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It ht find in such an existence, not that I’d want to own a bookstore—or any store for thatroots, I mean

I raise aze drift to the storefrontas someone passes by I’ve been surprised no one has coood twenty minutes

It’s a nificant degree—just a passerby

But then I do a double-take before he moves past theand my hackles rise

He’s wearing a hat I can see blond hair poking out the back, but there’s soht His build

He’s gone before I can fully coht have seen, but I practically throwrattle as I bolt out of my chair

I think that was Matthew

“Mollie,” Clarke says hesitantly, rising slowly frohost”

Not a ghost

But perhaps ame

Swiveling to glance back at Clarke, I feel the words clog in h, then admit, “I think that was someone I know”

“So out to touch my shoulder

I hesitate What if it was Matthew? Surely it wasn’t a coincidence he happened to stroll past a store I was in He didn’t look inside Instead, he’d rather casually—if not briskly—walked down the sidewalk

Maybetricks on me It could have been any tall, blond ood look at his face

Or did I?

Yes, I think I recognized his nose The slight bu it in a fall off his bike years ago

No, surely not

But maybe

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Clarke, then scramble for the door I push it open, bolt onto the sidewalk, and turn in the direction the man went