I wanted to say something stupid just to see if I could get it again.
“That’s Agatha Christie for you,” she said. “She’s good at that.”
“That’s an understatement,” I said. “They all did it.”
“They did,” she agreed. “And somehow you never see it coming.” She was already moving, stepping around the display with the ease of someone who knew every inch of this floor. The tension in her shoulders had gone quiet, and I noticed that too—the way she moved differently when she was fully in her element, unhurried and sure of herself in a way she sometimes wasn’t when she was thinking about being watched. She wasn’tthinking about it right now. “Okay. If you liked that, I’ve got something you’ll love.”
I followed her without hesitation, which probably said everything.
I followed her toward the shelves. The wood floor creaked softly under my boots. Light from the front windows slanted between the rows, catching the dust floating in the air and turning it briefly gold before it settled again.
Lucy trailed after us at an easy distance, her hands in her jacket pockets. I could feel her attention moving between the shelves and Cara, and then, at intervals, landing on me. I didn’t mind it. She was watching how I moved in Cara’s space, taking in how I treated her sister. I’d have done the same.
Cara had stopped in front of a section near the back, one hand already moving along the spines, fingers trailing lightly over each one. She paused, tilted a book out, considered it, and put it back. Pulled another one free and turned back to me. “Try this one.”
I took it from her. Our fingers brushed—brief, barely anything—and her hand pulled back a half-second too fast, like she’d registered it before she meant to.
“It’s more modern,” she said, looking at the cover rather than me. “Moves faster. Still keeps you guessing.”
I flipped it over and scanned the back. “You’ve read it?”
“Yeah.”
“You liked it?”
She looked up at me over the top of her glasses. “I don’t recommend things I don’t believe in.”
“Good to know,” I said. I meant it more than I let it show.
She hesitated, then reached back to the shelf and pulled out a second book. “If you want another option, this one’s a little darker. Less cozy, more unsettling.” She turned it over in herhands once before offering it. “Depends on what you’re in the mood for.”
I took that one too. “I’ll take both.”
Her mouth curved. “Going all in.”
“Feels like the right move.”
“It totally is,” she said, and there was something in her tone—warm and easy and a little unguarded—that made me look at her again. “One can’t ever have too many books to read.” A faint flush had crept into her cheeks. She glanced down at the shelf like she was checking something that didn’t need checking.
Behind us, Lucy pushed off the shelf she’d been leaning against. She looked at Cara. “I’m going to run to the Coffee Cabin,” she said. “You want anything?”
Cara shook her head. “I’m good.”
Lucy glanced at me. “Coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
She held my gaze for just a moment—steady, considering—and then gave a short nod, like something had been settled between us without either of us saying it. “Later, you two.” She lifted a hand toward Cara as she went, fingers brushing her arm briefly in passing, and then the bell chimed and she was gone, leaving a brief rush of cool air in her wake before the door swung shut.
The shop settled around us after that. The street outside softened to a low hum. Somewhere near the back, a clock ticked steadily. Cara gathered the books from my hands and carried them to the counter. I followed, resting my hands lightly against the worn wood while she moved around to the register. The surface was smooth in the middle, rough at the edges, wear that came from years of use, not neglect.
“You busy today?” I asked.
“Always,” she said, reaching for the register without looking up. “But it’s my kind of busy.” She tapped the first book against the counter once, gently, before scanning it. “I love it here.”
I believed her. Whatever had been sitting in the room when I’d walked in—that residue of tension, the careful posture—it had gone quiet. She moved differently now. Easier. More herself.
“Everything ready for Friday?” I asked.
