Chapter One
Sam Prescott had faceddown a Category 4 hurricane, coordinated community food drives, and once spent an entire weekend creating a household management system that would make Marie Kondo weep for joy.Walking into a book club meeting with six strangers shouldn’t feel this hard.
The problem was that walking into Twice-Told Tales and facing a room full of strangers felt harder than any of those things.Sam loved reading and loved the shop itself, owned by her friend Charlotte Webb (who had the best name for a bookstore owner in the history of bookstore owners).And Sam genuinely wanted to expand her social circle beyond her neighborhood and the agility training she did with her dog Arlo.Book club seemed perfect in theory.
In practice, she was the new person walking into an established group where everyone already knew each other.
Charlotte gave her an apologetic look from across the room where she was setting up the tea service.Sam smiled back with more confidence than she felt and clutched her copy ofThe Memory Keeperlike a shield.
“Sam!”Olivia Stanton appeared at her elbow, and Sam nearly sagged with relief.“Sorry I’m late.I got talking at the food pantry.What did you think of the book?”
“It took me a few chapters to get into it, but after that, I loved it.”
Olivia said in a low voice, “Good, because Margaret is going to say she hates it.Fair warning, she hates most of our picks.Don’t take anything she says personally.”
Before Sam could ask who Margaret was, Charlotte called the meeting to order.“Good evening, everyone!First, I want to welcome Sam Prescott, who’s joining us for the first time.”
Sam gave a quick wave.Everyone turned toward her with varying degrees of interest.
“Let’s do quick introductions,” Charlotte said.“Sam, I promise there won’t be a pop quiz later.Olivia, you already know Sam, so no need for an intro there.”
Sam pulled out her notebook, knowing she wouldn’t be able to remember all the names without help.She’d catch the important details now and sort out the rest later.
“Taking notes?”Charlotte asked with a smile.
“I’m terrible with names,” Sam explained.
“I think it’s brilliant,” Charlotte said warmly.
An older woman with steel-gray hair pulled into a severe bun spoke first.“Dr.Margaret Brennan.I taught English literature for thirty years.”Her tone suggested she was still grading papers and finding them all inadequate.She glanced at Sam’s notebook.“Finally, someone who takes this seriously.”
Professor—sharp, Sam wrote, not sure whether to be pleased or worried that the intimidating professor approved of her methods.
A nervous-looking man in his early forties went next.“Gerald Parker.I’m the club treasurer.”He cleared his throat.“Speaking of which, we really do need to collect dues.”
Several people groaned.
Treasurer, Sam noted after Gerald’s name.
A dark-haired woman in her thirties gave Sam a shy smile.“Sofia Smith.I’m a grad student at Western Carolina.I just joined a couple of months ago, so I’m almost as new as you.”Sofia had dark eyes that seemed older than her years.
Grad student—friendly.At least Sam wasn’t the only recent addition.And Sofia seemed slightly familiar.She wanted to say she worked at the coffee shop downtown.
“Dylan Morrison.”The young man in his twenties had the deliberately unkempt look of someone who wanted to be taken seriously as an artist.“I write poetry.”He said this with a slight challenge in his voice, eyes flicking to Dr.Brennan as if expecting criticism.Then he glanced curiously at Sam’s notebook.He grinned.“Let me guess.You’re going to writethe scruffy one, aren’t you?”
“What?No!I’m just jotting down notes to help me remember who’s who.”Sam pulled the notebook just a little closer to her, although no one could see what she was writing.
“She’s organized,” Olivia said, coming to her rescue.“It’s her thing.”
Next to Dylan’s name, she wrotepoet—defensive?She looked up to find Dylan still watching her with amusement.“I’m definitely getting an adjective,” he muttered.
“We all are,” Gerald, the treasurer, said dryly.“That’s the point.”
“Pamela Cross,” said a woman in her late-fifties with a kind face.“Retired librarian.I love finding good book communities.”She said it with such genuine warmth that Sam immediately liked her.“I think it’s smart,” she added, nodding at the notebook.“I wish I’d done that at my first meeting.”
Librarian—sweet.Sam put a small star next to her name.
The last woman, early fifties with laugh lines and an easy manner, beamed at Sam.“I’m Claire Mills, the club president.We’ve emailed!I’m so glad you made it.”She smiled at the notebook.“Don’t worry.Half of us won’t remember your name by next month anyway.”
