Chapter 23 ONE FOR THE BOOKS #2
‘She wanted the Wi-Fi again,’ explained Lara.
‘Apparently there’s been magical interference messing with the signal at Rosie’s.
Then she got chatting with the B&B owner about bottom lines and processes and procedures or something.
I tried to steer the conversation to fun stuff, like a fun PR campaign involving an Instagrammable flower wall, but they went straight back to KPIs.
This is why we need fun people like you on the team. Hint, hint.’
I sighed.
‘I’m still thinking about it. There’s Tiff,’ I added, relieved to be able to change the subject. ‘Wait, why does she look like Cinderella?’
Tiff ordinarily dressed neatly yet stylishly.
She had the same fascination with structured outfits that Mom did, and if it didn’t have darts or a cinched waist, she refused to abide it.
Today, however, she was in a floaty dress with thin straps, a loose cardigan draped over her shoulders for when the evening chill set in.
And with the sun drifting down over the water, that wasn’t far off.
Tiff was on the phone as usual, but rang off as she came trotting over, her kitten heels clacking.
‘Who is this stunning specimen and what did she do with my sister?’ I teased.
‘What?’ Tiff muttered, ducking my gaze. ‘I spilled tea on my shirt, so I borrowed something of Lara’s.’
‘You certainly did,’ said Lara appreciatively. ‘That dress has a new lease on life.’
‘Damien’s going to love it,’ I said carefully, trying to keep the judgement out of my voice. Tiff had a right to dress up, didn’t she?
It wasn’t like I could talk. I was torn between two brothers, and with every day that passed I was feeling more confused, and more guilty. Not to mention more worried that I was single-handedly ushering in a thunderstorm for the ages.
‘Are we going in, girls?’ Lara looped her arms through ours and walked us up the steps to The Last Word.
A few readers were already gathered about, sipping on cardamom-spice hot chocolates and picking their way through the maze-like stacks.
Leon had cleared away some of the more invasive piles so that there was room to hover, and had set up a few folding chairs for those that preferred to sit.
Pizza boxes from Pie in the Wall were carefully arranged over some large folio stacks, which were draped with a tablecloth to avoid the oil soaking through. Chester the bookshop cat was eyeing them hungrily.
A curly-haired man dressed in head-to-toe olive green was propping a selection of architectural photos against the back wall – there were plenty of fountains and cathedral ceilings on display.
He positively vibrated with anxiety, and kept throwing nervous glances over his shoulder as he looked to see how many seats had been filled.
Definitely the author, I thought to myself.
I tried to shoot him a reassuring smile, but he cringed as though I’d left a one-star review of his book in sky writing.
‘Weird dude,’ whispered Lara.
‘All authors are weird,’ whispered Tiff. ‘It’s part of the whole mystique.’
‘Hey, Molly!’ said Keiko, popping up behind me. She was radiant in an orange-and-yellow tie-dyed dress. Soraya was with her, but without Ernie in tow – he was probably being watched by Nicola, who must be flush with babysitting money this time of year.
I gave both Soraya and Keiko a hug, commenting on Soraya’s chunky beaded necklace and Keiko’s vibrant dress.
‘We did tie-dye at camp yesterday,’ she said, twirling to show it off. ‘Noah didn’t show you the shirt the kids made him? He should. He’s a vision in it. Speak of the devil.’
I turned to see Noah hovering by the bookshop door, hands thrust in his pockets and a get-me-out-of-here look on his face. Alas, he wasn’t in the tie-dye shirt that Keiko had talked up. But his plain black T-shirt and jeans did fit distractingly well.
‘Molly,’ he said. ‘I take it you hit send on the article?’
‘I mean, I hit send on something,’ I said, grimacing. A Pulitzer Prize-winner it was not.
Beside me, Tiff lit up with excitement. Trying to keep my expression neutral, I stepped aside to allow Leon to join our knot of booklovers. Leon looked bookishly handsome as usual, and tonight was wearing a knitted cardigan over a T-shirt with a The Thing graphic on it.
‘Thanks for coming,’ he said in his low voice. The greeting was directed to all of us, although I couldn’t help but notice his bespectacled gaze lingered on Tiff.
Flushing, Tiff fiddled with a shoulder strap on her dress.
‘Vero will be getting started soon,’ he added. ‘Until then, we have pizza and drinks, and you can take a seat wherever there’s room. Or lean. The book stacks are structurally sound. You can browse, also. My dream is that one day I’ll be able to see the floor.’
‘We’re going to go browse,’ Lara said, indicating Noah and me. She nudged Tiff closer to Leon. ‘You two talk among yourselves, and we’ll be back in time for the reading or the hotel reviews or whatever.’
‘We’ll be doing a reading and reviews,’ said Vero, his voice cracking slightly. He mopped his brow with a palm-tree-patterned handkerchief.
‘Leon, can I ask you something?’ asked Tiff. She pulled Leon aside, and the two of them launched into a murmured conversation.
‘Molly, stop staring,’ whispered Lara.
‘But what about Damien?’ I whispered.
‘You’ve utterly lost it, Molly,’ said Lara, pushing me down a narrow corridor lined with books. ‘She’s not doing anything wrong. Let her have a conversation without freaking out.’
We headed through the creaky shop, pulling out well-thumbed volumes from the packed shelves and pressing our hands to the tops of the various stacks to see what the bookshop magic would deliver.
‘I do love some weird nineteen-fifties sci-fi with tentacle alien women on the cover,’ I said, flashing a truly majestic paperback at Noah.
‘And I am here for this nineteen-seventies suburban swinger manual,’ said Lara, cracking up with laugher. ‘I can’t believe the bookshop thinks that’s what I’m after.’
‘It knows your true nature,’ said Noah with a grin. ‘The id that lurks beneath the understated exterior.’
Lara pretended to be shocked. ‘Molly, are you going to let him besmirch my good name?’
‘Every time,’ I said, giving her a pat on the arm.
‘The absolute worst friend in the world,’ she said, pulling out a retro young-adult book titled just that. ‘See?’
We wandered about, peeking our heads into the various rooms of the shop and pointing out the curious framed posters and postcards pinned to the walls. Noah had to duck to avoid being smacked in the face by a hanging mobile recreation of Moby Dick.
‘I’m going to read some soft porn on that comfy armchair,’ said Lara, waving a garish cover at us as she plonked down on the padded chair, propping her feet up on a leather ottoman. ‘You kids carry on.’
Lara knew exactly how to give someone their space. And in style as well.
‘Thank you,’ I mouthed, as Noah carefully picked his way up the stairs, which were stacked either side with books.
Lara proceeded to wrap her arms around herself and feign a make-out session with an invisible lover. I shook my head, trying not to laugh. Lara was many things, but subtle was not one of them. Especially in matters of love and lust.
I followed Noah up the stairs, pausing to check out the literary posters and vintage bookmarks pinned over the geometric wallpaper.
‘I could live here,’ he admitted, flipping through a huge coffee table volume of Renaissance-era paintings. ‘There’s treasure in every book stack. I never knew I was so invested in garden paths or mid-century chair design, but the bookshop knows me better than I know myself.’
‘I’m here for the diaries and letters, personally,’ I confessed. ‘Although the shop has surfaced the occasional set of pickleball stats and the odd baseball biography for me. Not to mention a few vintage picture books. I found those when I was looking for a birthday present for Dad one year.’
Noah looked amused. ‘I could see your dad appreciating some retro two-colour block printing.’
‘He had a vintage cereal box collection for a while. Until Mom put her foot down. Little does she know that it’s hiding in one of the store rooms at the office.’
The corner of his mouth quirked. ‘Hopefully not the kitchen.’
We browsed the shelves, showing off fun finds as we went – a calendar of fluffy kittens, a beautiful cloth-bound volume with gold-stamped flowers, a collection of short stories with a handwritten love letter inside.
‘On three,’ said Noah, hand on a book stack.
‘This is my kind of quick draw,’ I said with a laugh.
He counted to three, and we both pulled out a volume from our respective stacks: a copy of The Secret Garden.
‘Wait, they’re the same,’ I said, eyes wide. ‘Just different editions.’
‘I’m a sucker for linocut illustrations,’ said Noah, flipping through his classic edition.
‘And I love a movie adaptation cover,’ I said. ‘Even though I know it’s wrong.’
‘On every level,’ he agreed.
‘I wonder what would happen if we both tried to pull something from the same pile at once,’ I mused.
‘Shall we?’
Noah put his hand atop a wobbly pile next to a basket filled with lurid yellow National Geographic copies. I put my hand on his, hoping it wasn’t clammy with nerves.
His gaze met mine, and I managed to hold it as he counted down, even though the heat from his eyes was doing something weird to my insides. How many butterflies could one stomach hold?
‘And … pull!’ he called.
Together, we pulled an object from the stack. But it wasn’t a book: it was a box. A lightweight dusty one that rattled in our hands.
‘A jigsaw puzzle,’ said Noah. He held out the box, revealing an autumnal forest scene of reds and oranges. Here and there, a few animals peeped out from the trees. At the bottom of the image, a couple in thick coats and soft scarves held hands.
I wanted to be right there. And from the look in Noah’s eyes, so did he.
‘Wow, ten thousand pieces,’ I marvelled, trying not to reveal myself. ‘Perfect for a cosy night in.’
‘Or a month of them,’ said Noah.