Read The First Chapter From ‘The Next Chapter’ by Camille Kellogg

Their relationship is a publicity stunt. Only one of them knows it. When a famous former child actress meets a West Village bookseller, sparks fly and complications ensue in this queer homage to Notting Hill by the author of Just as You Are.

Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Camille Kellogg’s The Next Chapter, which is out now.

Katrina Kelly might have eight million Instagram followers and a multipage IMDb listing, but she also has a completely stalled-out career and some major questions about her sexuality, which seems to be moving closer to raging lesbian every week. Yet maybe she can solve both of those issues at once. . . . After all, rebranding as a queer icon is a great way to jump-start an acting career.

Jude Thacker is fine. Completely fine, so please stop asking. Has the queer bookstore where she works been taken over by a boss who’d rather sell branded tote bags than books? Yes. Does she have a panic attack every time she has to leave her comfort zone? Maybe. Has she been on a single date since her heart was shattered two years ago? Absolutely not.

When Kat and Jude cross paths in the bookstore, Kat realizes that their meet-cute might just be a meet-opportunity. But what’s meant to be a temporary publicity stunt quickly turns into real feelings for both women. As the media scrutiny intensifies, each must decide what’s real, what’s not, and if true love is worth losing everything they believe is keeping them safe.


CHAPTER 1
JUDE

Jude Thacker was crying at work. Again. Something that her boss had explicitly forbidden her from doing.

Not just because her boss was a heartless, emotion-hating corporate overlord (although he was). The rule was mostly based on the hypothesis that if a customer walks into a bookstore and sees a butch woman sobbing hysterically behind the checkout counter, that person will probably feel uncomfortable and less inclined to linger. Weeping was not good for business—even if it was over the new, exquisitely perfect Eileen Styles book.

But Jude couldn’t help it. She was a book crier. It was part of who she was, an essential square in the quilt of her personality. The second someone’s curmudgeonly but wise grandmother went into the hospital, or a beloved dog died, or a main charac­ter fell ill and their love interest canceled everything to care for them—waterworks.

In this case, the book in question wasn’t even sad. It was just so good, a romance where the characters completely, obviously belonged together but the main character was too stubborn to get over her fear of needing someone else—until her love inter­est got injured in the curling tournament semifinals and seeing her carried off the ice on a stretcher made the narrator realize that she would do anything to be with this girl. It was beautiful. And also a painful reminder that Jude was extremely, depress­ingly single.

Thus, the tears. They were sad-happy-depressed-jealous-joyful tears. Complex tears. Jude contained multitudes.

She was rereading the final chapter for the fourth time while wiping her eyes with her increasingly soggy sweatshirt sleeve when someone leaned across the checkout counter of the Next Chapter bookstore and asked, in a wary but sympathetic tone, “Are you okay?”

Jude jumped. She hadn’t even heard a customer come inside—that was how bad of a bookseller she was being. But in her defense, it was a weekday at 2:30. The lull zone. She’d thought she was safe to cry in peace. Snapping the book shut, she opened her mouth to explain to the customer that, yes, she was okay, she was just an overly emotional sap who got too at­tached to fictional characters. Then she looked up. And sud­denly Jude was not, in fact, okay.

Because across the counter from her sodden self was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen.

The woman was small—petite and several inches shorter than the average person who leaned across Jude’s counter. She had pale skin and dark eyebrows and dark hair that stopped a little above shoulder length. And she was pretty, with big brown eyes that looked up at Jude in concern and pale pink lips that were quirked a little with amusement at whatever dumbfounded expression Jude was making. She was wearing a black shirt with a silky red bomber jacket, and she had one hand on the counter as she leaned in, bringing her face only a few inches away from Jude’s.

Whatever Jude had been about to say died in her throat.

Why had this customer come in today of all days, a day when Jude had been crying and not, say, carrying heavy boxes with her biceps on display?

“Am I okay?” Jude repeated the question, remembering that she had to say something. “Unfortunately, no. I just finished Ei­leen Styles’s new rom-com and it has destroyed me emotionally. I may never recover.”

“Oh my God, Curled Around Your Finger? No spoilers!” The woman’s hands shot up to cover her ears. “I haven’t read it yet. Actually”—she lowered her hands and glared at Jude suspiciously—“it doesn’t even come out until next week. How are you reading it?”

Jude let out a small, guilty laugh, but internally she was fist-pumping. Eileen Styles wrote lesbian love stories. And if this woman was into them enough to know the next publication date—well, Jude’s one-in-one-billion odds of having a shot with her had just turned into one-in-one-million. “Bookseller privi­lege. The boxes arrived this morning, and they’re embargoed until Tuesday, buuuuuut I may have opened one box. Just to, you know, check that they were the right book.” She made a show of looking around nervously, even though the only other employee working today was in the back doing inventory. “You won’t sell me out to my boss, will you?”

“I would never sell out another Eileen stan,” the woman said earnestly. She tipped up onto her toes to peer over the counter at the book. Jude could smell a faint waft of perfume—something floral and subtly sweet. “Was it magical?”

“Unbelievably magical. I think it’s her best one yet.”

“Better than The Tundras of Your Heart?” The woman pursed her lips to the side skeptically.

Way better. She’s grown so much as a writer since then.”

The woman sighed. “Can I hold it?”

Jude passed her the book and watched as the woman stared at it dreamily, tracing a finger across the illustration of two women in curling uniforms, making flirty eye contact over their poised brooms. Then she turned it over to read the back.

“Knowing this book is coming has been the only thing keep­ing me going this month,” she said. “It’s silly, but Eileen’s books feel like the only thing I can depend on sometimes. No matter how upside-down my life feels, I always know that her books are going to be good.”

“That’s not silly at all.” Jude only hesitated for a moment be­fore adding, “Keep it.”

The woman looked up. “Oh, no, I couldn’t—won’t you get in trouble?”

Jude shrugged nonchalantly. “I won’t sell it to you,” she said. “It’s just a copy that mysteriously went missing.” She smiled, and after a beat, the woman smiled back. It was a beautiful smile, open and warm and friendly.

“Thank you.” The woman wrapped her arms around the book, hugging it to her chest. “Really. That means a lot to me.”

“I’m Jude.” Jude didn’t normally shake customers’ hands, but she held hers out before she could second-guess the gesture. When their hands touched, Jude was glad she had.

“Kat.” She looked up at Jude through her eyelashes and then glanced away, the cute gesture making Jude’s stomach fizz like a bath bomb.

“Can I help you find anything?” Jude asked, eager to keep the conversation going.

“Well . . .” Kat ran her hand through her hair, just over the left ear, pushing it back. “I actually have a list of books I came for. But while I’m here, do you have any other books like Eileen Styles?”

Jude tried not to let her grin grow too cocky. Recommending books was what Jude did best. It was her passion, her most highly rated skill. If there was an Olympic book rec-ing event, Jude could have snagged the gold.

“We actually have the biggest queer book selection of any store in New York,” Jude said with pride, coming out from be­hind the counter. Now that they were closer, the contrast be­tween their heights was more pronounced, making Jude feel twice as tall as usual. Jude led her over to their queer section: an entire wall of the store, decorated with different pride flags. “Which books have you read already?”

“Um.” Kat blushed, her cheeks turning a delicious shade of dark pink. “I’ve read all of Eileen Styles’s books, but not much else. I’d love some more romance novels, but also, maybe . . .” She hesitated again. “Just any queer book recommendations that you have?”

Jude bounced on the balls of her feet. “Well, then, we are going to be here for a long time, because I have millions. But I’ll do my best to restrain myself a little.” She started pulling out ti­tles. “These are probably my top three favorite sapphic romance novels,” she said, handing them to Kat. “And these are my favor­ite queer literary fiction books.” She tugged three more books off the shelf in quick succession. She loved flying between the shelves like this—it felt like a dance. She had worked at The Next Chapter since she was fifteen and she knew every inch of every display.

“This one is a memoir about an abusive relationship, just so you’re warned,” Jude said, tapping In the Dream House. “And this one is beautifully written, but also unbelievably sexy.” She plopped Mrs. S onto the pile. “And that one”—she tapped Mis­takes Were Made, which Kat was already holding—“has finger banging on page seven. And strap-on sex!”

Kat’s blush turned even deeper, and Jude wondered if she’d crossed a line. But then Kat let out a little laugh and said, “I’ll take it.”

Jude grinned, then eyed the growing stack in Kat’s arms and rubbed the back of her neck. “I should probably stop.”

“No, don’t,” Kat said. “I really need to read more queer books. I’m a little embarrassed that I haven’t already. I randomly found one of Eileen Styles’s books in an airport and read everything she wrote, but after that . . . I guess I just didn’t really know where to start.” She darted a glance at Jude, as if afraid of being judged.

“I totally understand,” Jude said. “Queer books have a real visibility issue, so unless you know where to go looking for them, it can feel really intimidating to get started. That’s part of why we have such a big queer section here—it helps people realize just how many options are out there.”

“That’s amazing.” Kat surveyed the shelves, shaking her head a little bit. Jude felt a rush of pride. She loved seeing the awed expression in queer people’s eyes when they came into the book­store. They had spent their whole lives being inundated with straight stories; there was something profoundly moving about realizing that you weren’t as alone as you’d thought.

Kat set her books on one of the display tables and fidgeted with them, lining up the edges. Jude could tell before she spoke that the question she was about to ask would not be a casual one. “Do you have any, like, guides? Like, how-to books?” She didn’t look at Jude as she said it.

Jude felt a sympathetic twinge in her chest. She recognized that feigned nonchalance and could sense the need under it. She could hear the questions Kat wasn’t asking, How do I do this? How do I go about building this life that’s so different from the one I grew up expecting?

“Here.” Jude pulled down This Book Is Gay. “This book says it’s aimed at teens but it’s really helpful for everyone. And this one is essays by a woman who came out in her thirties.” She placed Would You Rather? in Kat’s hand.

Kat blinked up at Jude with her big, wide eyes. Jude wanted to hug her. She wanted to wrap her arms around this soft-hearted, brave, unsure person and tell her that it was all going to be okay, and that no matter how hard figuring all this stuff out was, it was worth it.

But Jude didn’t know how to say all that to a stranger without being weird or presumptuous. So instead, Jude gave Kat a small smile and tried to convey it with her eyes.

Kat gave a small smile back. “What if—” She stopped and cleared her throat a little bit, then continued in a hesitant voice. “I have this friend who . . . doesn’t really know what label is right for them? And hasn’t really, like, done anything about it? Could that person still call themself ‘queer’?”

“Absolutely,” Jude said in a soft voice. “I mean, I’m not the arbiter of what’s queer and what isn’t. But that’s the thing—no one is. You don’t need to be one hundred percent sure of your sexuality to call yourself queer. In fact, most people aren’t ever completely sure. If queer feels right to you, you get to call your­self queer. Even if you’re worried you might change your mind later. Even if other people try to tell you that you can’t.” Jude shrugged. “At least that’s what I believe. And what most of the queer people I know think, too.”

Kat stared at her, and Jude swallowed. Had she said too much, gone on for too long, overstepped a boundary? But then Kat blinked rapidly and looked away, and Jude realized she was trying not to cry.

“I, um,” Kat said, her voice a little thick. “Thank you. I needed to—I mean, my friend needed to hear that.” She winced. “Will have needed to hear that?” She raised her eyebrows and laughed awkwardly, and Jude laughed, too.

Damn, she was cute with her little self-deprecating grin. Jude had stepped closer when she handed over the last book, and neither of them had moved back. Jude’s heart started to race. She could feel every inch between them, excruciatingly aware of how little space separated their bodies.

Kat’s dark eyes tugged on Jude like a magnet, making her un­able to look away. The collar of her T-shirt felt three times tighter than it had this morning. Jude was aware that it was her turn to say something, but all she could think about was how the air seemed to be growing heavier around them, pressing them toward each other. She couldn’t stop herself from taking a small step forward—a tiny step, but one that Kat mirrored immedi­ately. Her perfume smelled like sun-warmed flower petals. Even though they had just met, Jude wanted to kiss her. Admitting that to herself made her already racing heart race even harder, squeezing on each beat like a fist clenching hard.

Clenching very hard. Clenching too hard. Each beat so strong it felt like her heart was filling up her throat, squeezing the pas­sageways she needed to breathe.

Oh no. Not here. Not now.

Jude’s fingers had gone numb. Her wrists tingled painfully, and she twisted them in tight circles, trying to stop the sensation before it climbed higher up her arms. Trying to stop herself be­fore she went too far.

She could not have a panic attack in front of this woman. She could not start thinking about what had happened the last time she’d asked someone out and what that had led to. But suddenly, that was all Jude could see—Becca, biting her lip by the store’s biography section. Looking up at Jude with those regretful, pity­ing eyes. Saying, “I’m sorry, Jude. It’s just better this way,” and then walking out, the cheerful shop bell chiming behind her.

Jude’s heart became a frantic wingbeat in her chest. Her throat was clogged. Something was blocking it. She couldn’t get enough air. What was wrong with her? She just needed to calm down and breathe. She was fine. So why wouldn’t her body rec­ognize that?

She took a step back from Kat, then another.

“Is there anything else I can help you with today?” Without meaning to, Jude had dropped back into her customer-service self, the words coming out with an impersonal lilt.

Kat stared. “Oh.” Her voice sounded confused. “Um, I—” She fumbled in her purse for her phone, then held it out so Jude could see a Notes app list with four titles on it. “Do you have these?”

“Of course. Let me grab them.”

Jude’s hands shook as she found the books. What was she doing? Why was she blowing this? But her chest felt squeezed now, in addition to her throat, and black snowflakes had started to fall in the corners of her vision. What if she really couldn’t breathe? What if she was having a heart attack? Was she going to collapse right here?

Jude dropped the books on the counter and hurried behind it. The second she did, she felt a little better. Her heart was still thrumming desperately against her too-tight chest, but she could breathe a little more. She knew every inch of this counter. She was safe here.

“Which of these would you like?” she asked, gesturing at the pile of books she’d recommended without looking up.

“All of them, I guess.”

All of them?” Jude must have pulled over a dozen books from the shelf. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Kat’s voice was flat.

Jude wished she could shake off her panic and act normal again, but she couldn’t seem to do it—her spine refused to relax, and her eyes wouldn’t lift to meet Kat’s. She rang up the books in silence. It seemed to take an impossibly long time, the strained silence broken only by the irregular beep as she scanned each title.

“And a tote bag, please,” Kat said. Her voice was stiff and formal.

Jude tucked the books into one of their store-branded tote bags and then slid the bag across the counter. This was the last possible moment to ask for Kat’s number or invite her for a drink or say something. Jude opened her mouth, willing herself to find the courage, willing her throat to find the words.

But what came out instead was “That’ll be two hundred and nineteen dollars.”

Kat rummaged in her purse, her jaw tight. She didn’t look at Jude as she dropped eleven twenties on the counter. Jude reached for the cash register to get her change, but Kat hooked the tote bag over her shoulder and moved away from the coun­ter. With a huge effort, Jude managed to look up and meet her gaze.

“It was really nice to meet you, Jude,” Kat said in a quiet voice. “Thank you for the recommendations.”

Jude just nodded. She couldn’t speak. Kat gave her one last look. Then she turned away. The bell over the door gave its fa­miliar cheery ring as she opened it, then let it swing shut behind her.

And just like that, Jude let another incredible woman walk out of her life.

THE NEXT CHAPTER copyright © 2025 by Camille Kellogg. Used by permission of The Dial Press, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.  All rights reserved. Cannot be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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