Page 36 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

She had to at least be polite, so she attempted to answer without letting her annoyance show. Squinting against the bright light of his shoes, she said, “Florida, originally. Moved here twelve years ago.”

Trying to be sly about it, he took a glance at her bare ring finger. Why hadn’t she worn her burner ring today?

“How do you do it?” he asked, looking up again. “I’m here two days and already miss home.”

Finding the coral in her pocket, she rubbed its porous surface slowly, like trying to draw a genie from a bottle. “This is home to me.”

As she started away, he tried again. “Can I ask you something?”

She made a reluctant pivot. “What’s that?”

“What happens if someone opens a second English bookstore here?” A sly grin, slightly warm and not exactly annoying, took over his face as he ran a hand through his annoyingly perfect head of hair.

And she relented, allowing a smile herself. It wasn’t the first time she’d been asked the question, considering the name of her bookstore was The Only English Bookstore in Bologna.

“They can’t.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, an eyebrow hiking up.

“Because I’m the only English bookstore.”

“So there’s a decree?”

“Exactly.” Sandy was the first to look away. He had no business flirting with her.

“I do love the name. It’s brave.”

“Thank you,” Sandy said, appreciating that maybe he understood.

She’d forgotten that Moira and Bianca were standing there till Moira interrupted. “It’s so brave,” she said. “And I always liked how long it is. Reminds me of titles like Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society—”

“Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café,” Bianca said.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Moira said.

Sandy had never seen her employee happier. If she wasn’t careful, Moira might spring a gasket in that little head of hers.

Moira kept going, strangling yet another conversational thread to death, as she’d been known to do. “Tom Robbins had some too. Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. And Elizabeth Berg, Earth’s the Right Place for Love.”

George turned to Sandy and shrugged. She chuckled silently, as if they both shared in the thought that Moira was exhausting, then said, “I have things to do. Nice to meet you, George.”

He asked if he could help, and she shook her head.

“Okay, well, I hope to see you around. And that no one else tries to open an English bookstore.”

Though she didn’t want to, she rewarded him by shaking her head with what might have been construed as another smile.

While Moira walked Bianca through the plan, Sandy climbed the winding stairs to her office. On the floor by her antique desk, a growing stack of books signed by various authors who’d visited over the years collected dust. Two framed pictures glowed in the light of the sole window, one of Nicolo perched on the highest accessible spot of her balcony, and the other of her son in his dress blues before he shipped off for his first deployment.

She sat in her swivel chair and fired up the computer, then proceeded to draw circles with her mouse for a good ten minutes, her gaze lost in space, wondering why she hated everyone so, why she had such vitriolic reactions. No, it wasn’t that she hated everyone. She was just annoyed by everyone. Even people she’d barely met bothered her. Hell, people she’d never met were out there annoying her, fleshbags on other continents nagging at her by simply breathing.

Hand to the fire, she’d admit she hated this about herself. Of course, it would be nice to be a bubbly welcome basket of hugs and kisses and laughter, but not everyone was like that, and Sandy had come to accept and even enjoy the cloud of pessimism that had settled over her head. One thing was for sure: She rarely became disappointed because she kept the bar incredibly low.

Sandy was well aware of how spiky she could be, but people kept intruding into her life. She hadn’t even been looking for an employee when Moira had timidly crept in the door and begged for work, gushing about her love of books and her need for a job that enriched her soul. Why did jobs have to enrich souls anyway? They were just a way to pay the bills, for God’s sake.

Even George down there was encroaching on Sandy’s space by attempting to be flirty. And yes, that’s exactly what he’d been doing. How dare he.

Why couldn’t everyone stay in their lane?