Page 32 of In a Word, Yes

You’ve just walked by a bookstore. Is there something wrong with you?

The chalkboard sign propped outside Sweet Reads draws my smile. Time to shake off the musings that have preoccupied me ever since this afternoon’s interview with the lieutenant and get to the bottom of the text Savannah sent.

I’m president. Pleeeez come by tonight and talk me through this.

Like, what? Tell me this isn’t perplexing.

Savannah’s a solid friend, and Lord knows I have precious few. It’s just that my feelings about our friendship are ... complicated. I will never not be grateful that within days of arriving in Charity Falls—in the middle of a pandemic, no less—Savannah invited me to her book club. Meeting with five other ladies outdoors under a wide and moody autumn sky, I rediscovered the kind offemale camaraderie I’d forgotten existed. The kindness and generosity those ladies went out of their way to show me and Chase was so tender I almost couldn’t let it in.

The whole thing felt like a God-wink, echoing the whispers I heard in my spirit telling me this was where Chase and I were meant to stay. One of the women immediately recruited me for her vacation rental cleaning crew, and between that and some help from my folks, we had our first month’s rent.

And to think I’d only meant to stop long enough to wait out a thunderstorm in the tea and used books shop we happened upon.

But here’s the tricky part. I’m still learning to manage Savannah’s special brand of neediness. In a way, she acts as my test subject. Can I sustain a friendship without becoming sucked into another person’s emotional vortex? Can I encourage without enabling? It’s a tightrope walk.

Learning to police my boundaries is the best work I’ve done over the past five years. It has saved me. Sometimes, though, it has also isolated me.

Again, the window display of Steph Stoneback’s new book,Pinot and Peril, snags my attention. My stomach swoops. How much longer will I have to lug around this burning secret about a certainNew York Timesbestselling author whose arrival to our small town is imminent?

If Ian Witherspoon, as proprietor of the only bookshop in town, knew she’d soon be herein the flesh, he’d positively flip. According to Savannah, Ian sank quite a sum into updates on the place and an expanded inventory of new releases, and his high hopes for summer business didn’t quite pan out. What a win if Sweet Reads could host Stoneback for a book signing. Imagine the draw from surrounding towns!

And a win for Sweet Reads is a win for Charity Falls.

Savannah.Willsheforgive me when she learns I’ve harbored such valuable information? Also, Ian has been unbearably kind to me. But tipping off either of them about this? No way. Titillatingas the scoop may be, my loyalty is to theMessenger. And a certain somewhat cantankerous editor.

Savannah’s top half appears at the forest-green Dutch door, and I flush with the weight of guilt. “Lucy. You came,” she says. “I’m surprised you, you know, hadtime.”

“Of course,” I say a little breathlessly. “Your text. It sounded ... important.”

Maybe it’s because this side of the street is veiled in late-day shadow, but something about my friend seems off. Savannah lacks her usual ebullience. She even looks a bit ... splotchy? Not like someone looking to celebrate a win.

I gulp. Because as true as it is that I need to maintain boundaries, my reputation as a wishy-washy homebody of a friend is also valid. Also, Savannah’s not wrong. Ididhave plans. Plans to curl up on the sofa with a novel while catching up on laundry. Alone time is a rare treasure not everyone values to the same degree.

Confession: Instead of jogging down here, I was tempted to phone her instead.

I know. Bad friend. Bad, lazy friend.

So here I am, hoping to make up for my initial hesitancy by asking the obvious follow-up question in person. President ofwhat(other than the Lucas Gordon fan club)?

“Sooo,” I coo, “tell me about your news!”

“I ... what? I already told you. In the text. Hey, do me a favor and grab that sandwich board, would you?” While I heft the sign inside, Savannah crouches to unlock the wheels on a metal cart filled with paperbacks on a BOGO sale.

“Here, I’ll get the door. Am I too late to order a drink?” I help her across the threshold with the cart. Six o’clock may be closing time for Sweet Reads, but any time is chocolate o’clock for me.

“What kind of loser-ish friend do you think I am? I invited you, remember? Anyway, Ian asked me to keep the tea bar open a little later. There’s an event here tonight.”

“Oh, sorry,” I whisper. “In that case, I can be quieter.”

“No worries. I don’t think anyone’s shown up yet. But you’re being weird, Lucy. I expected you to be more, I don’t know, more excited, I guess.”

“I am, of course!” I say over the loud hiss of the milk she’s steaming. “I mean, I’m just a little surprised is all.” To my knowledge, Savannah’s never expressed interest in any kind of leadership position.

She turns a crank, cutting the hiss into silence. “You thinkyou’resurprised? Tell me about it.”

“So, where did this happen? At book club?”

Savannah blinks twice.