Josh looked back down at the book. “So you think it’s your destiny to find the first edition here?”
“That’s the dream.” And it was. One I wished would come true someday. Maybe the golden page would be a door.
Josh glanced at the stacks. “You will. I have a feeling.”
Rachel appeared, as if she were a ghost that apparated in front of us. “Josh, I need you at the side entrance to help with some boxes. Jeraline, finish this up later and go to the counter.”
“Of course,” Josh said, then gave me a small smile and headed toward the side entrance.
And for once, Rachel looked at me as if she wanted to say something more, not in anger, but something thoughtful. She must have decided better of it because she shooed me toward the counter. Viewing the store and its lack of occupants, I decided to go grab my sketch pad before I went to the cash register.
Emma appeared next to the cart and slow-clapped in appreciation. “You did it. A real conversation.”
Olivia materialized next to Emma. “You’re welcome.”
I smiled at that, then feeling pretty good about myself, I placed The Gateway to Winterbrook in its slot and headed toward the back room.
Carefully unlocking the padlock, I opened my backpack and pulled out my sketchbook, avoiding the sweater-wrapped gun as much as possible.
Zipping up the pack, I shut the locker, secured the padlock, then hurried to the front counter before Rachel discovered that I wasn’t there yet.
I made it to the cash registers without incident, placing my sketchbook on the counter and thumbing through its pages. A loose piece of paper fell from the pad and floated to the ground. Picking it up, I examined it closely.
Oh yeah.
Ugh.
The flyer for the Cassiopeia Design School contest.
Emma was back and looking over my shoulder at the rogue piece of paper. “What is that?”
I sighed, staring at the page with longing. “It’s an amateur fashion contest. The winner gets a scholarship to Cassiopeia Design School. I really want to go, but we don’t have enough money, and I’m too scared to take out loans that I may never be able to pay back,” I answered her, not wanting to admit out loud that I was just too scared to enter.
Emma seemed to sense this as she leaned forward. “Jeraline, this is your chance. Your designs are beautiful. Look at that dress there. If I were a bolder woman, I’d wear it myself, and that’s saying something considering my impeccable tastes.”
“What if they hate them?” I voiced my deepest fear.
“Then they’re complete morons, and we’d both know it. You’re going to do this. No arguments. You’ve got to enter soon because the deadline is tomorrow and the pop-up runway is on Thursday.” Emma pointed to the printed information on the flyer.
“I waited too long. I can’t do this.” Why didn’t everyone see what I did? I wasn’t meant to enter.
Emma nodded to the sketchbook full of designs. “You’ve done the work. You have the time. You haven’t missed the deadline. No excuses.”
In a huff meant to make her point to me, Emma disappeared.
I stared at the flyer.
Could I?
Should I?
But the real question was would I?
As Josh headed my way, I hid the flyer and the sketchbook under the counter. He jumped behind the second cash register with a friendly wave. “Not many customers today.”
Oh no. Small talk. I was terrible at that. Truthfully, I was terrible at all conversation, but small talk was at the top of the list.
“Yeah.” See?
But apparently Josh was determined. “So, what made Jeraline Arnold decide to work at a used bookstore?”
“What made you want to?” Ooo, deflecting. I was good at that.
Josh took it in stride as he laughed. “I’m a writer?”
“You say that like it’s a question.”
“It kind of is, honestly.” Josh sat down on one of the stools behind the counter. “I mean, I love writing. I just don’t know if it’ll ever be more than a hobby, you know?”
I did. I felt the same way about my designs. “You don’t think you’re any good?”
“Maybe? I really don’t know. I haven’t shown anybody. I guess I figure if I don’t let anyone read it, I still have a chance. Stupid, right?” He looked at me with a smile, but his eyes darted slightly.
“No. It’s not stupid. I’m the same way,” I confessed.
“You’re a writer?” Josh perked up.
I shook my head, hating to disappoint him. “I sew things.” Yeah, that sounded awesome. I explained further, “I want to be a designer.”
Josh cocked his head to the side, curious. “Really? You have so much passion for books I thought for sure you’d be a writer or some kind of book critic or something, especially working here for . . . how long?”
“Three years.”
“How old are you?” Hearing I worked here three years seemed to pique his interest.
“Twenty-two,” I said, marveling at the fact I was functioning in this conversation.
“Me too.” Josh leaned back further on the stool so that his back leaned against the counter. “So you’ve been here since you were nineteen? That’s crazy.”
“I’m not a writer, but I do love books. Sometimes I think I like books more than I like humans.” Oh God. I hoped he didn’t think I was talking about him.
But he laughed. “I get that. That’s why I started writing. I considered book characters better friends than my real friends, not that I have many of those either.”
How was that possible? How could someone so perfect like him not have a ton of friends? Then it hit me. Grandma was going to be so proud of me! This was conversation number two. Two!
Oh. I was supposed to respond.
I didn’t know what to say.
No.
Awkward silence.
I was ruining the moment.
He said he didn’t have many friends, and I was just staring at him.
Help!
Finally, words spilled out of my mouth. “I’m the same way. I talk to book characters all the time like
