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grounds.”
    Bertie, however, wasn’t finished. Her face was flushed with rage. “If you fire Lucy,” she said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “I will not be responsible for my actions.”
    “A threat?” Mr. Uppiton raised one eyebrow theatrically. “How childish of you, Bertie.”
    “That’s enough,” Connor said. “You’re deliberately goading Bertie, Jonathan. This is a party to celebrate the Austen collection and all of Bertie’s hard work in securing it for us. Now, I, for one, haven’t had any of Josie’s delicious squares yet, and there seems to be plenty of wine still left at the bar.”
    People moved away and conversation resumed, as everyone pretended not to have been caught listening.
    The party went downhill from there.
    The hands of the big clock over the door touched eight, but Bertie didn’t make her announcement. Instead, she slipped into a dark recess behind the shelf labeled Morrison–Proulx and stood alone, takingdeep, calming breaths while gathering her arms in swooping motions to her chest. No one made a move to leave. No doubt they were all waiting to see if there would be any more excitement.
    I decided I needed a chocolate-chip cookie to settle my nerves. Two chocolate-chip cookies.
    Would Mr. Uppiton go through with his threat? I couldn’t bear to lose this job. Without a job I had no place to live on the Outer Banks. Aunt Ellen would offer to take me in, of course, and insist that they had plenty of room. Which they didn’t. Once their children moved away for college and jobs, she and Uncle Amos had bought their dream home: a small, perfect seaside house. I couldn’t stay there for long without becoming a burden. Even worse than being homeless and jobless, I’d lose access to the Austen collection. I saw my dream of taking those books, one at a time, up to my tiny, circular room high above the crashing waves, disappearing.
    On a more practical level, I didn’t know what I would do then. Where would I go if I couldn’t find a home or a job? I couldn’t bear to go back to Boston. To my brothers’ told-you-so sneers, to my father’s absentminded pat on the head, to my mother telling me that she was glad I’d come to my senses. Finally.
    As I stood by the buffet, worrying and stuffing food into my mouth, a path opened in front of me, and I could see all the way to the far side of the room into the alcove. The precious books were temporarily alone. Even Theodore had gone in search of sustenance or further gossip.
    No, there he was. Heading not for the drinks and company, but for the back stairs. The stairs thatbypassed the main rooms and gave access only to the private collection. Where we kept rare and valuable books.
    I put down my half-finished cookie and took a step forward.
    “Don’t worry about him, Lucy. He’s all talk and no action. He’ll back down tomorrow.”
    At first I thought Butch was talking about Theodore. Then he continued, “If I know Bertie, and I do, your job’s safe.”
    I peered around his shoulder. It was much too high to actually look over. I thought I saw the soles of Theodore’s shoes disappearing up the curving stairs. “I need to . . .”
    “My brother’s working flat out to make his restaurant a success,” Butch said. “I want to give him all the business I can. Are you free tomorrow evening?”
    “Tomorrow? You mean for dinner?”
    “Yes, I mean for dinner.” He smiled at me. His eyes were a deep brown speckled with flakes of gold. Someone bumped him from behind and mumbled, “Sorry.” Butch stepped closer to me. He smelled of beer and aftershave and delicious male hormones. “You don’t have any other plans, I hope.”
    Oh, my gosh. This amazing man was asking me out. On a date. My face began to burn.
    “You do eat, don’t you?” A smile touched the edges of his mouth.
    Flames shot into my cheeks. “Of course I do. Eat, I mean. I’d enjoy trying your brother’s restaurant.”
    “Good.” He took a sip of his beer.