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Living in a world where everyone knew her name, it was easy to see she wanted somewhere to sit and be normal, and my shop was just the place.

Chapter Six

If I thought I’d obsessed about Cass visiting the store before, I was a complete wreck now. Finally, I had someone to share the shop with. Not that she’d come to work with me or anything, but to actually have someone in the shop, someone who actually wanted to be there and had the same memories I did? It was amazing. My sister thought I was out of my mind, but then she didn’t know who Cassidy was. I decided to keep her full identity a secret as it really wasn’t my place.

Besides, it wasn’t like I saw our old acquaintance going much further than that. It was nice to talk books with someone who actually got it instead of rambling things off to my sister while she only half-listened to whatever it was I’d said.

Bridget used to love books as much as I did, but when our dad passed away, she gave up on them as well.

To be honest, I probably would’ve done the same thing if books hadn’t always been my escape from the real world.

They were the closest thing I had to a therapist because whenever I was inside a book, I was able to take a break from my own head. Needless to say, I read as often as I could, which was never as much as I liked.

Between working at the shop, going over bills, and planning how long I could stretch things out, there was very little time left for books. Somehow, I made time every single day, forfeiting a full night’s sleep for a handful of chapters, chapters that turned into the entire book if it happened to be one of the really good ones.

Until last night. Until I had something else to look forward to.

As soon as she walked into the shop with a bag in one hand and a tray of coffees in the other, I couldn’t help but smile.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I decided to get us breakfast.”

She stepped up to the counter and deposited the items, removing a pair of muffins from the bag before throwing it

away. “I can’t get anything done on an empty stomach and felt rude just getting something for myself.”

I smiled my thanks and put the inventory I’d been working on to the side. The cranberry orange muffin was a welcomed surprise, one of which I devoured without giving it a second thought.

“I’m not too early, am I?” she asked, giving the stack of books a worried glance.

I followed her line of sight, then quickly waved her concerns away. “Not at all. They can wait until later. I tend to get around to the inventory whenever I get the chance.”

She nodded, then looked around the room, pausing to admire the wall of books she’d noticed the last time she was in along with the front window. “This room used to get so much light,” she said in a warm voice, pressing her back into the counter as she slowly took apart her own muffin, one bite at a time.

Much like before, she was covered in layers, turning away from the front window whenever someone happened to walk by the shop.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” I asked, walking over to join her on the other side of the counter.

“Do I ever get tired of what?” She tilted her head to the side, the hint of a smile teasing her pink lips.

“Hiding?” I wasn’t exactly sure what to call it, but it was painfully clear she didn’t want to be bombarded by her fans.

She released a breath, then reached behind her to grab one of the coffees. “Sometimes,” she admitted, taking a sip before closing the lid again. “While I love my fans, there are times I wish I could just go outside without sunglasses or wearing a million layers, you know?”

“I might not be able to relate but I do understand. Finding your normal, new or otherwise, is usually what keeps us sane.

It’s my routine that actually gets me through the day most of the time.”

“Yeah, but at least you can walk down the street without getting pulled aside every now and then. I used to love walking all through town, but what once took me all of two hours can take three or more depending on how much someone wants to talk. And if the vendor I go to doesn’t understand the way you and the folks at Maggie’s do, that time ends up being even longer.”

“I can’t stand when someone recognizes me in the grocery store and insists on talking for fifteen minutes, especially when that someone only knew me from band practice in high school.”

She laughed at that. “Band practice, huh?” She looked at me a moment, tapping her chin as she did. “I guess I could see that.”

“I didn’t last long,” I admitted with a shrug. “It wasn’t for me.”

“But I bet creativ

e writing was.”