Page 1 of The Bookbinder's Guide to Love

Prologue

“Charm, curse, confluence,” Liberty Wakefield said.

“That sounds...” Serafina Conte didn’t know how to describe this latest version of kiss, screw, avoid that her friend was trying to come up with to market in their store. It was bold, in-your-face.

Liberty was the most witchy of the three best friends. Their town was sold on the idea, the possibility, that they weren’t just friends and business owners...but a coven of witches. It didn’t help matters that Liberty had insisted they go to the top of Hanging Hill at midnight on the summer solstice and dance around. More than a few people noticed.

It had been fun, and Sera had always been a no-regrets kind of person.

Oh, who was she kidding. She’dneverbeen a no-regrets person. Not once. But Liberty and Poppy were her best friends. And she’d do anything for them. Hence discussing a witchy version of this game that they could possibly create and sell in their shop. Liberty had suggested they make an oracle deck that featured forty-eight different cards inspired by their shop: sixteen cards of authors living and dead from Sera’s part; sixteen cards of bakers and famous tea makers from Poppy’s; and lastly sixteen cards featuring witches, wizards and magical creatures, both real and fictional, from her own. There would also be twelve blank cards the purchaser could fill in with either people they knew or celebrities or their own category.

“I’m fine with it as long as it brings more customers in,” Poppy Kitchener said.

“Me too,” Sera said.

The door to their shop opened and they all turned since traffic had been slow on this gray November day. Most locals had hurried home to get ready for Thanksgiving, and tourists were probably doing the same. Sera hadn’t celebrated the holiday much. It was for families, and she’d never really had one. Not one of her own. She’d grown up in foster homes, and Thanksgiving hadn’t been a big deal.

Poppy was British, so she didn’t celebrate, but Liberty did. And they were all going to her mom’s house the next day for the feast. Sera was looking forward to it, but trying to be cool in case they canceled on her. Even though she knew her friends would never do that, old habits died hard.

“Hello, are you still open?”

Sera vaguely recognized the woman standing in the doorway. But couldn’t place her face. Maybe they’d gone to college together?

“We sure are. Do you need help finding something, or do you just want to browse on your own?” Liberty asked.

“Browse, I guess,” the woman said.

“Would you like some tea?” Poppy asked.

“Yes. I’d love it. And I think you have some handmade journals, right?”

“We do,” Sera said, getting up and going over to her corner of the shop, which was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases stocked with books that she chose, as well as journals she bound by hand. Something about the woman’s voice was ringing bells, but for the life of her Sera couldn’t place it.

“This is a selection of premade journals,” she said, leading her to the display table. “What are you looking for?”

“I don’t know. Something that will inspire me.”

“To write? This journal has pages that I took from an old manuscript. The writing has faded, but some of the gold leaf they used to embellish the words remains. Want to look at that?”

“I’d love to.”

Sera showed her the journals and stepped aside so she could check them out in private when Liberty came over, grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the back room. “OMG. That’s Amber Rapp.”

As soon as Liberty said the name, everything clicked. The pop singer was known for her catchy tunes and snarky lyrics about her breakups. Itwasher. “I thought she was someone from college.”

“As if. What’s she doing here?”

“She said she was looking for inspiration,” Sera said.

“You should offer to make her a custom journal like you did for Poppy and me,” Liberty said.

Sera wasn’t sure. That was something private between the three of them. But Amber did say she was looking for inspiration, and both Liberty and Poppy claimed their journals had helped them meet their goals. “Why not?”

She went back into the room where Amber was still standing at the table. When she looked up, she seemed to know they’d figured out who she was. She waited as if ready to take a selfie or sign something.

What kind of life must that be?

“I guess I’ll take this one,” Amber said, holding up a leather-covered journal that Sera had made a few weeks ago using a newer binding process she’d learned from her friend Ford.

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