25. Josie

TWENTY-FIVE

Josie

I didn’t dare to take my eyes off Mr. Anderson as he roamed around the Bookish Cat with his nose in the air like a hound on a scent. He moved through each aisle methodically, his eyes narrowed in focus. Sword and sorcery, mythology, high fantasy… then through the non-fiction aisles, self-help, psychology.

His gray suit contrasted with the warm tones of the surrounding books, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the fairy lights we’d strung up along the shelves.

Every few steps, he paused, tilting his head slightly as he inhaled deeply, his bushy eyebrows furrowing in concentration. Then, he moved on, his polished loafers clicking softly against the wooden floor. From behind the counter, I watched him, biting my lower lip, while Caleb stood next to me, his arms folded across his chest. Dr. Elwyn, his allergist, stood beside us with a clipboard in hand, her gaze fixed on Mr. Anderson with an intensity that seemed to outstrip that of any allergist I’d ever met.

After what felt like an eternity, Mr. Anderson approached Matilda, who was perched upon a table of award-winning classics. He eyed her warily, as though she were a live grenade ready to explode. Then, with a visible exhale, he reached out a hand and began to awkwardly stroke her soft fur.

I gulped. The moment of truth was nearly upon us.

His hand was stiff and unpracticed, moving in halting motions over her back. It was clear that Mr. Anderson was not a cat person, or rather, he was not an animal person at all. Yet, there was a strange sort of determination in his eyes, a willingness to face whatever reaction his body might have.

Matilda looked mildly annoyed but endured his clumsy petting with resigned grace.

Then, with the dramatic flourish of a Shakespearean actor, Mr. Anderson rubbed his eyes with that same hand. I gasped, anticipating a swift and severe allergic reaction. Caleb winced next to me, ready to jump into action if needed. Dr. Elwyn, however, simply watched calmly, pen poised above her clipboard, ready to note down any reaction.

“I’m starting the clock, one hundred and twenty seconds,” Dr. Elwyn announced and tapped it into her phone.

And we waited.

When your whole future waits upon one hundred and twenty seconds, they last longer than the Superbowl.

I scratched behind my ear. I searched out Gatsby who was hiding behind the offending box of gorgeous books from England. I couldn’t see Heathcliff. It must have been nearly time…

“Ninety seconds.”

Come on!

Mr. Anderson didn’t move. He stood like the sketch by Michealangelo of the Vitruvian Man, arms outstretched and legs wide, an eyebrow raised like he was as eager to know the result as we were. When he wasn’t complaining or shouting, he was actually a pretty agreeable guy.

“Forty-five seconds.”

You have got to be kidding me. Wait, no, what’s happening to him…

Mr. Anderson’s nose twitched. I know I saw it, and Caleb must have, too, because he sucked in a breath.

This had to work, it had to. It had been such a massive relief when Mr. Anderson nodded in agreement at the tax paperwork, but without the cats in the shop, the Bookish Cat couldn’t and wouldn’t be the same. On top of that, I had no way to ensure they wouldn’t make their way back. I’d have to send them across the country or deport them to Germany to be sure.

And that all sounded awful. I wanted them here. They belonged.

“Time.”

I inhaled sharply, nerves getting the better of me. “And?”

Mr. Anderson dropped his arms to his sides. “Nothing. I’m cured!”

I grabbed Caleb’s hand. “Are you sure?”

“ I’m sure,” Dr. Elwyn said. “I pulled out all the stops. Only the best for my Herbie.” She threw her arms around Mr. Anderson’s neck and laid one hell of a kiss on him in a move that shocked me nearly as much as the yellow notice on the door had.

I turned sharply to see if Caleb was as stunned as I was and found him—wait—grinning?

“You knew?” I whispered.

He winked in reply.

“Acupuncture, herbal teas, and a lavender-oil massage were all I needed!” Mr. Anderson announced, his face beaming with delight.

I murmured to Caleb, “Lavender-oil massage, huh?”

He shrugged with that silly grin on his face.

“It was written in the stars,” Dr. Elwyn said, her arms still firmly around his neck. “We knew instantly that we were as meant to be as he was meant to overcome his suffering.”

“And you,” Mr. Anderson picked up, looking at me, “are welcome to keep the cats.”

Tears rose before I could stop them. “Oh, Mr. Anderson. Thank you!”

He cleared his throat. “Just clean up after them, huh?” I could tell he felt he had to make some kind of remark after all the trouble he’d given me. But as long as I got to keep my babies, I couldn’t care less.

“Yes, sir. You bet.”

“Then I think our work here is done.” Dr. Elwyn put her clipboard away. “We still have time to get away for the weekend. What do you say, Herbie?”

“Nothing would please me more, Elwynnie.”

Herbie? Elwynnie? Holy shit, we were through the looking glass.

I saw them to the door, intending to wave goodbye, but they only had eyes for each other. Dr. Elwyn gave Mr. Anderson’s butt a squeeze as they passed the threshold. Will wonders never cease?

Only Caleb and I, plus the cats, were left in the store.

“You played a part in that, didn’t you?” It was a question that wasn’t a question because the impish grin on his face told me everything.

“It wasn’t predestined, but it was ideal for both of them. And look what we got out of it.” The Bookish Cat, with its towers of books and warm pools of lamp light, felt suddenly intimate. “I needed you to have this win.” I sensed an energy pulsating between us, like the hum of a power line, both thrilling and terrifying.

Ever since that mad, beautiful kiss, and his subsequent golden glow, I hadn’t been able to get him out of my mind. It was more than a kiss; it was an admission, a confession—something binding.

A promise. The memory of his lips against mine, the feel of his arms around me, the way the world had momentarily ceased to exist, kept playing on a loop. But I couldn’t put a name to what it was. It was an emotion that didn’t fit within the narrow parameters of language, it was simply too vast, too overwhelming.

Every time I closed my eyes, I relived that moment, and each time, it felt as though it ended too abruptly. The sweet, intoxicating taste of him lingered on my tongue, a haunting reminder of what we had and what we could have been.

And what we might still become.

“Hiya, kids!” Barb burst into the shop like a hurricane, dispelling the intensity between us.

It was perhaps for the best.

“Should I take it from your goofy smiles that the cats are here to stay?”

“Yes!” I declared and wrapped my arms around Barb. “Thank goodness for you, Barb. So level-headed and helpful.”

“Ew, can’t I be adventurous and dangerous instead? You kids go have fun. I’ll do some tidying up now that we’re here to stay. Where’s that exacto knife?” She dropped her satchel on the countertop and searched for the pen knife we kept on the shelf below. It shouldn’t have been an issue and wouldn’t have been if she hadn’t shoved a particular pile of papers aside .

Because the leather-bound journal fell out, onto the floor, in plain sight behind the counter. Caleb’s journal. The one I shouldn’t have had.

“Oops!” I thrust myself behind the counter, intentionally knocking down the stack of order forms that I kept beside the register. Huge thanks to gravity, for they landed over the journal, effectively hiding it from view. “Look at me, butterfingers!”

My pulse pounded between my ears. Had Caleb seen it? Could he feel it?

“Need a hand?” He bent over the counter.

“Nope.” I covered his view with my body. “I’ve got it. Why don’t you grab my bag from the back, and we can find a park bench to discuss that last, um, bookshelf you want to arrange.”

He cocked his head. “Bookshelf?”

Couldn’t he just play along? Barb was standing right there .

“Yeah, you know how I helped you with your other two bookshelves, and there’s only one left now.”

“Oh, oh… yes, the bookshelf. I’ll grab your bag.” He disappeared into the back room.

Barb cleared her throat and mumbled in my ear, “So, bookshelf is what kids are calling it these days, huh?”