books was as carefully curated as the rest of Novel Gossip’s contents. The café door swung open, and a group of people entered, talking loudly and interrupting my train of thought.

I took my plate and coffee mug back to the kitchen, where I thanked Romina, a middle-aged woman with an olive complexion and shoulder-length chestnut-brown hair who was scrubbing the stove furiously and frowning, and Shane, the gangly nineteen-year-old kitchen assistant, for the meal, and went to help George with the influx of new customers.

“Is everything okay with Romina?” I asked George as I reached into the display case to pull out a cookie.

“No,” George said. Concerned, I glanced over to find her grinning. “She slightly overcooked the muffins this morning.”

I laughed. “But they look incredible.” The raspberry, white chocolate and macadamia muffins had been a big hit with customers.

“They are incredible. I had to sample one just to convince her not to throw out the entire tray, and I can vouch for it.” George’s eyes twinkled as she shook her head. “The sacrifices I have to make for this place.”

“Well, if it happens again tomorrow, I’m happy to take one for the team and volunteer up my muffin-eating skills.” God, why did that sound kind of dirty?

George laughed. “Much appreciated. But yes, Romina doesn’t take cooking failures well, so Shane and I have been giving her a wide berth all day. Sorry, I should have mentioned it.”

By late afternoon, the steady stream of customers had reduced to a trickle. In between serving the stragglers, George spent a few minutes walking me through the ordering and payment system, which, thankfully, was fairly intuitive.

By the time she’d finished, it was five p.m., and the café was officially closed.

“I know it’s a lot to take in all at once, so don’t worry if you forget it all and need me to show you again.” A hint of pink flushed her cheeks, and for the first time, she looked unsure of herself. “Sorry, I just realized I’m jumping the gun. You did a great job today. I’d love to have you on board, but are you interested in joining us?”

Say no, Hannah. N. O. Two letters. One syllable. It’s not that hard.

But my resolve weakened at the hopeful, golden retriever-like expression on George’s face.

“Yes, that would be great!” I said quickly, and for a few seconds, George’s relieved smile made everything worth it. And then the reality of my situation flooded back. What the actual fuck, Hannah?

“Fantastic! If you don’t mind sharing your email address, I can send through the employment contract and direct deposit form to fill out. Just let me know what days and hours you want to work, and I’ll put you on the schedule. If you’re okay to stay until six p.m., we could finish closing up, and then I can give you a quick tour of the book section?”

“Sure,” I said, smiling despite how frustrated I was with myself right now. I’d been itching to explore the aisles of books all day. I certainly wasn’t going to object to receiving a personal tour from George.