Page 129 of One Touch

Ava.

Ethan.

His piercing blue eyes and that stubborn lock of jet-black hair that always fell across his forehead.

I sighed, pushing my glasses up my nose. “Think horror. Think death. Think destruction. Not tall, dark, emotionally confusing mechanics.”

But it was useless. I couldn’t get the memory of him at the wedding out of my head. Looking at me as he gave the speech, seeming as though he was about to say something extremely profound before completely shutting down.

And then, he’d called our night of big feelings a “mistake.”

It hadn’t felt like a mistake. It had felt like finally, things were falling into place. But now, it seemed, they were falling apart.

Adding to my anxiety today was Ava. She was having her dyslexia test at school. I’d stressed to her this morning that it wasn’t a test that she could pass or fail, but the poor thing had been so nervous.

“Lily,” she’d said to me, “do you think I’ll ever be able to read properly when I’m older? You know, without colored overlays and without stumbling over my words. So that I can read big grown-up books likeThe Romance of Red Robin?”

I had no idea what she was talking about, but I didn’t like to tell her because I didn’t want to crush her confidence. “Of course,” I had replied. “You’ll be able to read anything you like once we figure out what you need, and you put in the practice.”

I was looking forward to seeing her this afternoon. I had bought her a nature book about robins as a gift to try to play to her current interests.

My phone buzzed, and for a split second, my heart leaped, hoping it was Ethan. But no, it was just a reminder about my upcoming interview.

“Ugh,” I groaned, resting my forehead on the cool wood of the store counter. “Why did I have to go and complicate things?” I should have presented Ethan with those rules and then stuck to them. Slept in my own bed. Avoided slow dancing at all costs.

“Maybe I should just become a nun,” I mused aloud, twirling a strand of my red hair around my finger. “An evil, horrifying, serial-killer nun.”

I didn’t have time for this. I sighed, closing up the store for the afternoon, and then I went into the back room of my store and shoved a load of horror novels on the shelves behind me to create a suitably spooky backdrop for my video interview.

“All right, let’s get this show on the road,” I muttered, adjusting my laptop’s camera angle. I didn’t look too bad. Makeup was fine. Hair, okay. But there was definitely sadness behind my eyes. Just as I was about to start a practice run, my phone buzzed.

This time, my heart skipped a beat. Ethan.

Good luck today, Lils. You’ll slay ‘em. (Horror joke). Be good to catch up tonight, if you’re free.

I typed back immediately.

I’m so nervous! Haven’t had an interview since college. I’d love to catch up tonight.

I felt better about everything immediately. I’d have my interview, go celebrate (or commiserate) with a pastry atO’Neil’s afterward, then pick up Ava from school before seeing Ethan later on.

The chime of an incoming video call jolted me back to reality. I smoothed my hair, took a deep breath, and clicked the green button.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Lane,” a woman with a razor-sharp blonde bob and precision-cut bangs greeted me. Her scarlet lipstick was so glossy it was practically a mirror. “I’m Coco Brookes. It’s a pleasure to meet you!” She smiled and her teeth looked expensive. “I’ve heard all about you from Mary-Beth.”

I smiled. “Hopefully it’s all good.”

“Oh, it’s very good. What you did at that wedding, to that cheating fiancé of yours, with the circus music? Classic. And I’ve seen photographs of your bookstore. It looks charming.”

“I’m very proud of the place.”

“As you should be. So! Can you tell me a little about your experience running the bookstore? Some challenges you’ve faced, how you overcame them?”

I took a deep breath.

“Happy Ever Affogato has always been a passion project. My hometown, Bluehaven Beach, is a picturesque, dreamy place, and I always thought a romance store would work well here. But it hasn’t always been plain sailing.” I told Coco about the difficulty of finding a location for the store, and how it had been tricky, initially, to convince the bank that a romance-exclusive store could turn a profit. “I guess the key has always been to know your market,” I told her, smiling confidently. “Whatever genre you work in, you have to know it inside-out.”

I swallowed away a pang of nerves.

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