Page 67 of One Touch

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I’d barely settled behind the counter when the store phone rang, its shrill tone cutting through the cozy atmosphere. Snatching it up, I answered with my most professional voice. “Happy Ever Affogato, where love stories come with a side of caffeine. How may I help you?”

“Lily Lane, my favorite runaway bride!” a familiar voice exclaimed. “How the heck are you?”

“Mary-Beth?” I squealed, nearly dropping the phone in my excitement. “It’s so good to hear from you! What’s new?”

“Never mind me, what’s new withyou? You never replied to my email, and I’ve been missing my Lily catch-ups.” Mary-Beth was a sweetheart. Even though she was now a super-successful romance agent, she always seemed genuinely interested in my less-than-glamorous life.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” I replied. “There’s been a lot going on. Some big changes.”

“You know what they say: change is the only constant in life.”

“Yeah.”

“No regrets?”

“Not one.”

“I’m still in awe of you,” said Mary-Beth. “When you decided to teach Vlad a lesson, I felt so proud. You’re my hero. Everyone in the office has heard the story a bazillion times.”

“Really?” I blushed. The thought of all those literary people finding little old me interesting was strangely flattering.

“Of course! Coco was like, ‘We need to buy the rights to her life story for a romance novel.’”

I snorted, caught between amusement and mild indignation. “Right. She wants to make money off my misery. Charming.”

Mary-Beth laughed. “Don’t worry, she tries to buy all our most shameful secrets. She once asked for copyright when I—” She paused. “Let’s just say it involved a misunderstanding with a very handsome delivery guy and a box of, um, ‘personal items’ that definitely weren’t books.”

I gasped, torn between shock and laughter. “No way! What happened?”

“Coco offered me a two-book deal on the spot. I told her I’d rather eat my own manuscripts.”

I cackled.

Mary-Beth cleared her throat. “Anyway, I have a favor to ask.”

I twirled the phone cord around my finger. “Go on.”

“Marge Statten’s book tour. It’s the final book of her Lavender Farms series, and it’s going to be a big one. She absolutely adores the name of your bookstore and is very keen on doing an event there. Have you made a decision yet?”

My heart started racing. “When were you thinking?”

As Mary-Beth rattled off dates and logistics, my mind raced with wild fantasies. Marge Statten complimenting me on the incredible name of my bookstore. Marge Statten deciding to name a character after me in her next novel. Marge Statten and I, becoming penpals and maybe even going on vacation one day, chatting about romance novels over peach bellinis.

“What do you say, Lils? You in?”

“Absolutely,” I began. “I can’t wait to—”

The words stuck in my throat.

I loved Marge Statten. I idolized her. But . . . a romance author. Coming to sell lies about cozy love and happily ever afters. It was Marge Statten who had made me into the airheaded romantic who’d thought marrying Vlad was a good idea. She even literally had a rock star character in her first Lavender Farms novel who had convinced me that Vlad was a reasonable match.

I had the strangest feeling. Like even though I loved romance, it had been completely toxic for me. It was only since I had ditched it and decided to have completely feelings-free sex with Ethan that I had started to enjoy relationships.

Change is the only constant in life.

A sudden, wild idea had taken root, and I couldn’t get it to shift. “Actually, you know what? I’m going to sell the bookstore.”

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