Two Hearts Trilogy E-Book

Harper Bliss

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Two Hearts Trilogy
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Seitenzahl: 492

Beschreibung

A small-town lesbian romance about accepting who you truly are

In the small town of Donovan Grove, Anna Gunn’s life is organized just the way she likes it: work from home, walks with her dog, Friday night drinks at the bar.

But Anna’s strict routine is challenged when the local bookstore is taken over by city slicker, Zoe Perez.

Will Anna let Zoe into her life, despite the major disruption she will have to tolerate?

And can Zoe look past Anna’s eccentricity and embrace her unconventional behavior?

Find out in this slow-burn lesbian romance that will touch you deeply.

This trilogy bundles the novellas Two Hearts Alone, Two Hearts Together & Two Hearts Forever.

What readers are saying about the Two Hearts Trilogy:

“This book made me forget about everything but the marvellous feeling it left.”

“The burn is building and I love that it’s slow!”

“Gentle, humorous at times, and very kind.”

“Zoe and Anna make me smile.”

“Heartfelt romance with a difference.”

“Beautifully written and as true to life as you can get.”

Leseprobe

Two Hearts Trilogy

Harper Bliss

Contents

Special Offer from the Author

Two Hearts Alone

1. Anna

2. Zoe

3. Anna

4. Zoe

5. Anna

6. Zoe

7. Anna

8. Zoe

9. Anna

10. Zoe

11. Anna

12. Zoe

13. Anna

14. Zoe

15. Anna

16. Zoe

17. Anna

18. Zoe

19. Anna

20. Zoe

21. Anna

22. Zoe

23. Anna

Two Hearts Together

1. Zoe

2. Anna

3. Zoe

4. Anna

5. Zoe

6. Anna

7. Zoe

8. Anna

9. Zoe

10. Anna

11. Zoe

12. Anna

13. Zoe

14. Anna

15. Zoe

Two Hearts Forever

1. Anna

2. Zoe

3. Anna

4. Zoe

5. Anna

6. Zoe

7. Anna

8. Zoe

9. Anna

10. Zoe

11. Anna

12. Zoe

13. Anna

14. Zoe

15. Anna

16. Zoe

17. Anna

18. Zoe

19. Anna

20. Zoe

Author’s Note

Excerpt from ‘That Woman Next Door’

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

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About the Author

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Details can be found at the end of this book.

To my wife, the Zoe to my Anna

Two Hearts Alone

1

Anna

Hemingway doesn’t care that it’s snowing outside. He sits by the front door, waiting for me. I’ve tried ignoring him for ten minutes, but even when I don’t see him, I can still sort of see him. That sad, disappointed face with the dramatically droopy eyes, which he only ever puts on when I don’t snap on his leash at 10 a.m. sharp.

But the mid-January cold seems to have seeped into my bones and the prospect of going outside fills me with more dread than usual.

“Remind me again why I got you?” I ask Hemingway.

He turns his face toward me and turns up the drama in his eyes, his snout pointing wistfully toward the door.

As soon as I grab my coat, Hemingway perks up. He wags his tail in anticipation.

“You and I,” I mumble, “we’re not the same. I wonder how we can even live together.” I’m reminded of a podcast I listened to the other week, in which someone claimed that dogs used to walk themselves. But walking Hemingway is one of the reasons I got him in the first place. If I didn’t have to take him out twice daily, I’d never leave my house most days. He’s my connection to the outside world.

Hemingway gives an excited bark as I put on his leash. I find my warmest hat and gloves, and head into the snow.

The cold hits me hard in the face, but Hemingway is pulling on his leash, and I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself. He tugs me forward along our usual route. I half-walk half-jog behind him, keeping my face down. Because Donovan Grove is the kind of town where people keep their driveways clear, it’s not that hard to make my way along the sidewalk, but I do have to ask Hemingway to moderate his tempo for fear of slipping on the snow. It wouldn’t be the first time. When I got him two years ago, in the middle of winter, I let his enthusiasm get the best of me a few times and paid for it by ending up face-down in the snow.

What I like most about Hemingway is that he’s so utterly predictable. Every single day, he does his business on the same street corner—and I dispose of it in the doggy waste bin that was put there especially for Hemingway’s needs by the Donovan Grove council. I would never have requested a waste bin myself, but for some reason my mother felt it necessary. So, there it is.

“Good boy, Hem.” I give him a scratch behind the ear and, in return, he gives me a look filled with such love it almost makes me forget about the cold.

We continue our walk. The streets are quiet, even Main Street where usually a few shoppers dwell. I follow Hemingway’s paw prints on the thin layer of snow that has fallen since the sidewalk was last shoveled. Then I slowly get used to the cold and I lift my head up a little higher. This is how it goes every single day in winter. Getting out of the house is the hardest part, but once I’m out, I try to enjoy the walk as much as Hemingway does.

The familiarity of my surroundings soothes me. The window displays in the stores change as we cycle through every season, but that’s about it. When we reach the end of Main Street, I do notice something different. Bookends, the bookstore that’s been empty for months, has a light on inside.

And not just that, but a big heart’s been spray-painted onto the window.

“Oh no,” I mumble, making Hemingway stop in his tracks. “Don’t tell me the old bookstore will be turning into some cheesy gift shop.”

I peer through the window and I can hardly believe my eyes. Granted, it’s been a while since I actually looked through the window, since the place has been boarded up for months, but still, the transformation from derelict bookstore to whatever this is, is impressive.

The old, dark bookshelves have been painted with bright colors and stacks of books are waiting to find their place. My heart does a little jump at the prospect of the bookstore reopening, but then my gaze is drawn to the big heart on the window again. Inside it, also spray-painted, someone—presumably the new owner—has written: Valentine’s Day is coming!

I only got rid of my Christmas tree last week—always a bit of a sad event. Not only because I love the coziness of Christmas, but also because soon enough, and the evidence is already glaring straight at me, I’ll be reminded of how society believes it’s awful and pitiful that I’m single. It’s bad enough already that my mother thinks so, although she has gotten a bit better at hiding her dismay.

“Can you believe this?” I mutter under my breath, my words visible in the small cloud that emanates from my mouth. But Hemingway doesn’t care. He just wants to get on with his walk.

“We’ll go in a second,” I reassure him, not that he understands. I look past the ridiculous drawing and words on the window and try to see more of the store inside. Mrs. Fincher, who ran the bookstore until she retired last summer, always had a recommendation for me whenever I came in—and I did often. The closing of the old Bookends left a gaping hole in my schedule for a long time. But Mrs. Fincher, especially after Mr. Fincher passed away, hated Valentine’s Day as much as I do, and she would never have disgraced her store window with a ludicrous drawing of a heart. In fact, I’d wager, if she were to walk past right now and notice it, she might have a heart attack, just like her husband did.

“This is basically a health hazard,” I say, but Hemingway still doesn’t care. He has calmed down now and sits quietly by my side, glancing around.

I see some movement in the shop. A young woman—she can’t be older than Jaden, my nephew—is hauling a big box.

The sight of another human is enough to make me back away from the window and continue my walk swiftly.

2

Zoe

“Someone weird was just looking inside,” Brooklyn says. “They hurried off as soon as they saw me though.”

“A future satisfied customer, no doubt.” I have to keep my own spirits up as well as my daughter’s.

“There isn’t much else in this town, so sure, Mom.” At least Brooklyn’s trying today, as opposed to yesterday, when I could barely get her out of bed. The move from Queens to upstate New York is much harder on her, especially because it’s happening in the middle of the school year. Things have not gone down the way either of us had planned.

“It will take some time, sweetie,” I repeat. It seems to have become my mantra. Things will change for you as soon as you start school again, I add in my head. If I were to say it out loud, it wouldn’t go down well. The changing of schools is still a very sore subject—which I do understand.

Brooklyn looks around the store, which is a mess. We only removed the shutters last night. The first thing I did this morning was paint an obnoxiously big heart on the window. I refuse to let my lonely heart make me cynical—or I can at least pretend that it doesn’t.

“That you gave up your cushy Amazon job for this,” Brooklyn says on a sigh.

“Come here, mija.” I hold out my hand to her. She just stares at it. I bridge the distance between us and take her hand in mine. “I know this is hard. It’s the middle of winter, Mama just left, and we’re in this brand-new town where we don’t know anyone, but…” I pull her a little closer. “You have me. Your mom. And we’re going to make the best of it; that’s what we Perez women do. And you know what? In the end, it will be amazing.”

“If you say so.” She hugs me back a little, which is the most I can expect from my fifteen-year-old under the circumstances.

“Once the store is open, we’ll meet lots of people.” Which is why I want to get it ready for opening as quickly as possible. I had hoped to be able to open for business in a few days, but with how things are looking right now, it might actually take a couple of weeks.

“God knows what they’ll be like.” Brooklyn grumbles it more than she says it.

Her hand is still in mine as I lead her to the window. “Look at it,” I say. “Isn’t it picture-perfect?”

Brooklyn just shrugs. Maybe I did ask too much of her. Maybe I should have stuck it out in Queens, and everything it came to stand for, until she finished high school.

I look out the window, taking in Donovan Grove’s Main Street. There’s the diner across the street, where we will go for lunch later, after we’ve unpacked a few more boxes. There’s the hardware store and the mini-mart and the bakery, all filled with people we’ve yet to meet. A happy mother will always make for a happier child, I repeat in my head.

A man and a woman walk past the window and briefly stop. The woman gives a quick wave, then they’re back on their way through the snow that keeps on falling. Bernard, who owns the candy store next door, was quick to tell me that not clearing the sidewalk in front of your dwelling could result in grumbling neighbors, of which, I got the impression he surely would be one if I didn’t get my shovel out quickly. So I’ve tasked Brooklyn with keeping the sidewalk as clear as possible. If this snow keeps up, she’ll have to go out again soon.

“Do you want to call Marsha and Juan?” I ask, referring to our friends back in Queens, the ones that were hardest to leave behind.

Brooklyn’s body releases some tension. “That’s okay, Mom,” she says. “We have shit to get done.” She wriggles her hand loose from my grasp and opens a box. She sighs the sort of sigh only a teenager can get away with. “Where do you want these?” She holds up a pack of bright-red Valentine’s Day cards.

“We need to put the rack together first. I’m not sure it’s a job for two women on their own.” I hold my smile.

“Oh yes, it is. There’s not a job in this place the two of us can’t get done.” The sullenness in her voice has been replaced by feistiness. “Where is it?”

I point at a box close to the door. As my gaze sweeps around the store, I am briefly reminded of what Brooklyn called ‘my cushy Amazon job’. It might have paid well, but it was far from cushy or comfortable. This store might be a mess, but as Brooklyn just said, it’s nothing we can’t handle. It will take some elbow grease and a lot of energy, but this is the beginning of our new life together, in a brand-new town—Donovan Grove, where there happened to be a bookstore for sale just as I started looking for one. Just as I started to gently contemplate a different life for us. So here we are.

Brooklyn’s tearing open the box. “Just because I’m putting together this rack,” she says, “doesn’t mean I approve of you selling this sappy, capitalist crap.”

“We give people what they want,” I counter. “So we can make a living.”

“This is not what people want, Mom. Maybe when you were young they did, but Valentine’s Day is simply not woke.”

“Ouch, girl.”

“I bet you that no one of my age will buy one of those cards.”

“Oh really?”

“Just retired people. And men who have something to make up for with their wives,” she says.

“So young, yet so cynical.” I flatten the cardboard box she just tore open.

“I guess that’s what happens when your other mother decides to no longer give a f—” She stops herself before I can chastise her for swearing. “To not care about you any longer.”

“Eve does care, baby. She loves you.” I have to say these things, even though I could have strangled Eve when she told us that she was moving abroad months earlier than planned. The moving abroad alone was enough of a punch in the gut for Brooklyn, but making her change her plans—making her move out here with me much earlier than anticipated—was like pulling the rug from underneath her feet entirely.

Brooklyn rolls her eyes. “Let’s not do this again. If she really cared, she wouldn’t be where she is right now.”

“I know, baby. I know.” I look at the rack we’re trying to assemble, hoping to distract her.

“It’s just for a year,” Eve said, when she first told us she was moving to Shanghai.

“A year is still twelve months of your daughter’s life that you’ll miss,” I said.

Because Eve was going to be away for a year, we agreed that Brooklyn would stay with her in the city, while I got settled in Donovan Grove. That way, Brooklyn could make the move in the summer and she’d get to spend some extra quality time with her other parent. Now, she’s had to move out here with hardly any notice, while her other mother lives the high life in Asia. It’s hardly fair on Brooklyn, but it’s how it is.

“I can do this on my own.” Brooklyn squats down.

“But you don’t have to.” I crouch down next to her and give her a hand.

3

Anna

“I’ve seen them around,” Sean says, when I inform him of Bookends’ imminent reopening. “A foxy lady and her teenage daughter.”

I raise an eyebrow at the word ‘foxy’. If any other man had uttered it, I might be offended, but not when Sean does.

“You know what I mean.” Sean shrugs. “And for your information, I used the exact same word when I described the new woman to Cathy.” He bends to pet Hemingway, who is sitting next to him, waiting for the treat Sean always gives him.

“Anything I need to know about?” I bring the topic of conversation back to business.

“I really don’t know, Anna. I’ve just seen them walking around town. I really don’t know if she’s—”

“What are you talking about?”

“The new Bookends owner. What are you talking about?”

Hemingway puts his head on Sean’s knee.

“I was talking about business, of course.”

“Ah,” he says pointedly. “You pulled an Anna. You moved on without telling me.”

“Don’t call it that. People do that all the time.”

“Sure.” He looks at his screen. “Nothing new. The Lindsay Hare cover is due tomorrow, but…” He narrows his eyes as he focuses on his screen. “You’ve sent it to me already.”

“If it’s not early, it’s late.” I repeat what I always say.

“Hm,” is all Sean replies. “Nothing new. Things are usually a bit slow in January.”

“At least we didn’t get any Valentine’s Day related orders this year.” I shake my head. “I think the new Bookends is betting big on V-Day this year.”

“Really? I’ll have to hop in then. Surprise my lady.”

“It’s not open yet,” I say dryly.

“It’s not Valentine’s Day yet.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

“Hey, when the day comes, you should spend it here. There’s always a free desk for you here, Anna. You know that.”

“What are you saying? That I shouldn’t be left alone on the most stupid, over-commercialized holiday—if you can even call it that—ever?”

“Um, no, that’s not what I mean at all,” Sean says.

“Well, you know I only work from home, so…” Sean should consider himself lucky that I pop in a few times a week to have a quick chat.

“Hm.” He’s an expert in giving monosyllabic replies. He finally reaches for the drawer where he keeps the dog treats. Hemingway’s ears perk up immediately.

“We’ll be off then,” I say, after Hemingway has devoured a few dog biscuits.

“Bye, handsome boy,” Sean says, then looks at me. “I was talking to Hemingway.”

“Give my love to your better half.” I close the door behind me and brace for the cold again.

A few years ago, Sean expanded the office he rents into a co-working space. I’m not sure where he got the idea that I wanted to share an office with anyone, even him, but I made quick work of telling him that he’d better rent out the desk he was saving for me as well.

At first, it was mainly just him in the office, but these days, even Donovan Grove has more and more people working from home who just want to get out of the house a few days a week. To show my support, I gave him a few paintings to hang on the walls, and offered a couple of other interior design tips, which he sorely needed, but that’s as far as my physical co-working with anyone will go. Sean and I co-own a graphic and web design business, and that’s more than enough collaboration for me to handle.

Ideally, I’d work alone, but I need someone like Sean to deal with the people side of the business, not that his people skills are so stellar, but at least he doesn’t mind doing it. Sometimes, I swear he believes he’s good at it. He must have some expertise because we haven’t gone out of business yet, even though we both realize our small company won’t ever make us rich—or even well-off. I’m fine with that. I make a mental note to check in with Sean if he still is—it’s been a while since I’ve done that.

Sean’s a good guy that I’ve known all my life, whom I consider my best friend. I can trust him and we have a good set-up going.

I snicker at the memory of Sean calling the new Bookends owner ‘foxy’. Personally, I haven’t had the pleasure of running into any new townsfolk that could be considered foxy. What else did he say? A mother and daughter? It must’ve been the daughter I caught a glimpse of when I looked into the store window. Usually, it’s families with two point four kids who are sick of city life that move to Donovan Grove and the surrounding towns. Usually, they don’t take over bookstores either. Mrs. Fincher might have been ready to retire, but she didn’t exactly leave a thriving business behind.

As I make my way home from Sean’s office, I keep my eyes peeled for any unfamiliar faces. Donovan Grove isn’t that small a town and there are thousands of people who live here that I don’t know, yet someone new is always easy to spot. There’s the sense of unfamiliarity in their gaze. And sometimes, oh horror, they’re so keen to make eye contact because they want to meet the locals—and walking around with Hemingway makes me an easy target. If I had my way, I’d go on my daily walk without talking to anyone, but, except for the year I thought I’d try to make it in the big city and failed miserably, I’ve lived here all my life and that automatically makes me acquainted with too many people eager for a chat.

“How’s Hemingway?” they ask.

“He doesn’t reply when I ask him,” I always think, but never say out loud.

I’m almost home and it doesn’t seem as though I’ll need my voice anymore today. Despite the too early display of Valentine’s Day eagerness, I’m happy that Bookends is reopening. I believe in supporting local businesses—being co-owner of one myself, even though ninety-five percent of our business is conducted on the internet—and having to shop online for books hasn’t been the same.

I do wonder if the ‘foxy lady’ will have any recommendations at the ready. She must be a reader. Otherwise, taking over a bookstore in a mid-size town wouldn’t make any sense at all.

I can see my house now, with its bright red front door. Every single time I approach my home, something inside me flutters. I’ve spent years and all the money I’ve ever earned on making it just right for Hemingway and me. Most days, I don’t need anything but the coziness of my house and the company of my dog.

4

Zoe

An older woman I’ve seen walk by a few times stops in front of the store window. She taps the glass with a fingertip. I wave to beckon her in, which is clearly what she wants.

The door is unlocked and she breezes inside, bringing in a gust of icy wind. Somehow, the air feels colder here than it did in Queens.

“Hi.” Her lips are stretched into a wide smile. “I’m Sherry Gunn. I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m so excited this store is reopening. For the longest time, it looked like it would be empty forever.” She offers me her hand.

“Hi Sherry. I’m Zoe Perez. Thanks so much for stopping by.” I’m just glad for the opportunity to strike up a conversation with another adult. “I’ve seen you walk by a couple of times.”

Sherry nods. “I didn’t want to disturb you before, but it looks like you’re almost ready to open.” She glances around the shop. “I love what you’ve done to the place.”

“Thank you.” Our days of unpacking and redecorating are finally paying off. “The store will open this weekend. I’m very excited. Just waiting on a few last-minute deliveries.”

“My daughter’s going to be thrilled that Bookends is back,” Sherry says. “She always has her nose in a book. She was crushed when Mrs. Fincher retired. I told her. ‘Anna,’ I said, ‘maybe this is a sign. This is your chance to own your very own bookstore.’ But she just likes to read books, not sell them.”

“In that case, I can’t wait to meet her.”

“I’m sure you will soon enough. How are you settling in? You’re new to town, aren’t you?”

“My daughter and I moved here from Queens a few weeks ago. It’s quite the change. Brooklyn’s starting at Donovan Grove High on Monday. She’s a bit nervous, as you can imagine.”

“How old is she?” Sherry asks.

“Just turned fifteen.”

“Same age as my grandson Jaden. Tell you what. I’ll try to pop into the store with him when you open on Saturday… Maybe Brooklyn would like to meet someone who goes to DG High before she starts?”

“That would be so lovely, Mrs. Gunn. I’m sure she would appreciate that.”

“Oh, please, call me Sherry. Mrs. Gunn makes me feel so ancient.” She cocks her head. “It’s a personal point of pride for me that Donovan Grove is a welcoming town. Have you seen the noticeboard in the grocery store? Every few months, we try to get people who are new to town together at Lenny’s, the local bar, which is just down the street from here.”

“Wow.” I haven’t seen the sign. I’ve been far too occupied with getting accustomed to a new store—where you still pay an actual cashier at the checkout. “That’s so lovely. Do a lot of people turn up to these things?”

“It depends. We don’t get that much new blood into Donovan Grove anymore these days. The odd family escaping the rat race, perhaps, but they tend to keep more to themselves. Parents with young children in a new town are usually quite busy. But if and when we do have someone move to our lovely town, we treat them well. Most people who leave the city prefer the more picturesque towns, or somewhere smaller than here. Somehow, the Grove is always somewhat overlooked. But we do our best.”

Sherry is a well of information. And an excellent first point of contact in Donovan Grove, it would appear. “I’ll see you at the next meet-up then.”

“You’ll see me before that. On Saturday. For the grand opening.” Sherry looks around with what I think is approval.

“Of course. I hope Jaden will make it. Is he your daughter Anna’s son?”

“Oh, no. Anna doesn’t have any children. Jaden is my son Jamie’s child. He has a younger boy named Jeremy as well. His wife’s name’s Janet. They like the letter J in that family, as you can tell. They even have a cat named Jazz.” She shakes her head briefly.

I smile at her. “I can’t wait to meet them all.”

“Anna’s not going to be fond of that big heart on your window, though. Every single year, the same speech. Even when she was still with Cynthia, she would rail against it. It’s kind of her thing. She simply cannot stand Valentine’s Day and being who she is, she can’t just let it slide.” Sherry straightens her posture. “But they’re my children and I must accept them, quirks and all.” Sherry gives me the kind of smile that implies she would accept anything from her children. The kind of smile that radiates motherly love—and that seems to extend to new people in her town as well.

I decide on the spot that I like Sherry and her very forward but welcoming way.

“I’ll let you get on with things. Unless you need a hand?”

“That’s very kind of you, Sherry. But as you can see, we’re as good as ready to go. But thank you so much for stopping by. I really appreciate it.”

“I think you’ll do well here,” she says. “In fact, I know it.” With that, she turns and is out of the door, stepping into the freezing cold without hesitation.

It’s only when Sherry has been gone a few minutes and I’ve had the chance to mull over our conversation in my head that I realize she just outed her daughter to me. Anna has an ex-girlfriend named Cynthia. No children. Sherry basically gave me the lowdown on her entire family in the span of five minutes—and from what I understand, her daughter isn’t straight. Things are looking up already—and I haven’t even opened the store yet.

With a spring in my step, I start stacking the books in the Self-Help section.

5

Anna

“Oh, Anna,” Mom says, then stops. It’s as if she can only stop herself from saying something when the words are already coming out of her mouth.

I know what she was about to say, however. It’s only recently that she has stopped expressing utter despair over how I choose to dress and style—or rather not style—my hair. She cuts her gaze away from me and I ignore her unsaid comment. I’m nervous enough as it is. I’m not sure why my mother insisted I join her at the opening of Bookends—it’s not as though I received a formal invitation or anything. And a gathering of more than two people I don’t know will always agitate me. But she insisted and, over the years, I’ve learned to compromise—to give her what little I have to offer as a daughter. Showing up to Bookends is, in many other ways, easy enough. I walk past here every day and I love bookshops. So much so that my curiosity almost wins over my anxiety.

Until I spot, in the corner opposite me, perusing the Young Adult section, the last person I want to see.

“Oh shit. Cynthia’s here.”

“You two still get along, don’t you?” Mom says. I’m surprised she’s even listening—surprised that she hasn’t yet wandered off to mingle because, unlike me, she must know every single person here.

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“It’s been two years since you guys broke up, Anna,” Mom says. “You should be able to deal with bumping into her unexpectedly.”

I just nod, even though I disagree. Cynthia is quite possibly the kindest and most patient person I’ve ever met, yet I managed to drive her away. I will never be able to deal with my failure as a partner and seeing her will always remind me of that.

“That woman over there.” Mom points at a woman balancing a tray of cupcakes on her hand while smiling widely at everyone she turns to. She looks very glossy—dark, bouncy hair like she’s just stepped out of a shampoo commercial and perfect, light brown skin—in a long, flowy dress. Much too glam for Donovan Grove. Or maybe her appearance makes me feel extra frumpy. “She’s the new owner. Her name’s Zoe. I met her the other the day.”

“Of course you did.” If anything, I admire my mother’s ability to strike up a conversation with anyone. It’s just a pity that none of that ever rubbed off on me.

“She’s lovely. I must introduce you. I imagine you’ll become one of her best customers.”

“Sure.” I always cringe when my mother wants to introduce me to someone. And I haven’t forgotten my first glimpse of the new Bookends. The big sappy heart painted onto the window way too soon—and too inappropriately. I wonder if a woman so fond of something as inauthentic as Valentine’s Day can ever recommend a book I will enjoy reading.

Just then, I see Cynthia is making her way toward us.

“Stick around,” I whisper to my mother. I know it makes me sound like an insecure teenager, but that’s actually pretty much how I feel. “Cynthia’s coming over.”

“Sherry.” Cynthia greets my mother first—something I can hardly blame her for. “How lovely to see you. It’s been too long.”

They hug as though they are long lost friends. Cynthia and I were together for the better part of six years, so in a way, they are.

“Anna. Hi,” Cynthia says. “How are you?”

“Hi.” I’m not one for exuberant greetings. Luckily, Cynthia knows this about me and she keeps her distance. “I’m fine. You?”

“I’m elated Bookends is reopening. Have you met Zoe?” Cynthia asks.

“Can’t say that I have.”

Cynthia narrows her eyes and gives me a look I can’t decipher. “We should get together some time, Anna. It’s been too long. We should catch up.”

“What an excellent idea,” Mom chimes in, making me regret asking her to stay. She still clings to the idle hope that Cynthia and I will get back together, even though it’s been two years since we broke up.

“Sure. We’ll set something up.” I don’t mean it, but I know that’s what I’m supposed to say. Why would I open old wounds by meeting up with my ex?

“I’d like to talk to you about something,” Cynthia says. “Something I’d like you to hear directly from me.” She looks at her watch. “Want to go for a drink after this?”

“Hm, I don’t think I can. Hemingway needs—”

My mother clears her throat. “I can take Hemingway for a walk.”

“Why don’t we walk Hemingway together?” Cynthia asks.

“Hi. Welcome to Bookends.” The woman my mother pointed out to me earlier has appeared next to us, a huge smile plastered on her face. “Welcome back, Sherry,” she says, instantly endearing herself to my mother.

Mom introduces us, and for a minute it’s an awkward jumble of limply exchanged handshakes. Then, somehow, both Cynthia and Mom have their backs to us—someone they both know must have just walked in—and I find myself standing in front of Zoe on my own.

“Your mother promised me you’d be one of my best customers,” Zoe says. Even her lips are shiny. Everything about her is so sparkly, I fear I might be blinded.

“I used to come here all the time.” I know I should at least try a hint of eye contact, so I make the effort. Zoe’s eyes are dark, but that’s all I get from the first glimpse, before I feel compelled to look away.

“Then I hope to see you again soon,” Zoe says.

“Are dogs welcome?” I ask.

For some reason, Zoe thinks this is a funny question. “Sure. Of course. I’m more of a cat person myself, but do bring your dog. Does he like to read?” She chuckles.

I chuckle along while suppressing an urgent question of my own: What’s with the obnoxious heart in your window display?

“I’ll stop by soon,” I promise and watch as Zoe continues her lap through the crowd that has gathered in her new shop.

I’m still recovering from the brightness of her smile, and all of her appearance, when my mother turns back toward me.

“Even the mayor’s here,” she says. “Quite the turn-out.”

“I think I’m going to go now.”

“Already?” She gives me that concerned look I know so well.

“I’ve been here long enough. And I’ll be back.”

“Jamie isn’t here yet with the kids,” she says, followed by, “All right, sweetie. See you tomorrow.” She kisses me very lightly on the cheek. “Enjoy your chat with Cynthia.”

Surely she must know there will be nothing at all enjoyable about that chat for me. I wish it was over already, although I am curious as to what Cynthia has to tell me. It must be quite something if it’s not suitable for an email, which is how we mainly dealt with each other after the break-up.

I cast one last glance into Bookends. Zoe stands out as though a spotlight is following her around, making sure all attention is focused on her. She’s talking to the mayor now, engrossed in conversation with her as if she has known her forever. She’s one of those, I think, as I walk home, my fists dug deep in my more shabby-than-chic pants pockets. One of those people that are the absolute opposite of me.

6

Zoe

“That went well.” I turn to Brooklyn, who’s collecting paper cups and plates.

“Not that many books sold.”

I put her in charge of the register so I could focus on building a rapport with the people who stopped by today.

“Today wasn’t about selling books. It was about networking.” I kick off my heels because my feet are killing me. “Speaking of… you seemed to get along well with that boy.” I waggle my eyebrows at her while I sit down on the bottom step of the stairs that lead to our apartment.

“Who?” Brooklyn tries to sound nonchalant, but I know the inflections in my daughter’s voice like the back of my hand.

“That cute blond guy who kept hovering around the cash register. Did he at least buy something?”

“Oh, Jaden. He bought a card for his grandpa’s birthday.”

“Jaden?” The name sounds familiar. “Is he Sherry’s grandson?”

Brooklyn shrugs. “I didn’t really inquire about his family tree, Mom.”

“Does he go to DG High?”

“Yeah.” She drops the garbage bag she’s been filling. “He said I’d see him there on Monday.”

My lips draw into a smile. I pat the space next to me. “Come sit with your old Mom for a bit.”

The look on her face is reluctant, but the way she leans into me after she sits is the opposite.

“Thank you for moving here with me. Doing this with you from the get-go makes it extra special.”

“I suppose it’ll be all right.”

She has certainly changed her tune. She must really like Jaden. I throw my arm around her. “How about we clean this up tomorrow? Go for a walk through our new town and pick up a pizza?”

“Why don’t you just say you don’t feel like cooking me a nutritious meal.” Brooklyn leans her head on my shoulder. It’s been a long time since she has done that so I enjoy the moment—it might be the very last one ever. She’s growing up so quickly now. Back in Queens, when Eve and I would share custody, she would come home after a few days and I could swear she didn’t look the same as when she’d left for Eve’s. That she had grown an inch. That something undefinable about her face had changed. Three more years and she’ll be going to college—that’s what’s hardest to believe of all.

“I very much don’t.”

“Pizza it is then.” Brooklyn doesn’t make to get up and we sit in silence like that for a while, overlooking the store that will be a big part of our new life.

It’s Saturday evening and even though it’s cold, the weather has cleared up, and I find myself nodding at quite a few people on our impromptu walk. Brooklyn might be on the way to making a friend and I have started breathing new life into Bookends. What a difference a day can make.

As we walk in silence, Brooklyn’s arm hooked through mine, I wonder what Eve is doing now. If she regrets leaving early—leaving her daughter in the lurch like that. I also wonder how someone you’ve known forever can suddenly change on you like that. Or was it not that suddenly and perhaps I just missed all the signs? Eve and I divorced when Brooklyn was only ten, but for her sake, we always tried to get along. We had Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners together. We even went on a trip to Mexico once, although that soon proved to be an unrepeatable experience.

As Brooklyn aged, she needed us less, and we spent less time together, but I never once got the feeling that Eve just wanted to up and leave.

“You’re leaving too,” she told me during a heated argument.

“To a town not even a two-hour drive from the city,” I countered. “As opposed to a fifteen-hour flight to China.”

Brooklyn was always going to spend her weekends here with me—

“Weren’t they at the store earlier as well?” Brooklyn pulls me from my reverie. “They’re so obviously lesbians. They didn’t strike me as being a couple.”

Coming toward us are Anna and Cynthia, flanked by a golden-brown dog with fluffy fur that curls at the edges.

“I don’t think they’re together.” I remember what Sherry told me about her daughter and her ex, Cynthia. “They used to be.”

“This might be as good as it gets for you, Mom.” Even though I’m not looking at her, I can imagine the grin on Brooklyn’s face perfectly. “This town can’t exactly be crawling with lesbians.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Don’t you worry about that, baby.”

“But I do. Moving to a place like this as a single lesbian… what are the odds you’ll ever find someone again?”

“That’s very dramatic, even for a hormonal teenager.” Anna and Cynthia are approaching. It feels different than seeing any of the other guests again. I shake off the thought. Just because they’re lesbians, shouldn’t make it different at all. But I don’t think it’s just that. Even though we only exchanged a few phrases at the party, I sensed an unusual energy coming from Anna that made me curious to get to know her better.

They seem to be wrapped up in conversation. They might not see Brooklyn and me at all.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never considered it, Mom.”

What I am considering at this very moment is that my daughter is not the one I should be having this conversation with. I need to make some friends in this town, people I can lament the possible lack of lesbians with over a glass of white wine. For that reason alone, I’d like to say hello to Anna and Cynthia. They’re obviously still on friendly terms. Maybe we can form our own little lesbian gang of three.

“It was not my prime concern when moving here.” I hold onto Brooklyn a little closer.

We’re about to walk past them.

“Hi,” Brooklyn shouts, and stops walking so abruptly I nearly bump right into her.

“Oh, hey,” Cynthia says.

Anna just smiles stiffly.

“Is this the cutie you want to bring to the store?” I ask. Brooklyn has already crouched down to pet the dog.

“This is Hemingway,” Anna says.

“Very suitable dog for a bookstore,” Cynthia adds.

We all chuckle. I look down and see that Brooklyn and Hemingway might have fallen head over heels in love already. He has his front paws on her knees and his tail is wagging out of control.

“He’s always welcome,” I say to Anna, who smiles shyly. Under the feeble light of the streetlamp, her eyes gleam an odd kind of blue with hints of gray and green.

“Has he fathered any puppies that need a home?” Brooklyn has managed to stand back up.

Hemingway looks up at her longingly.

“His procreation days are long behind him, I’m afraid,” Anna says. “But if you’re looking to adopt a dog, I can point you in the right direction. There are—”

“Oh,” I interrupt her. “We’re really not. We’re just settling in.”

“And you’re more of a cat person,” Anna says.

“Right.” I’d forgotten I’d said that. Although, in the handsome company of Hemingway, I might be easily swayed into a more canine-loving direction.

Then Hemingway starts pulling on his leash. “Dogs can be as much in charge as cats,” Anna says.

We say our goodbyes and they continue their walk.

“So?” Brooklyn asks. “If you had to choose between the two of them, who would you pick?”

“What kind of a question is that?” I loop my arm through hers.

“A logical one,” Brooklyn counters.

“One I won’t dignify with an answer.”

“Oh, come on, Mom. Humor me. It’s the least you can do after dragging me out here to the middle of nowhere.”

“First of all, Donovan Grove is hardly the middle of nowhere. More than fifteen thousand people live here.” When I say it, I realize it’s a far cry from Queens. “And maybe you feel like I dragged you here, but even so, that doesn’t give you the right to ask me inappropriate questions.”

“I still don’t see what’s so inappropriate about my question,” Brooklyn protests. “But fine, don’t tell me.”

For a brief moment, I do consider humoring my daughter, who did follow me out here for the only reason that she is my child and I wanted to start over. While Cynthia might be considered more conventionally attractive, in a wholesome, girl-next-door way, my instinctive answer to Brooklyn’s question would be Anna. There is nothing conventional about her appearance: shortish, dark hair that looks self-cut and finger-combed, a slightly crooked mouth that doesn’t seem to smile much, and a definite preference for comfort clothing. But it’s this unconventionality that makes Anna more interesting to me. “They both look very lovely,” I say, to not be too much of a spoilsport.

“I’d go for the one with the dog. He’s so adorable.” I love the lightness in Brooklyn’s voice. An unexpected sense of warmth fills me at her statement, as if I was somehow waiting for her approval of my choice between Anna and Cynthia.

“He sure is. But don’t go getting any ideas into your head about adopting a dog.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be a perk of living in the countryside? Having pets?”

“This is hardly the countryside.”

“Could have fooled me.” Brooklyn sticks her nose up and sniffs. “I believe I smell pizza.”

7

Anna

“Are you getting any vibes off her?” Cynthia asks.

“Off Zoe?” I have my eyes on Hemingway, who has caught the scent of something. “No. I really don’t.”

“I’m not sure,” Cynthia says. “I’m getting some.”

“I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. I couldn’t help but notice how Tom Granger kept invading her personal space at the opening earlier. It’s only a matter of time before he asks her out.”

“And who can resist Tom Granger?” Cynthia scoffs.

Hemingway halts to stick his nose in a bunch of leaves, so we stop as well.

“Do you know he asked me out a few months after we broke up?” she says.

“Oh, the ignorance of some people.”

“He said, and I quote, ‘that I might want to try a man, now that I was single again’.” She snickers, then her snicker changes into something I can’t quite define. “Turns out,” Cynthia continues, “he wasn’t too far off the mark.”

“What do you mean?” Hemingway has finished his intense sniffing session and is guiding us forward again.

“I mean that I’ve met someone, Anna. Someone unexpected. A man.”

I’m the one who stops in my tracks now. “You what? Who?” I’m not sure I’m understanding this correctly.

“It just happened. I suddenly found myself attracted to him.” Cynthia sounds as though she needs to convince herself of this astonishing fact as much as me. “It surprised me as well, but you know… It happens.”

I start walking again. My brain is frantically trying to process the information Cynthia has just given me. “I didn’t know you were bi,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say. My muscles have tensed up and I find myself falling out of step.

“I didn’t really know either, but here we are. It’s never too late to find out something new about yourself.” When I look at her, she has a big smile on her face.

“Is it someone I know?”

She nods. “Before I tell you, I need you to promise me you won’t freak out.”

“Why? You’re not having an affair with my brother, are you? Or with Sean? Or, heaven forbid, Tom Granger?”

“No, silly.” She inhales deeply, as though calming her nerves, yet there’s something very serene about her face as well. “It’s John Macklehorn.”

“Why would I freak out over that?”

“Because we’ve both known him basically all our lives and… it’s all a bit weird, I guess.”

“It is a bit weird. I mean, were you ever attracted to him when we were still together?”

“No, of course not. This has nothing to do with us, Anna. We’ve been over for so long now.”

“Is it the shortage of lesbians in this town?” It’s only a half-joke.

Cynthia chuckles. “No.”

“Sean just made a new website for John’s business. Online store and the whole shebang.”

“I know.”

“Thanks for telling me.” I still don’t know what to say. Perhaps I should express that I’m happy for her, except that I’m not entirely sure that I am. I should still say it, though. “How long have you been seeing each other?”

“A couple of months. We wanted to go to the Bookends opening together this afternoon, but I figured you’d be there, and I wanted to tell you first. You might see us around town together from now on.”

“I’m really happy for you, Cyn.”

“Thanks.” She bumps her shoulder lightly against mine.

“Mom’s not going to be very pleased. You were always the ideal daughter-in-law for her.”

“She has Janet.”

“That’s what I keep telling her, but the woman will not rest until I’m married, I’m afraid. She believes it’s vital to my happiness that I’m with someone.”

“Is it?”

It’s strange—and hard—being asked that question by my ex-partner. “No, I think we both know it’s not what I want. I sabotaged our relationship toward the end.”

“You were going through a lot of stuff, Anna.”

“Aren’t we all?”

Cynthia is the one who stops now. She comes to stand right in front of me. “No. Not like you. I can see that now.”

“I never wanted any special treatment.” We’re skirting dangerous conversation territory. Soon, the connection between my brain and my mouth will short-circuit again. The only thing I can think of doing is to start walking again.

When Cynthia catches up with me, I say, “This isn’t about me, anyway.”

“Maybe you and I and John can get together some time?” she asks.

“Maybe,” I say, already dismissing the idea in my head.

“He’s just such a sweet guy, Anna.”

“I know he is.” Sometimes I forget how sweet Cynthia is herself.

“I just want to make sure that you don’t see me being with John as some kind of reflection on you,” she says. We seem to have stepped up the pace somewhat.

“What? No, of course I don’t. Why would I?”

“I don’t know. I’ve had trouble before figuring out how your mind works.”

So have I, I want to say, but I bite back the comment—and the self-pity of it. “I don’t feel less of a lesbian because my ex is with a man now.”

“Can we please stop for a minute.” Cynthia doesn’t wait to do as she has requested and I find myself having to turn back.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m having a little trouble picturing you with John, that’s all. It’s unexpected. Of course I knew you wouldn’t be alone for too long. Someone as lovely and warm and wonderful as you. Maybe that’s what I’m having an issue with right now.” Maybe I’m just plain old jealous because my ex has firmly moved on.

“But, Anna,” she says, “you weren’t hoping that you and I might—”

“No, no, don’t be silly,” I interrupt her. “Of course not.”

“You’re not as hard to love as you think you are, you know,” Cynthia says. “I sincerely hope you realize that.”

“I’m really not looking for a relationship, Cyn. And I am genuinely happy for you. Even though, yes, I’m a little jealous. I guess it’s normal. I did love you for a long time. I still have very warm feelings for you and you still mean a great deal to me.”

“Same here. That’s why I needed you to hear this from me.”

“Okay.” I shuffle my weight from one foot to the other. It’s too cold to just stand around like this. “I think I’ll go home now. I need to process.”

“All right, but promise me that when I invite you to spend some time with us, you will at least consider it.”

Cynthia knows me all too well. “I promise.” I do mean it this time because when she looks at me like that, I have no choice but to mean what I say. And I only have to consider it. I don’t have to promise to actually be witness to Cynthia’s new-found romance.

“Thank you.” She takes a step toward me and draws me into a clumsy hug, the thickness of our winter coats a heavy barrier between us.

“Have a good night,” I say.

She crouches down and gives Hemingway a quick cuddle. Then, my dog and I watch her walk off—probably on her way to meet John.

8

Zoe

Bookends is closed on Mondays, which meant I could devote all my attention to accompanying Brooklyn on her first day at her new school, including having freshly baked cookies ready for when she got back, as though it was her first day in elementary school.

Today, Tuesday, is the first real day the store is open for business. Brooklyn’s no longer around to distract me. All the shelves have been stacked. For the first time since moving to Donovan Grove, it all feels very real—and I have time to consider if I made the right choice, uprooting our lives like this.

A few people stop by the window display, but don’t come in. I can’t judge the future of the store on what happens during the first day, but still, every time a shadow darkens the window, my heart skips a beat.

I pour myself cup after cup of coffee, which doesn’t promote calmness of mind. As I putter around the shop, moving things around because I can’t help it, I wonder what my day would have been like if I had stayed in New York. It would have been an ordinary late-January day. And I know for a fact that, even though it’s only Tuesday, I would have been looking forward to Friday already. About a year ago, there came a day when I realized I just couldn’t do it anymore. Go to that office day after day. So I consider myself lucky to be here, even though everything about my future is insecure. It’s much better than the rat race I found myself in.

When Amazon eventually decided against opening headquarters in New York, I didn’t see it as a defeat. It simply accelerated my decision to leave because every day that went by, I felt like I belonged there less.

Do I belong here? I ask my empty shop. What folly to take over a brick-and-mortar bookstore in this age of e-commerce. Ninety-nine percent of the people I told my plans to, gave me the same kind of warning. I’m not here to prove them wrong, although it would make me feel good if I could do it. If I could make this place work.

There’s a shadow by the window again. I send whoever is looking in a big smile, even though I’m not sure they’ll actually be able to see it.

And then, as if my worrying has conjured him, the door opens, and in walks my first potential customer of the day.

“Welcome to Bookends,” I say, trying to curb the enthusiasm in my voice. “Let me know if you need any help.” I don’t recognize the man who has just walked in.

“I heard you have your Valentine’s Day stuff out already. I figured I’d get a head start.”

“Excellent idea.” I walk over to him. “I’m Zoe, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

He has a slightly startled look on his face. He’s probably not used to such an enthusiastic greeting when going into a store. It’s hard for me to hold myself back at the best of times, but today of all days, I have energy in abundance—and all that coffee isn’t helping.

Then he extends his hand. “Sean Denton. Pleasure to meet you, Zoe.” His face breaks into a smile as I shake his hand.

“What’s your significant other into?” I ask, not wanting to presume anything about the gender of his partner.

“Cathy’s pretty traditional. A card and some chocolates should do. My work wife”—he curls his fingers into air quotes—“on the other hand, despises Valentine’s Day with a vengeance, so I just want to get her something to tick her off. Just for my own amusement, really.”

I chuckle. “They’re both very lucky ladies, then.”

“Anna won’t speak to me for days, but that will just add to my glee.”

“Anna?” I ask. “Short black hair? The most adorable dog called Hemingway?”

“That’s the one. We co-own a business. Last week, when you’d just painted that heart on the window, she was already fuming about it.”

“Oh.” I guess I shouldn’t expect Anna at the store until Valentine’s Day is over. “Well.” I quickly regroup, because what do I care that one of Donovan Grove’s lesbians hates Valentine’s Day? It’s completely according to expectations. Lesbians aren’t usually very big on consumer-driven, hetero-normative holidays. They prefer to recycle their garbage instead of giving their partners flowers. “It will be easy to find something for your wife. I’m going to have to think about what you can get Anna.”

“You mean you’re going to help me get on Anna’s nerves?” Sean looks as though he can hardly believe it.

“Of course.”

“All I ever got from Mrs. Fincher was a speech to ‘leave that poor girl alone’,” he says, while glancing around. “She didn’t have such a vast array of possible gifts on display either. In fact, she hardly had any.”

When he says it like that, the overall mood of the store does suddenly strike me as rather red and sappy. But I don’t mind. And I’m the one who has to spend my days here.

“It’s a bit of an experiment. In New York everyone’s so incredibly jaded when it comes to Valentine’s Day, you know? I get that you want to rail against the capitalist angle, but in the end, it’s still a celebration of love.”

“That’s right. You and I are on the same page, Zoe.”

“So what business are you and Anna in?”

“I do web design. She does graphic design.”

“How cool.”

Sean shrugs. “We get by. We’re just a couple of nerds sitting in front of our computers all day.” He gives an unexpected shy smile, as though he’s embarrassed by what he has just said.

“Anna designs a lot of book covers. She used to spend hours in here looking for inspiration. Mrs. Fincher didn’t mind. She liked having Anna and Hemingway around.”

Mrs. Fincher’s name keeps popping up. I’m surprised she hasn’t turned up yet. “Does Mrs. Fincher still live around here?”

“Oh, yes. But she’s on a cruise. One of those long ones with forty-something stops in Europe.”

“Making the most of her retirement.” And the amount I paid her to take over her bookstore.

“Who can blame her?” Sean shuffles his feet. “I’m just going to have a look around.”

“Of course. Shout if you need me.”

“Thanks.” He heads to the Memoir section.

I go stand by the cash register and wait. It feels a little uncomfortable because, despite working for the biggest online bookseller on the planet, I have very little experience hand-selling. I need to get used to the different dynamic. But I did enjoy that little chat with Sean a lot. And I can take the time to think about what he can get Anna to rile her up for Valentine’s Day.