Page 89 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

Moira’s eyes widened.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” Sandy took one of the books and threw it toward the discount table. It crashed into a shelf. “Do you know how good that felt? Try it.” Sandy handed her a Nora Roberts. “Take all that hate you have toward love and give it a toss.” In an eerily Vader-esque voice, she whispered, “Join the dark side, Moira.”

Moira slung the book with all the power of a mouse.

Sandy slapped another one in her hand, an Emily Henry this time. “Where is your passion? Tell me you don’t make love like that.”

Moira tepidly took the book and tried again.

“Nope, not good enough.”

She gave her another and another, and by the time she saw George coming through the door, both ladies were laughing madly beside the entirely empty romance section.

“Look who it is,” Moira said, but Sandy had already crouched behind the empty shelf. She held a finger up to her mouth, then shimmied to the next shelf, staying low.

Moira looked at her in shock, completely frozen.

“Stop looking at me.”

“What?”

“I said stop looking at me!” It was her best attempt at a quiet scream.

The mouse finally figured out what was going on and raced under the arch toward the entrance. “Hi, Mr. Briggs. How are you today?”

Sandy peered around the side of the shelves and mapped out her getaway. She had to get past five shelves, then sneak under the arch, and move right to get to the steps to her office.

“I was looking for Sandy,” he said.

Sandy got on all fours, removed her heels, and crawled to the next shelf, then the next.

“She’s not . . . I don’t believe she’s here.”

Sandy reached the arch. George stood fifteen feet away and was inching closer. Moira was still trying to put together words. “I think she went out . . .”

“Oh, I thought I saw her in the back there. Must be a customer.”

“Yeah, we’re busy today.”

There wasn’t a customer in sight. Sandy had to make a run for it.

“Can I interest you in a book? Maybe a cookbook?”

When Sandy heard that, she knew Moira had finally gotten in on the game, because the cookbook section was in the opposite direction. Once George pivoted, she made a mad dash, racing around the arch as quietly as she could, then moving past the cash register and the tower of postcards and—

Her foot caught the postcard stand, and she crashed hard onto the floor.

When Sandy had slapped George, she had not only crushed his confidence, but she’d reminded him of the heartache he’d felt when Bianca’s mom told him she was leaving. Their marriage had been suffering for a couple of years, and they both were afraid of what would happen when Bianca left them with an empty nest, but it had hurt nonetheless, because it was the end of the three of them.

After the divorce, George had done everything to keep it together through her teenage years. It was awful sharing his daughter with her mom, having to do those awkward trade-offs, especially when he started noticing another car in the driveway of the home where they’d raised his girl. He remembered feeling so unbearably sick inside. If work hadn’t kept him so busy, he would never have survived.

He felt sick inside again now, and yes, it was silly; he knew that. Their one lunch might not even be considered a date. So why in the world did he feel like he’d been dumped or served papers?

No longer could he sit in his room thumbing through his iPad or helping Bianca with her place—which was spick and span, thank you very much—or chasing Sir Parm, which was proving to be fodder for Mission Impossible 34. He decided he best apologize. At least he could leave the country with his dignity.

George pulled back the door; the bell chimed. Through the arch in the main room, he thought he saw the top of two heads sticking up over a shelf, but then they disappeared. The bookstore was eerily silent.

As he started toward the arch, Moira intercepted him. That’s how it felt, anyway. She literally stood in front of him. When he asked to see Sandy, she started mumbling, then tried to talk him into buying a cookbook called Pasta Grannies. George was no idiot. He had a feeling that Sandy was in the back of the store, but he wasn’t going to push. As he was about to excuse himself, a loud crash came from behind them, then a scream.