“Oh, I see. Not just on me. She’s your personal mole, burrowing around the place digging up infractions.”

Oh, yes, Dana thought, when enough was enough you definitely finished it. “Maybe the budget here has had its ups and downs, but this was always a friendly place, familial. Now it’s just a drag run by the gestapo commandant and her personal weasel. So I’ll do us both a favor. I quit. I’ve got a week’s sick leave and a week’s vacation coming. We’ll just consider that my two weeks’ notice.”

“Very well. You can have your resignation on my desk by the end of your shift.”

“Screw that. This is my resignation.” She took a deep breath. “I’m smarter than you are, and I’m younger, stronger, and better-looking. The regular patrons know and like me—most of them don’t know you, and the ones who’ve gotten to know you don’t like you. Those are some of the reasons you’ve been on my ass since you took over. I’m out of here, Joan, but I’m walking out of my own accord. I lay odds that you’ll be on your way out before much longer, too—only you’ll be booted out by the board.”

“If you expect any sort of reference or referral—”

Dana stopped at the door. “Joan, Joan, do you want to end our relationship with me telling you what you can do with your reference?”

Her anger carried her straight down to the employee lounge, where she gathered her jacket and a handful of personal belongings. She didn’t stop to speak to any of her coworkers. If she didn’t get out, and get out fast, she feared she would either burst into hysterical sobs or punch her fist through the wall.

Either option would give Joan too much power.

So she walked out without a backward glance. And kept walking. She refused to let herself think that this was the last time she would make this trip from work to home. It wasn’t the end of her life; it was just a corner turned.

When she felt the angry tears stinging her eyes, she dug out her sunglasses. She wasn’t about to humiliate herself by crying on the damn sidewalk.

But her breath was hitching by the time she reached her apartment door. She fumbled out her keys, stumbled inside, then simply sank down on the floor.

“Oh, God, oh, God, what have I done?”

She’d cut her ties. She had no job. And it would be weeks before she could reasonably open the bookstore. And why did she think she could run a bookstore? Knowing and loving books didn’t make her a merchant. She’d never worked in retail in her life, and suddenly she was going to run a retail business?

She’d thought she was prepared for the step. Now, faced with stark reality, Dana realized she wasn’t even close to prepared.

Panicked, she leaped up, all but fell onto the phone. “Zoe? Zoe . . . I just—I’ve got to . . . Christ. Can you meet me at the place, the house?”

“Okay. Dana, what’s wrong? What’s the matter?”

“I just—I quit my job. I think I’m having an anxiety attack. I need . . . Can you get the keys? Can you get Malory and meet me there?”

“All right, honey. Take a deep breath. Come on, suck one in. Breathe easy. That’s it. Twenty minutes. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Thanks. Okay, thanks. Zoe—”

“You just keep breathing. Want me to swing by and get you?”

“No.” She rubbed the temper tears away. “No, I’ll meet you.”

“Twenty minutes,” Zoe repeated and rang off.

SHE was calmer, at least on the surface, when she pulled into the double drive in front of the pretty frame house she’d bought with her friends. In a matter of weeks, they’d be signing papers at settlement. Then they would begin, well, whatever it was that they were going to begin.

It was Zoe and Malory who had the big ideas as far as ambience, color schemes, paints, and posies. They’d already had their heads together over paint chips for the color of the porch, the entrance hall. And she knew Zoe had been scouring flea markets and yard sales for the trash that she miraculously turned into treasure.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have ideas herself. She did.

She could envision in general how her section of the main floor would look when it had been transformed into a little bookstore/café. Comfortable and cozy. Maybe some good sink-into-me chairs, a few tables.

But she couldn’t see the details. What should the chairs look like? What kind of tables should she use?

And there were dozens of other things she hadn’t considered when she’d jumped into that dream of having her own bookstore. Just as, she was forced to admit, there were things she hadn’t considered when she’d, basically, told Joan to stuff it.

Impulse, pride, and temper, she thought with a sigh. A dangerous combination. Now she was going to have to live with the results of surrendering to it.

She stepped out of the car. Her stomach was still jumpy, so she rubbed a hand over it as she studied the house.

It was a good place. It was important to remember that. She’d liked it the minute she’d stepped inside the door with Zoe. Even the downright terrifying experience they’d had inside it—courtesy of their nemesis, Kane—barely a week before, when Malory had found her key, didn’t spoil the feel of the place.

She’d never owned a house, or any other property. She should concentrate on the very adult sensation of owning a third of an actual building, and the land it stood on. She wasn’t afraid of the responsibility—it was good to know that. She wasn’t afraid of work, mental or physical.

But she was, she realized, very afraid of failing.

She walked to the porch, sat on the step, and indulged in a good wallow.

She was too mired in it to do more than sit there when Malory pulled up with Zoe in the passenger seat. Malory angled her head as she climbed out.

“Crappy day, huh?”

“Don’t come much crappier. Thanks for coming. Really.”

“We did better than that.” She gestured toward Zoe, and the white bakery box Zoe carried.

Overcome, Dana sniffed. “Is it chocolate?”

“We’re girls, aren’t we?” Sitting beside her, Zoe gave her a hard, one-armed hug, then opened the box. “Chocolate éclairs. A big fat one for each of us.”

This time, it was sentimental tears threatening to fall. “You guys are the best.”