Chapter 24
24
Ryan
I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was looking for the bathroom when I heard Josie say my name. It stopped me. Not just that she said it, but how . Almost with a sneer, like she was talking about something—someone—she despised.
If this had been a month ago, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But earlier tonight, when we were dancing in the back room, when her head was on my chest and her hand was in mine…her breath actually hitched. A person can’t fake that.
And yet.
He doesn’t matter.
As I walk down Highland Avenue, away from Josie’s apartment, my head and my heart battle it out, each making its case.
My head: She was talking to her mom. Based on everything I know about their relationship, they’re not close. I shouldn’t read too much into what she said.
My heart: But she could have easily said we were just friends. She didn’t have to say something so cruel. I don’t matter?
My head: Something else is clearly going on.
My heart: I shouldn’t have left her alone.
Up ahead, I see the pink and orange light of a Dunkin’ Donuts, glowing like a beacon in the night. While sugar won’t solve whatever problem Josie’s having with her mom, it could make her feel better.
And it’s the perfect excuse to go back and try again.
If she wants to talk, I’ll stay. If she wants space, I’ll give her the donuts and go. Either way, she’ll know I was thinking about her, that she doesn’t have to be alone. Maybe then she’ll realize we can be a team in and out of the bookstore.
I’m about to head back to her apartment, a box of twenty-five assorted Munchkins in my hands, when my phone buzzes in my pocket. My heart leaps when I see her name on the screen, but it falls when I realize it’s a message for RJ.Reads.
Me, but not me.
BookshopGirl: Hey. Are you there?
Crestfallen, I pull up a chair at an open table. Even though I’m dying inside, I type out a happy little message, because that’s how far gone I am for this girl.
RJ.Reads: Hey, I’m here! And I was just thinking about you ?
Not a lie.
RJ.Reads: How are you?
A normal question, even if I already know the answer.
BookshopGirl: I’ve been better.
RJ.Reads: Who do I need to beat up?
I picture Josie sitting alone in her apartment, staring at her phone with a soft, sad smile on her face. Did she ask me to leave so she could talk to RJ? Not knowing she could have the real me, sitting there with her?
BookshopGirl: Oh, it’s nothing like that. Just family stuff.
RJ.Reads: Want to talk about it?
BookshopGirl: I don’t know…
RJ.Reads: It could help.
Her three dots appear and disappear, and I can picture her trying to find the right words. Weighing how much she wants to get off her chest, and how much she wants to hold close to it.
Finally, her message appears.
BookshopGirl: It’s my mom…
In a series of messages, Josie pours it all out, how hard it was growing up with a lovesick mom who chased the wrong men, leaving her young daughters to fend for themselves.
My heart aches for her. No little kid should have to go through that. And it’s clear Josie tried her best to take care of her younger sister, absorbing their mom’s dysfunction so Georgia could have a more carefree childhood.
I open the box of donut holes and pop one in my mouth. It doesn’t feel right going back to Josie’s now—she chose the person she trusts enough to open up to. She has my number; she could have called or texted the actual me.
Instead, she’s opening up to this nameless, faceless guy online.
It’s a strangely painful experience, being jealous of yourself.
BookshopGirl: Anyway, she’s done it again. Picked a real gem this time—the guy left her stranded in Mexico.
RJ.Reads: Oh no! Is she okay?
No wonder Josie was upset.
BookshopGirl: That’s debatable.
BookshopGirl: I’m sure she’ll be fine. My sister is on her way there now, which makes me irrationally angry. Not at her, but at my mom.
RJ.Reads: Doesn’t sound that irrational to me. Parents are supposed to protect their kids, not the other way around.
BookshopGirl: YES! Exactly.
RJ.Reads: Have you talked to Georgia about it?
BookshopGirl: Did I tell you my sister’s name?
Shit .
Sure, it would be a relief to end this charade, to be fully honest about who I am and how I feel about her—but I don’t want her to accidentally find out when she’s overwhelmed and stressed.
I’m trying to figure out how to respond when another reply from her arrives.
BookshopGirl: Anyway, I didn’t get to talk to her before she took off. But I’m hoping she’ll be on board with my plan.
Despite how awful I’m feeling—for myself and for Josie—I smile, popping another Munchkin in my mouth. Of course she has a plan.
RJ.Reads: What’s your plan?
BookshopGirl: For Georgia to turn back around and bring Mom home. And delete every dating app on Mom’s phone. Maybe put her in a nunnery. Think a convent would take a crazy Jewish lady?
RJ.Reads: In real life, I have no idea. But if that was the plot of a novel, I’d read it.
BookshopGirl: Same. We could buddy read it.
RJ.Reads: I’d love that.
I stare at the screen, waiting for Josie to say that she’s changed her mind about meeting in person, that she wants to read a book together together, sitting side by side or across a booth from each other, the way we did the other night.
Maybe that’s exactly what she’s thinking of. Of me—Ryan.
BookshopGirl: Although, any book about my mom would be unsatisfying.
RJ.Reads: How so? Sounds like a real page-turner.
BookshopGirl: Nah. In fiction, readers want the character to grow or change. My mom keeps making the same mistakes over and over.
RJ.Reads: You’re right—that wouldn’t make a good novel.
RJ.Reads: One star.
BookshopGirl: DNF.
I laugh, loud enough to distract the girls studying at the next table over. One of them shoots me a glare before going back to quizzing her friend on the ventricles of a plastic heart. I consider asking if they want to dissect the complicated feelings of a very real heart, but I know the answer I’m looking for isn’t in any book, medical or otherwise.
Even the most skilled romance writer would have a hard time capturing the situationship I’ve found myself in. For one thing, it’s impossible to condense the essence of Josie—her personality, her beauty, her intelligence—into black words on a white page. It would take a whole series to get to the bottom of what makes her tick.
Then there are my messy feelings: the elation of Josie opening up online to me (well, RJ); the crushing disappointment that she had no intention of opening up in real life to me (Ryan); the overwhelming hopelessness that comes with the realization that the closer we get online and in real life, the more complicated it’ll be when she finds out the truth.
The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach returns when I remember that I’m not being honest with her. But as much as I want her to know who I am, it feels wrong to drop a massive truth-bomb on her. Especially right now.
I stare back at the screen. Maybe if I can understand where the fear comes from, I’ll know how to convince her it’s worth the risk of breaking anonymity.
RJ.Reads: If you could write your mom’s story, what lesson would you have her character learn?
BookshopGirl: That real life isn’t like a romance novel, that you aren’t guaranteed a happy ending and you should be careful who you give your heart to. I’m so tired of her sacrificing everything for men who won’t sacrifice anything for her.
RJ.Reads: Now that sounds like a five-star read.
BookshopGirl: Shoot—my sister is calling. I’ve got to go. Thanks for listening, for being here.
RJ.Reads: Anytime.
Anytime, Josie Klein.
—
The next morning, I’m at Happy Endings early for a staff meeting. My team deserves an update on this new alliance with Josie.
“Who wants to pick the prompt?” I ask as everyone takes their seats.
“I will!” Indira says with more energy than anyone should have at this hour. I’ve never been a morning person, and I barely slept last night, thanks to a toxic combination of worrying about Josie, feeling sorry for myself, and however much sugar is in an entire box of Munchkins.
Indira reaches into the fishbowl and chooses a slip of paper. She reads aloud: “?‘If you were to get dropped into a romance novel, what would you want to experience?’?”
“Let’s make this a speed round,” I say. “Eliza, want to start?”
Eliza sits up taller in her seat. “I’d love to get dropped into the Bridgerton world…just for a few days. Then I’d want to come back to our world, where women have at least some human rights.”
We continue moving around the circle:
Cinderella: “No question: secret billionaire with a heart of gold.”
Indira: “Put me in the Omegaverse and give me a lady werewolf.”
Nora: “I’d choose the third-act breakup.”
Everyone stops and stares at her, aghast.
“That’s bananas!” Eliza says.
“Why would you want to experience the saddest part of the whole book?” Cinderella asks.
“Seriously,” Eliza agrees. “That’s my least favorite part of a romance.”
“But the dark moment is an important part of story structure,” I say, although I agree it can be painful to read.
“And it’s important for character growth,” Indira adds, nodding.
Eliza scoffs. “It’s emotionally manipulative and predictable.”
“Not when it’s done well!” Indira says, her voice rising.
“All right, all right,” I say, but then Nora raises a hand.
“May I?” she asks, and I motion for everyone to listen.
“You’re all right, in a way,” Nora says. “Falling in love is something that happens to you, sometimes even against your will—like being struck by lightning or catching the flu. But staying in love? That’s a choice.”
She pauses, glancing around our circle. Everyone is quiet, digesting her words.
“Maybe don’t think of it as a third-act breakup,” she says. “Think of it as a decision point. Will the lovers allow themselves to be torn apart by outside circumstances or their internal fears? Or will they fight for each other?” She smiles. “That’s a decision anyone in any relationship will have to make, over and over again.”
“Huh,” Eliza says thoughtfully. Cinderella seems to be digesting it, too.
I’m up next, and our senior staffer has given me a hard act to follow, so I say the simple truth: “Friends to lovers.”
Cinderella rolls her eyes and mutters something about enemies under her breath, but I bite my tongue. The last thing I want is to call more attention to myself and Josie.
Especially given the news I’m about to share.
“Moving on,” I say. “I wanted to share an update about the competition.”
Everyone stills. The store is so quiet you could hear a condom drop. Eliza looks like she’s about to cry; Nora and Indira are holding hands.
“There’s no real news yet,” I say, and the group collectively exhales in relief. “But we do have a shift in our strategy.”
When I finish filling them in on Josie’s plan, they’re all staring at me with shocked expressions.
Indira is the first to speak, her dark eyes flashing. “You want to work with that uptight, snobby little—”
“Hey!” I say sharply.
Indira blinks, surprised. “Sorry. You want to work with… her ?”
“Voluntarily?” Nora adds.
“I thought we hated her?” Eliza says.
“We do,” Cinderella says at the same time I say, “We did.”
I shoot Cinderella a glare. “We don’t anymore. Josie has a lot of great ideas and—”
“How do you know she’s not trying to sabotage us?” Indira cuts in. “I don’t trust her.”
Eliza folds her arms. “Me either.”
“Ryan, why in the world would you consider this?” Nora asks, her wrinkled face full of confusion.
Under her breath, Cinderella mutters, “Because he wants to f—”
“Okay, okay,” I say loudly, then take a breath. They’re saying all the same things I would’ve said a month ago. “I hear your concerns, and I understand. But if we keep treating each other like the enemy, the only person who wins is Xander—and no one wants that.”
“Cosign,” Eliza says, scuffing her sneaker on the ground, and after a moment the others mumble their agreement.
“If we can show Xander how much higher our collective profits are over the next four weeks, he’ll have to admit that Josie and I make a good team—along with the rest of you, of course.”
“What if he doesn’t go for it?” Nora asks, her voice small.
I don’t want to admit I’m worried about that very thing. But Josie’s plan gives me two things I desperately want: a chance to be with her, and the opportunity to keep my store and my staff. No other option gives me both. If I win, she’ll never want to be with me, and if she wins, I lose the store that feels like home and the staff that feels like family. No romance store in P-town or anywhere else could compare to the history I have here.
But I’m not going to burden my staff with my fears. Instead, I pretend to be as confident in our plan as Josie is and say, “He’ll go for it—the man speaks dollars and cents; he’ll see this option will make him the most money.”
I’m not sure if any of them believe me, but we wrap up the meeting so Eliza can get to soccer practice and everyone else can get to work opening the store.
I leave them to it and head over to Beans. Josie is standing at the counter, and she greets me with a smile even bigger than the frappe she hands me, the straw unwrapped and ready to go.
It feels like the sun coming out: Josie came in this morning and thought about me. Ryan.
“Sorry about last night,” she says. Her eyes fall away from mine, and I get the sense she’s embarrassed that I saw her in a less than perfect moment.
She’s back to being the woman she lets the world see: cool, calm, and collected. And gorgeous. Not a hair out of place, crisp green blouse, gray pencil skirt—and sky-high heels, of course.
I hated seeing her upset, but I have to admit, I loved getting a glimpse beneath her armor. I want to be there for her in all the moments of her life. Especially the flawed and imperfect ones. The real ones.
“Nothing to apologize for,” I tell her. “Is everything okay now?”
Josie shakes her head as she says, “It will be.”
“Are…is…your—” I shove the straw in my mouth and take a big sip in an attempt to stop myself from asking her about all the things I’m not supposed to know: if Georgia made it to Mexico, if she was able to convince their mom to come home, if Josie slept okay last night, if the conversation with RJ—with me—helped her feel better.
A hot flash of pain hits and I cringe and close my eyes. Brain freeze. Too much, too fast. Why is it that the things I love always cause me so much pain?
When I open my eyes, Josie is looking up at me, a playful grin on her face.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, rubbing my temple. “Thanks for your concern.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, barely concealing a laugh. “It’s just…seeing a big, strong man get taken down by a froufrou drink. You have to admit, it’s funny.”
“Hilarious,” I say, taking a smaller sip. “But back to you…”
Her smile fades, and I know the brief window of her being willing to open up is over. The page has turned; the book has closed.
“I really am okay,” she insists. “But I won’t be if I don’t get the store open—we can’t sell books if we don’t open the doors!”
I give her a salute and turn to start my own opening rituals. Before I disappear around the corner, she calls out, “Hey, Ry?”
Ry. I like the sound of that, a nickname, on her lips.
“Yeah?” I say, turning.
“Thanks for washing the dishes last night—it was a nice surprise.”
“Oh, sure,” I say.
What kind of surprise will it be when she finds out I’m the anonymous stranger she’s been confessing her secrets to online?
I have to tell her. I’m going to tell her. Right now. If she knew what I know, then maybe she wouldn’t have said that she doesn’t want to know. It’ll be easier to explain and ask forgiveness for that than it will if I keep on not telling her. Lying to her.
It’s time. I take a deep breath and—
“Excuse me?” It’s a customer, walking over from Josie’s side of the store.
Immediately, Josie turns on her polished smile. “Hi there. How can I help you?”
Then she’s gone, and I’ve lost my chance.
—
Twenty minutes later, I’m ringing up a customer when my phone chimes.
BookshopGirl: Hey, just wanted to let you know that everything is good now. My sister and my mom got home safely earlier today.
Exhaling, I head over to a chair and sit. She must be done with her customer. But instead of coming over to talk to me again, she’s retreating into the safety of this online world.
RJ.Reads: I’m glad to hear that. It must be such a relief!
BookshopGirl: Yeah.
RJ.Reads: You don’t seem super relieved though…?
BookshopGirl: I am. Really. It’s just that Georgia keeps saying I need to talk to Mom, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to reach out because what’s the point? My mom is never going to change. And then I start berating myself, because why can’t I do something as simple as call my own mother?
RJ.Reads: Probably because she never took care of you or your sister the way you both deserved.
She deserves someone who puts her first—this I know for sure.
BookshopGirl: I know, and maybe that’s ruined me. She broke my trust so many times that maybe I’ll never trust anyone. Maybe I’ll never be able to open myself up to anyone, not really.
RJ.Reads: You’ve opened up to me.
BookshopGirl: Because it’s anonymous. If you were standing right in front of me, I couldn’t. You’ve been so patient with me after I said I didn’t want to meet in real life, and I keep wondering what is wrong with me because I’m just so terrified.
My heart pounds, and I fight the urge to walk over to her side of the store and find her so we can have this conversation face-to-face.
RJ.Reads: Terrified of what?
BookshopGirl: Of meeting you and being a disappointment.
RJ.Reads: You wouldn’t be. I know that for a fact.
BookshopGirl: How do you know?
This is my chance, the moment of truth. My heart lodges in my throat and I’m about to type it right in the box— Because I know you, Josie —when a new reply arrives.
BookshopGirl: Never mind, that wasn’t me fishing for compliments. I brought this up because I wanted to thank you for understanding that I need time.
I blink. Well, now it feels wrong to tell her. But I can’t keep waiting around indefinitely, either. So I carefully type a message and press send:
RJ.Reads: I do understand, but I think we have something here. Something that could be real. But we won’t ever know unless we give it a chance. Unless you don’t feel the same way?
There’s an excruciatingly long pause as I wait for her reply.
BookshopGirl: No, I do.
My breath rushes out in relief.
BookshopGirl: But again—I’m scared, RJ. Could you give me a little more time?
I’ll give her anything. Even if it’s killing me. Even if I’m starting to worry that this whole thing is going to end with my heart shattered, that I’ve gone and done it again, letting myself fall for someone who doesn’t feel the same way.
Sighing, I stare at the phone. The only thing I know for sure is that nothing can happen between us in real life until she knows the truth. I’m going to have to be patient—but she’s worth it. No question.
RJ.Reads: Of course. But please, not forever.
BookshopGirl: No, not forever. I promise.