“If you say so.” Grandma Hensley’s gaze slides to me, still lurking in the stacks like a creep. “Though if you need someone to talk sense into certain people, you just say the word. I know where he lives. I know where he parks. I know his schedule.”
That’s...actually concerning.
“I’ve also been meaning to talk to the Ladies’ Auxiliary about supporting local businesses,” she continues, still staring at me. “Did you know we have a very active letter-writing campaign? We once got a chain restaurant shut down. Took us six weeks.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I say, emerging from the stacks with my hands raised in surrender.
“Won’t it?” Grandma Hensley smiles sweetly. It’s terrifying. “We’ll see.”
She takes her book and leaves, pausing at the door to give me one final look that clearly communicates:I’m watching you, and I have a very organized group of elderly women who can make your life extremely difficult.
The silence after she’s gone is deafening.
“That was...” I clear my throat.
“Grandma Hensley preparing to wage war on your behalf?” Jessica’s smile is small but real. “Yeah. She’s protective. Also, she wasn’t kidding about the chain restaurant. The letter-writing campaign made national news. There was a hashtag.”
“I’m suddenly very concerned about my business reputation.”
“You should be. The Ladies’ Auxiliary has a lot of free time and strong opinions about community values.” Jessica pulls out the lease documents again, scanning for the signature line. “I’m lucky to have people who care about this shop. Who care aboutwhat it means to the community. They know some things matter more than quarterly returns.”
She’s not looking at me when she says it, but the words land anyway.
“I know that,” I say quietly.
“Do you?”
“Jessica—”
“The V. Langley section,” she interrupts, pointing toward the display I couldn’t stop staring at yesterday. “You noticed it.”
My heart rate spikes. “Yes.”
“You noticed I only carry his early work.”
“I noticed.”
“Do you want to know why?”
No. Yes. No.
“Because those books had heart.” She finally looks at me, and there’s something vulnerable in her expression that makes my throat tight. “They made me believe love was real and worth fighting for. That even the most damaged people deserve their happy endings. They made me feel less alone during my divorce when everything else felt like it was falling apart.”
Every word is a knife.
“And then something changed,” she continues. “Suddenly they felt hollow. Like the author was going through the motions and writing what he thought readers wanted instead of what he actually believed. Like he’d stopped trusting his own heart.”
“Maybe he just lost his way,” I manage.
“Maybe. Or maybe he got scared.” She sets down her pen without signing anything. “You know what’s interesting about walls, Scott? You build them to keep people out. But eventually, they just trap you inside.”
We’re standing on opposite sides of the counter, close enough that I can smell her shampoo—something floral andclean that makes me want to lean closer. Far enough that the space between us feels insurmountable.
“You’re talking about Langley,” I say, my voice rough. “But it sounds like you’re talking about me.”
“Am I?” She tilts her head, studying me. “Maybe I’m talking about both of you. Or maybe I’m talking about anyone who’s ever been so afraid of being seen that they forget how to be real.”
“And what if being real means losing everything?”
