Page 2 of Love By the Book
Jamie, a freckle-faced 9th grader who used to play trumpet in Rachel's band, gives me a solemn salute that scatters glitter onto three nearby patrons.
I weave through the market, the scent of fresh bread and spun honey filling the air as I plot my approach. Itneeds to seem casual, natural—a chance encounter orchestrated by fate, not a wild-haired librarian with questionable decision-making skills.
Grabbing an empty basket, I position myself near the honey booth, pretending to examine jars while keeping an eye on Karl across the way. He’s helping a young boy choose a pint of strawberries, crouching down to offer one with a smile and a gentle nod. A moment later, he ties the boy’s shoelace, then hands the berries to the kid’s mom with a quiet word and that easy warmth he always carries. The woman—Brooke—is moving toward the display that sits between the honey booth and Robert's stand.
Perfect. The universe is already helping.
I time my approach, stepping out just as she's passing by, ready to create a casual collision that will send her gently toward Karl's berry arrangement. What I don't expect is the small child darting across my path, chasing a butterfly.
My evasive maneuver to avoid the child sends me careening into a display of Grammie Rae's specialty honey jars. My elbow connects with the carefully stacked pyramid, creating a domino effect that's both horrifying and, if I'm being honest, aesthetically impressive.
"Oh my gosh—" I lunge to catch them, but my reflexes are about three jars too slow.
Glass doesn't shatter, thankfully—magic wards against breakage are standard at the Magnolia Cove market—but the jars roll wildly, one spinning directly into the strawberry display, toppling baskets that tumble toward Robert's stand.
"Watch out!" I call, my voice far too late to be useful.
Karl lunges forward to catch the falling strawberries, colliding with Brooke who's stepped forward to help. Her tote bag swings around and snags on the edge of a table stacked with baskets of green beans, sending it wobbling dangerously.
In an impressive display of reflexes, Karl steadies bothBrooke and the berry baskets with one graceful movement, his hands at her waist.
"I'm so sorry," Brooke says, looking mortified.
"Not your fault," Karl replies. "Though I think these berries might need a safety net."
There's a moment—a perfect, crystalline moment—where their eyes meet, and even through my mortification, I can see it: that spark, that recognition, that possibility.
"I'm the one who should apologize," I say, extracting myself from the scene and trying to look dignified while grabbing a few stray honey jars and sliding them back onto their shelf. "Completely my fault. Total accident."
Karl helps Brooke right her bag, then offers her a basket of berries. "For the trouble," he says with a smile I've never seen on him before. “I'm Karl, by the way.”
"Brooke," she replies, her cheeks flushing a shade that matches the strawberries. "You know, I was actually hoping to find someone who knows the island well. I'm looking for inspiration for my next book..."
I back away slowly, trying to contain my triumphant grin as they continue talking, Karl already pointing out features of the island on a market map he's pulled from beneath the counter.
When I return to the library booth, Alex is waiting with her arms crossed, but her lips are twitching with barely suppressed laughter. Meanwhile, the kids have taken full advantage of my absence—glitter coats the table like fairy dust after a storm, and one of the potion jars is bubbling suspiciously.
"That," she says dryly, "was the most chaotic display of attempted matchmaking I have ever witnessed. You're like a bull in a romance novel shop."
"But did it work?" I ask, grabbing a napkin to dab at honey residue staining my dress.
We both turn to look. Karl is pointing to something on the map, and Brooke is nodding eagerly, jotting notes in a small sketchbook she’s pulled from her tote. They’re standing closer than strictly necessary, and his eyes have a twinkle in them I can see even from here, like the moment has a little extra sparkle around the edges.
"I can't believe that actually worked," Alex murmurs, sounding impressed despite herself.
"It's a gift," I say, fanning myself dramatically. "I can read energy. I can match books with readers, I’ve never given anyone a book recommendation they didn't love. And now, I can matchpeople."
"One accidental success doesn't make you Cupid, Rhi."
But I'm already reaching for my notebook, mind racing with possibilities. I flip to a fresh page and write in large letters:Magnolia Cove's Premier Matchmaking Service.
"I could actually do this," I say, more to myself than to Alex. "I could help people find their perfect matches. I already sense which books will resonate with people—this is just the next logical step!"
“Well, if you're taking on clients, I know someone who could use your help.” Alex takes a long drink of her iced coffee. "Dean Markham."
I spin around. "Where?"
If there's anyone to avoid on the island, it’s Head Warlock Dean Markham. That man's a dark specter who manages to stand at the corner of every road at all times. It's unsettling, even for someone who grew up in a magical pocket community like I did.
