27. Josie

TWENTY-SEVEN

Josie

The rest of the day felt like years.

All I wanted to do was get that book home and hold it open under the moonlight, but there was no hurrying the moon.

I watched the minutes tick by, first at the shop where I got to help a sweet group of third graders pick out girl-power stories and an older gentleman find a book on overcoming grief. His hands shook, and my heart went out to him as he thanked me with glassy eyes.

And then it was time to go home.

I held the mysterious journal in the palm of my hand as I walked to my reading nook, where the sleeping cats immediately woke and scattered. They knew something was up. Cats always knew, and these in particular had their own special connection to other worlds that I couldn’t understand.

The large window in my reading nook had a perfect view of the moon.

Slowly, cautiously, I lowered myself onto the cushion, placing the book on my lap. In the worn leather, I could just about make out the embossing, which could very well have been a feather… but maybe not. Maybe it was just an artistic symbol, not at all what Caleb described. Maybe I could convince myself this wasn’t what Caleb was looking for, and, therefore, I could keep him in this world a little longer. Or forever.

One thing was for sure: the sensation the book gave me was electric in a way it had never been before, like the time Fred made me touch my tongue to both tips of a nine-volt battery.

“That’s still not proof,” I said to the closed cover. The blank pages inside seemed to mock my feeble attempt to explain away its strangeness. The fact that I couldn’t read angelic seals was neither here nor there; if it were any old blank journal, there’d be nothing to read either.

The leather felt oddly warm, alive under my touch. That was a bit awkward. I took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for the next step.

My hands trembled as I turned off the light, then pulled back the curtain and allowed the moonlight to fill the room. Thank God for a cloudless sky.

Nothing is going to happen , I told myself again, so chill the fuck out and open the damn book. I counted to three, then turned it over and slowly lifted open the back cover.

And then I was blind.

An intense golden light burst from the page, so brilliant I had to squeeze my eyes shut. The book slipped from my hands, landing with a thud, but the light remained, unwavering.

As I batted my eyes open, a beam shone up into the ceiling, and even though I could see my ceiling was perfectly intact, I could also see something else.

Something beyond the ceiling. Beyond the skies.

Into the great beyond .

I picked up the book from the floor, my eyes having adjusted to the wash of illumination. Even if I didn’t want to see what was happening in the pages of the journal, my body reacted independently from my head. Blood surged through my veins as the weight of the book settled in my hands, a dizzying rush overtaking me.

My vision sharpened, revealing what had been hidden only moments before. The pages, covered in ancient scrawl, flickered between invisible and glowing, as if I were seeing through someone else’s eyes.

The eyes of an angel.

My heart swelled with Caleb’s undeniable presence—he was here, inside me, woven into my soul, whether he knew it or not.

I slammed the book closed, not daring another second with it. The sensation I’d felt when I brushed my fingers over the cover paled in comparison to the raw power I had just experienced.

There was not a shred of doubt that this was Caleb’s angel book.

And possibly my last chance to keep him with me on Earth.

I was hunched over the counter the next morning, intentionally buried under paperwork Fred sent me so that I could pretend for a little longer that I didn’t have something I was keeping from Caleb. But a curious sound broke the silence. Music, vibrant and peppy, and undoubtedly out of place. I picked this location for the Bookish Cat specifically because it was quiet, but just off one of the main drags .

I set aside the application for a new-business tax break because whatever was going on sounded like it was worth seeing.

Music from the eighties filled the air as I opened the door, and my first thought was that a flash mob in costume had come to the neighborhood. I loved a good flash mob, and the shop was currently empty, so I stepped out the door.

Before me, the sidewalk had transformed into a spontaneous dance floor with a flurry of movement, fingers jazz-handing in the air. A group of women in matching velour tracksuits shuffled and swayed, their silver wigs catching in the sunlight. Except…

Wait, those aren’t wigs. And those aren’t costumes.

A crowd of elderly ladies were cutting the rug to the sounds of an eighties heartthrob, and they were heading my way.

In the midst of them all, one woman stood out. With a mini boombox perched on her shoulder, she led the brigade of dancers with a spryness that contradicted her age.

The way the woman tossed her head left and right reminded me so much of?—

“Nana Geraldine?” I blurted in surprise.

Nana Geraldine, clad in bright-purple leggings and a sweatband around her forehead, was front and center. She kicked high for her age, bent low, and twirled, her arms windmilling wildly in the air. She was both graceful and unpredictable, with facial expressions that belonged on a commercial for a cruise ship.

Behind her, the ladies mimicked her moves with varying levels of success. One particularly enthusiastic lady, wearing oversized sunglasses, did almost a full split, though her friend yanked her back up .

As the music hit the final chord, the group struck a pose, hands on hips, elbows out, in full diva stance. I could now attest that a crowd of eighty-year-old-plus ladies in Lycra was far less frightening than I would have imagined.

Nana scuttled right over to me, grinning widely. “Do we know how to make an entrance or what!”

Next thing I knew, Nana Geraldine and her dancercise troop stormed the Bookish Cat like a pack of lively flamingos. The silence of my bookshop was shattered by their energetic chatter, interspersed with the occasional whoop.

They flocked toward the romance section, huddling close around the shelves.

“Here’s what we’re looking for, girls!” one of the ladies shouted.

Oh, my word. Steamy Highlander romance, of all things?

I could feel the blush creeping up my neck as Nana Geraldine held up one of the books, its cover flaunting a bare-chested hunk with flowing hair.

“Look at this one, ladies!” she squealed, pointing at the book. “Those biceps could crack walnuts!”

“Good gracious!” One of the ladies gasped, running to check it out.

I had to hide my eyes, suddenly feeling like I was an embarrassed teenager who just caught her parents making out.

“Don’t mind us, dear,” Nana patted me on the shoulder. “Just a bunch of old ladies having a bit of fun. Carry on with whatever you were doing and pretend we’re not even here.”

The ladies chattered among themselves, and as much as I tried to turn my attention to online order forms, it just wasn’t possible. The women fawned over the bodice-ripping tales, giggling and whispering.

“Oh, Betty, look at this one!” Nana Geraldine held up a book with a Highlander in a kilt, his chest gleaming under the painted sunlight. “Isn’t he a handsome brute?”

Betty, a petite woman with hair as white as snow, squinted at the book before she gave a sharp nod. “Handsome, yes, but nothing compared to the hunk on A Highlander’s Promise . Now that’s a man.”

“Nana,” I half-whispered, “what’s the deal with the enthusiasm for Highlanders?”

“It’s the kilts,” she quipped. “So much… mystery.”

Another round of laughter burst from the shelves, louder this time. Nana Geraldine looked at me, a gleam in her eye. “So, dear, do you have a favorite?”

“Highlander?”

“Uh-huh.”

My face grew hot, but I took the teasing in stride. “I can’t say I have a favorite, Nana. I… appreciate all the… erm, covers.”

Nana Geraldine winked at me. “That’s my girl!”

I shook my head, smiling despite my mortification. The giggling group of dancercising, steamy Highlander-loving ladies had turned my bookstore into a lively mess, and I didn’t mind it one bit.

As the women continued on, Nana laid a soft, wrinkled hand on my arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You know, my girl,” she said, her voice soft and full of warmth, “I’m proud of you. Proud of you for taking a dream and turning it into this… this wonder.”

“Thank you, Nana.” My voice broke. I knew she was proud, but it meant a lot to hear her say it, and most of all I was grateful that the woman who had been my cheerleader my whole life was still there to see it. “You know a lot of it is thanks to you.”

“Let’s not battle with feelings now, sweetie pie.” She winked. “You have other joyful topics, like your own Highlander romance.” She must have seen the question on my face because she added, “You know, that tall, handsome drink of holy water.”

“Nana!”

“What? It’s not blasphemy if it’s true.” She huddled up close. “It can’t be easy for you to wrap your head around what he is. Wrapping your arms, however?—”

“Nana, I am not going there with you.”

“Okay, then stick with the topic at hand. What’s the deal with the angel? Are you his Chosen?”

I bit my lip. “I don’t think such a thing is possible, Nana.”

She set her hands on her hips. “You think love is held back by any human sense of possibility?”

It didn’t feel right to expose everything Caleb had told me about angel-human relations. I knew that Nana only wanted to put me at ease, and that nothing would make her happier than knowing I was going to be okay. Given her brush with the supernatural already, it seemed best that I steer the conversation into safer territory. But there was something she could help with…

“Regardless of what I think, I know that he’s doing everything he can to get back into the heavens. And with only one more couple to match, he’s already got one foot out the door.”

“And where’s his other foot?”

I beckoned with a finger for Nana to come behind the counter, where I covertly pulled the journal out, just enough so that she could see it.

“It’s his?” she asked, wide-eyed.

I nodded.

“And I suppose he doesn’t know you have it? ”

“I’ve had it for seven years. And he just told me yesterday that he needs it in order to go back to the Host.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip. “Then you’re in a predicament indeed. Keep the book and keep the man?—”

“Exactly.”

“—or give the book back and keep the man.”

“You see—wait, what?”

Nana crossed her arms the way she used to do when I was a girl and asked when the cookies would be finished baking. Her answer was always the same: when they’re done.

“Dear, no matter what, that book must return to him. If you keep it, you’ll never know if he’s staying for you or if he’s stuck on some divine tether. If you are his Chosen, then the heavens will find a way for you to be together.”

“And if I’m not?”

She caressed my cheek. “Then you have to let him go.”

Nana’s eyes held mine, a glimmer of tears on her lashes.

“Is that what happened to you, Nana?”

“Something like that.”

A fire alarm went off. Fire and books were the worst possible combination, swiftly followed by water and books, so I flew into action.

“Everyone out! Clear the shop! I’m going for the extinguisher!”

“Hold up!” a lady called out. “That’s just my phone. It’s the ringtone for my nephew.”

“Anita!” Nana shouted. “You nearly gave us all heart attacks!”

“He’s a firefighter.” Anita shrugged. “And I’m half deaf.”

“So that’s why you never get the kick-ball-change in rhythm.” Nana shook her head dismissively.

“Look what he just found!” Anita held up the phone. “ Strolling along the tidal end of Alki beach. It’s an orca! Poor thing is washed up on the rocks. He’s gone to alert the authorities.”

A beached orca… help not yet on the way…

“Your gears are turning,” Nana whispered.

Axel and Marigold’s grand gesture . I turned back to Nana. “They are. And I’ve got to go.” I grabbed my phone and dialed Caleb, who answered on the first ring.

“Josie? What’s?—”

“No time, listen up. I know how to get your couple together.”