Chapter 4

HANNAH

Forty minutes later, we strolled down the first aisle of books. When we reached the fantasy section, I scanned the shelves, looking for my books. Warmth filled my body as I spotted them. Two copies of each, sitting neatly together. I smiled and suddenly sensed George’s eyes on me.

“Do you like reading?” George asked.

“I love it.” Heat rushed to my face as the words came out louder than I intended.

George shot me a grin, clearly picking up on my enthusiasm. “That’s great! We often get asked for recommendations, so that’ll be really helpful. What are your favorite genres?”

“Mainly fantasy, romance, crime, thrillers, upmarket and literary fiction,” I replied, hoping my reading preferences met with George’s approval.

The grin on George’s face widened, showcasing her dimple. God, that dimple is cute. “That’s awesome. Nice and varied. Ben only reads sci-fi, but between the three of us, we should have most bases covered.”

“What about you?” I asked, genuinely interested in George’s reading habits. She seemed so down to earth. I could imagine her reading something practical, like gardening books or perhaps a biography of Jimmy Carter.

George retrieved a Neil Gaiman book that was placed out of order on the shelves and put it back in alphabetical order, her arm nearly brushing against me in the process. “Yeah, I love reading too. I read pretty widely, but non-fiction—science, history, biographies, that sort of thing—and fantasy are by far my favorite genres.”

I smiled, pleased that I’d guessed George’s predilection for non-fiction and also pleasantly surprised that fantasy was also a favorite. I wonder if she’s read my books. My stomach fluttered at the thought. Oh god, what if she hates them?

“What do you like most about fantasy?” I asked, eager to keep our conversation going before I fell into a black hole of overthinking George’s possible views on my books.

George furrowed her brow and paused. “Hmmm. Interesting question. I like the escapism element—being able to step into a completely different world. But I also like the freedom fantasy gives authors to explore serious issues without having to deal with the baggage and preconceived ideas that readers would have if the novel was set in the real world, if that makes sense.”

“That makes complete sense,” I replied, impressed by George’s thoughtful response, which I thoroughly agreed with.

She broke into a smile, that hint of a dimple showing again. “Oh, and magic is pretty cool too.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, magic is pretty damn cool.”

We just looked at each other for a moment, smiling, and my heart bounced, sending an unexpected burst of adrenaline rushing through me. Oh boy. I refocused my attention on the bookshelves. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this kind of physical reaction to someone, and it was both exciting and slightly terrifying. But the last thing I needed right now was a new relationship.

We reached the end of the aisle and had to sidestep around boxes stacked high against the wall.

“Sorry, it’s not usually this cluttered. There was an issue with our delivery this morning, and we had way too many books delivered. Eight hundred and forty-one too many books, in fact.” George winced, shaking her head.

Guilt washed over me, tightening my chest. Shit. These are my books taking up precious space in George’s store. Clearly, some wires had been crossed. Surely my publisher wouldn’t have delivered the books to Novel Gossip without checking with George that it was okay? I should speak up, explain to George why she was inundated with books. But for someone whose entire living was based around words, I seemed to have a hard time stringing them together.

I opened my mouth, but before I’d formulated what to say, George chuckled. “The funny thing is, the books are H. M. Stuart’s latest release, The Realm of Furies, which isn’t even meant to be released until the end of June. Since I read an advance copy a few months ago, I’ve been raving about it to anyone with even a remote interest in fantasy. It’s like the universe listened to me a little too well and delivered enough for almost every household in Sapphire Springs to have a copy.”

“Oh no. That’s a lot of books,” I managed, as warmth spread across my chest at George’s words, mixing with the guilt. She likes my book.

“It’s fine. I’m sure the publisher will take them back. But our storage shed out back is already full, so it’s a little cramped in here at the moment.”

George walked me through the rest of the aisles, explaining her approach to organizing the books and how special orders worked. I listened with interest. I’d spoken to booksellers in the past but had never had this behind-the-scenes insight into how bookstores actually worked.

“I should also mention that we sometimes have events in the evenings. There’s no expectation that you need to work them, but if you’re interested, I can usually do with extra hands, and they’re a lot of fun. I’ve done a few board-game and paint-and-sip nights, which have been popular, and I also started a monthly book club.” It was clear from George’s animated tone and lit-up face that she was passionate about these gatherings. “Things have been so hectic recently I haven’t had the chance to do more, but I really want Novel Gossip to be a place that brings our community together and introduces people to new ideas and interests.”

I smiled. “That sounds great. I’d love to be involved, although I should let you know I have no artistic talent, so I’d have to leave that to you. I can, however, pour wine.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth I remembered that by the time George held her next event, she’d know who I really was. And it was unlikely I’d have an opportunity to demonstrate my wine-pouring skills.

George chuckled. “I leave the art instruction to the experts. A local artist usually runs them. But people do get surprisingly thirsty, so I’d welcome your expert wine-pouring skills.” Her eyes sparkled.

“I’m at your service,” I replied, grinning.

“Excellent. And if you have any other ideas for events, let me know. I’d love to have some author events here, but Sapphire Springs is so small I doubt many writers would travel all this way to sell a couple copies.”

“You never know. Lots of New Yorkers like to escape to Sapphire Springs for a break. Perhaps a burned-out writer would love the excuse for a change of scene,” I responded, raising my eyebrows. Surely I wasn’t the only one.

“True.” George looked thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll reach out to some of my contacts at the publishers and ask them to see if they can entice any burned-out writers to come up here.”

“But not too burned-out and cynical, otherwise they might not want to talk about their book,” I said, grinning.

George nodded solemnly, but her lips twitched. “Right. I’ll request authors with just a moderate degree of burnout.”

Laughing, we headed back to the counter. It felt good to chat with George, even if it was just silly banter. Apart from my chats with Barb, it was the first time in months that I’d had a conversation with someone that wasn’t about work, moving, or the divorce.

Finished with the tour, I gathered my belongings, and George walked me to the front door.

“Thanks again for stepping in on such short notice.” She opened the door, flashing me a hopeful smile. “Is there any chance you’re available to work the next couple of days? No problem if you can’t, but Ben wasn’t sounding great, and I could do with an extra set of hands.”

Concern for this woman I barely knew tugged at my heart. If the next few days were anything like today, there was no way George could manage by herself. Maybe I’d work a few more days. Until Ben was better. Then I’d quit, tell her who I really was, sign the damn books, and throw myself into writing. That way, I wouldn’t feel so bad about leaving George in the lurch, especially not after she’d gone to the trouble of training me.

“That’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Despite my achingfeet and legs—I wasn’t used to standing for any stretch of time—there was an unfamiliar bounce to my step as I walked down Main Street. Leafy green maple and oak trees lined the sidewalk. While most of the quaint little shops had closed for the day, people were still taking advantage of the gorgeous weather. The outdoor seating at the local pub, Builders’ Arms, was overflowing with patrons, creating a steady hum of laughter and chatter that traveled on the warm breeze, getting louder as I approached. Other townsfolk were strolling, many with dogs. A few even greeted me with smiles and nods, despite being a complete stranger. That would never happen in New York. I was more likely to be glared and muttered at for not walking fast enough.

I hadn’t felt this cheerful, this much like my old self, in months. Was it the weather? The change of environment?

I thought back over my day. For the first time in a long time, I’d been fully absorbed in something, present in the moment, not thinking about Tania or worrying about my book or my financial situation. Just focused on the tasks in front of me. And those tasks were small and achievable, providing immediate satisfaction when I completed them. Taking coffees to a retired couple, clearing tables, mopping the floor. Perhaps one of the reasons I’d found it so hard to tell George about my pen name was because I was enjoying my time at Novel Gossip so much and I didn’t want to jeopardize that. In contrast, recently when I sat down to “work,” I just stared at a blank screen, overwhelmed by having to write an entire book when I was anything but inspired.

It hadn’t always been like that. Words used to flow out of me and onto my laptop, scraps of paper, the notes app on my phone, at all hours of the day and night. But not anymore—not since I’d found out about Tania’s cheating.

I took a deep breath of fresh air and smiled at a woman pushing a stroller. Maybe I’d been too hasty in deciding to lock myself away from the world. While staying in Manhattan and spending time with my New York friends—whom I’d shared with Tania—had been too painful for me, being around people today felt good. Having a job to do and purposeful interactions with the customers made it easy. And George, who seemed so genuine and relaxed, made it especially easy.

I smiled as I turned off Main Street toward my cottage. While getting a job at a café-bookstore wasn’t part of my plan when I left home this morning, it might be the circuit breaker I needed to get my life back on track.