The days seemed to drag on slowly. I hadn’t seen Micah at all, and part of me wondered if I’d simply imagined the dark-haired stranger in my store. I knew I’d often been accused of having my head in the clouds, daydreaming about the romantic stories I devoured by the page, but he’d been very real. The order page I kept stalking by the hour proved that.

“Look what just came in,” Austin declared, holding up a package triumphantly. “Maybe I should go deliver this, or better yet, we should call Mr. Westbrook and have him personally come to pick it up himself.”

There was a muffled cough and chuckle from the back of the store. Maxwell had also taken to teasing me about my sudden fascination with Micah, something very unbecoming of a ghost his age. When I’d mentioned that, he’d grinned, rolling the end of his mustache between his fingers like some conspirator.

From what I understood, I was the only one who saw the store’s deceased occupant. I considered that a blessing, because there was no way I could ward off both Maxwell’s and Austin’s digs at how flustered I became at the mention of Micah’s name.

Austin’s latest game was seeing how many times he could make me jump by mentioning the newcomer’s approach to Shelf Indulgence. It was only when I threatened to fire him, or worse, make him do the next six months of inventory by himself, that he simmered down.

Snatching the parcel from his hands, I scoffed as if I truly wasn’t affected by the book’s arrival.

“Don’t you have something to do? Shelves to dust? Someone else to annoy?” The more I spoke, the softer my questions became.

Carefully opening the package, I slid out the book. Yep, The Life and Loves of the Infamous King Henry Eighth, Fourth Edition.

“You’re okay to watch the store while I run this over to the customer, aren’t you, Austin?” I already had my phone and the book in hand as I headed toward the door. “If you need anything, you can reach me on my cell.”

“You look fine, by the way,” he called out after me. Damn kid was too smart for his own good.

“There’s no way Austin knew where you’d go first,” I murmured, looking about to see if anyone was watching before turning around and heading back toward the Havenwood Village apartments. It was stupid that I felt the need to hide what I did, but if there was one thing the past had taught me about living here, it was that you couldn’t be too careful. This town was founded on secrets—whether you were human or supernatural. Someone was always watching, taking note of everyone’s activity. While I had nothing to hide, it didn’t hurt to show caution anyway.

One false move and you could be the center of your very own Havenwood Falls scandal, the town’s chief gossip the ever-reliable ringleader.

“Sedona? Sedona, my dear, just the young lady I was hoping to bump into!”

Speak of the devil.

One moment the street was empty, and the next, Irene Beckett stepped out of Pyntz Butcher Shoppe.

Here was one other person, besides my aunt, who had a sixth sense when it came to anything newsworthy and hidden agendas. Irene currently stood in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing me to stop and acknowledge her.

“Hi, Mrs. Beckett,” I answered politely, forcing a jovial smile across my features. She was the last person I wanted to see today. “How are you?”

In one sweeping glance, she took in my appearance, and her dark eyes twinkled. “I hope once you visit with the mysterious Mr. Westbrook that you’ll stop by the salon and let me know all about him. He’s quite the catch, from what I’ve been told, but way too elusive for my liking. I should’ve known he would’ve sought you out, my pretty friend.” She reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair to the side of my face.

Did I also mention that she had absolutely no respect for personal space?

“How did you—” I began, before she spoke up and answered.

“Why, the book, dear.” She pointed at the package I was holding. Without thinking, I raised it to my chest, hugging it tighter as though it was a shield that could somehow protect me from her scrutiny. “Tell me, what kind of books does he read? Suspense or mystery, perhaps.” Irene paused long enough to catch her breath. “Something tells me a man like him would be more into works of nonfiction than fiction.”

It was often hard to keep up with Mrs. Beckett, but even this made me laugh. “What makes you think it’s for him? Seems you’ve given him a lot of thought.”

She waved her hand through the air, dismissively. “Of course I would. While I’m no longer in the market for a husband, that doesn’t mean I don’t look out for my younger friends. In fact . . .”

I inwardly groaned over what I knew would pass through her lips. Taking a page from her own book, I held up my hand to stop her. “I can find my own boyfriend, Mrs. Beckett. I’m perfectly capable.”

I took a step back, glancing around to see if anyone could come rescue me. Like a blessed angel of mercy, Callie stepped out of her consignment store for a moment of fresh air. She also scanned the street, and as our eyes met briefly, I wanted to scream for her to come help.

As if by magic, she nodded and called out. “Oh, Mrs. Beckett. I had some new items come in this morning that I think you’d like.”

The town gossip looked back and forth between us, silently trying to determine which conversation she wanted to continue.

Please, go to Callie. Please, please, please.

She placed her hand on my forearm, gently squeezing it. “Stop by the salon later and fill me in on all the details, will you?” Before I could let out a sigh of relief and mouth a quick thank you to Callie, Irene added one more opinion. “And there’s no need to hurry home and change. You look beautiful already, Sedona. He would have to have rocks for brains if he doesn’t recognize that.”

“I promise,” I answered, lying through my teeth. Waving her off, I stood for a moment, my nerves rattled. I guess you could say that was one of Irene’s special gifts as well.

Turning around again, I headed toward the address I collected from Micah earlier in the week. There would be no stopping home quickly to check my appearance. If I did, it would just add fuel to the fire, leaving Irene to gossip with someone else about me changing clothes to deliver a book.

“You’re going to die a spinster at this rate, Sedona,” I grumbled.

And the thought of that was more depressing than usual.