Page 23 of Library or Lattes?

Lennie and I walked slowly to class, since my regular calc class was right next to her AP Chem.

“Do you think Sara will go to Harvest Festival?” Lennie asked me hopefully.

“I mean, doesn’t everyone go, really? Sara has that girl-next-door thing going on. She totally looks like a Harvest Festival kind of girl.”

“She might be too cool for it. But there’s literally nothing else to do, so maybe she’ll be forced to go, dragged from her bedroom that probably looks like a Pinterest board.” Lennie sighed and held her hand over her heart.

“Why don’t you just ask her?” I whispered, because just then Sara walked through the door to take her seat in class. Lennie grabbed my hand and we stopped in the hall.

“I can’t just ask her. Oh, and just to throw it right back at ya: Are you going to tell everyone about London?”

I nodded. “I will, soon. Maybe when I’m definitely sure?”

“Got it,” Lennie agreed. “Though I think you know you are definitely sure …?” She lowered her voice. “You could ask him to Harvest Festival …”

“Who?” I pretended not to know who she was talking about.

She rolled her eyes. “The Weatherman!!”

“What? So he can make fun of our town even more?” My lip curled in disgust.

“Because you think he’s cute?”

Lennie grinned, but I looked away and dodged the question. “I wish he’d just go back to wherever he came from.” But then that mountain scent was in my head again. That memory of being in his arms.

“I hate to tell you, but you’re blushing,” Lennie teased.

“I am not! We’re going to be late for class.” I turned and felt Lennie laughing at my total lie until I closed the door behind me.

Lennie wanted to stop in Main Street Books on the way home after school. “Sara finished her book today in calc,” she reported. “She was reading it under her desk. So … she’ll definitely need a new one!” Lennie nodded like she’d figured it all out already (and like Sara would never think of going to the library instead).

“Okay, Miss Marple,” I laughed. “I’m up for playing Cupid. And I’ll have a look at the new travel section? Or maybe it’s not new, and Mary Ellen has just moved books around again, I can never tell …” My stomach flipped as I thought of London.

On our way down Main Street, Lennie told me the plan. “Okay, we need to go and stand near classic fiction,” she said.

“I don’t know what she likes, but I think if we stand near that section then she’ll think we’re really smart.” Lennie’s words were all running into each other, and she wiped her palms on her favorite red sweater.

I raised an eyebrow under my green woolen hat. “You are really smart.”

“Oh, I know, in like school stuff, but she doesn’t know that. I need her to know I’m like world-smart and interesting. Maybe I’ll pick up a really thick novel and pretend to read?” Lennie raised her eyebrows.

I laughed. “Okay. Classics it is.”

I’d always loved Main Street Books. Pop used to take me there after school sometimes when I was little, and I still remembered the smell of its old paperbacks, transporting us back in time. The store smelled exactly the same today when I pushed open the rickety door.

It was small and cramped, with books piled everywhere in a sort of order. All the classics were on a table near the back, and the rest of the fiction was supposed to be in alphabetical order, but last time I checked, Rebecca Yarros and Stephen King didn’t belong beside each other. It all made for good browsing, anyway. Perfect for Lennie.

The bookstore owner, Mary-Ellen, had put up string lights shaped like little pumpkins. They cascaded down the bookshelves haphazardly, adding to the whole messy comfort of the store.

Mary-Ellen appeared from behind a pile of books, her big round glasses grubby as ever—I had no idea how she saw through them. “Can I help you girls find anything?”

“Oh, no thanks, Mary-Ellen, just here to browse. I really like your lights.” I nodded at the tangled string on the bookshelf in front of me.

Mary-Ellen went to “tidy” the upstairs part of the store, and Lennie whispered, “Do you think she’ll come?”

And then by some weird coincidence, or fate if you’re into that sort of thing, Sara walked through the door.

She was in a camel-colored sweater and blue jeans, her brown hair pulled into a ponytail, and she stared intently at a row of books near the door. I could see why Lennie thought she was cute. She was pretty, but she also had a kind of warm, twinkly expression that drew you in. Which was why I didn’t mind making the first move.