“Both,” Jo says serenely. “I made a timeline.”
I slide into the booth, accepting the latte Michelle pushes toward me. The Bookaholics Anonymous crew is in full planning mode: Michelle with her laptop open, Amber taking notes on her phone, Hazel arguing with someone via text about catering options, and Jo presiding over it all.
“Okay.” Michelle pulls up a document. “Letters to Local Authors: The Reveal. We’ve got a venue decision to make. Your shop or the library community room.”
“Let’s do it in August. That gives us six weeks. Next: how does the reveal actually work?”
This is the part I’ve been avoiding thinking about.
“The anonymous correspondents would need to RSVP,” I say slowly, working through it. “Confirm they want to participate. Then on the night of the event, we do some kind of...matching ceremony? People find out who they’ve been writing to?”
“That’s adorable,” Amber says. “And also terrifying. What if someone’s been writing to their secret enemy? Or their ex? Or their?—”
“We’re not helping,” Hazel interrupts. “How many active correspondences are there?”
“Twelve pairings currently. Some have been writing for months, some just started.”
“And you’re one of them,” Jo says. Not a question.
The table goes quiet.
“Yes,” I admit. “I’ve been corresponding with Coastal Quill for about six months.”
“The one whose letters make you look like you’re experiencing a religious awakening?” Michelle asks.
“Does everyone in this town discuss my facial expressions?”
“Yes,” all four of them say.
“The point is,” Jo continues gently, “you’ll have to meet your pen pal. Are you ready for that?”
I wrap my hands around my latte, buying time. “I’ve been telling him to be brave. To reveal himself and trust that vulnerability is worth the risk. It would be pretty hypocritical to back out now.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I know.” I take a breath. “I’m terrified. What if the real me doesn’t match the letters? What if he’s disappointed? What if meeting destroys the connection instead of deepening it?”
“Or,” Amber offers, “what if it’s wonderful? What if he’s been just as nervous, and you meet, and everything you felt through the letters is even better in person?”
“That seems statistically unlikely.”
“Why?” Hazel sets down her phone, giving me her full attention. “You’re smart, kind, passionate. You run a bookstore that matters to people. Anyone would be lucky to know you.”
“My ex-husband didn’t think so.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. The table goes still.
“Your ex-husband,” Michelle says carefully, “was an idiot who didn’t deserve you. And his opinion has exactly zero bearing on who you are or what you’re worth.”
“I know that intellectually, but his voice is still in my head, you know? Telling me I’m too romantic and impractical, that my dreams are nice but not realistic.”
“Screw his voice,” Amber says firmly. “Replace it with ours. You’re brave enough to host this event and to meet your pen pal. And whatever happens, we’ll be there.”
“What she said.” Hazel raises her coffee cup. “To being brave and telling the voices in our heads to shut up.”
We all raise our cups.
“Now,” Michelle says, shifting back to business mode, “let’s talk promotion. We need to get word out about the event, encourage RSVPs from the pen pals, and generate ticket sales from the general public.”
