Epilogue
Declan’s third book comes out to massive hype and critical acclaim.
It’s even better than Talking to Trees , but it’s possible I just think that because I got to watch him write it.
I know which parts made his brow crease when he couldn’t think of the right word.
I know the section he thought of during the middle of dinner with my family, the one that was originally scribbled on one of my mother’s napkins when he was in their bathroom.
I know that in a particularly difficult chapter he let me convince him to lie on the floor with me and recite poetry loudly, even though he thought I was insane.
I know that he drove up to Mayfield the day it was finished, to sit on the hill and look at the Christmas tree.
To remember his dad. I know that his mother didn’t write this dedication.
At least, I don’t think she did. I haven’t actually seen it yet.
It’s a cold, wet morning when our copies of the book arrive in store.
I flick on the lights and the kettle, and I text Declan to let him know it’s here.
Then I text my mother and tell her I’m going to postpone my visit to Gran until later, if she still wants to come.
She texts back almost immediately to tell me she’ll meet me at the bookshop, and that I should keep one of Declan’s new books aside for her.
Because of course she somehow already knows they’re in.
Yumi’s out planning a science-fiction festival with Alistair, and I spend the next hour drinking coffee and trying not to give in to the temptation to open the box before Declan arrives.
Luckily, business is steady enough to keep me distracted, but not so busy that I’m run off my feet the way it is some days now that Annabel Stone has taken over the shop’s marketing.
Then, finally, the bell above the door tinkles, and Declan is there, taking off his beanie and shaking his curls out. He ignores my protests that his coat is making the floor wet and plants a hot kiss on my lips. He tastes like snake lollies and mint, and for a second I forget about the books.
‘You already opened them, didn’t you?’ he murmurs against my lips. I pull back to meet his eyes, which are gleaming.
‘I promise you I did not,’ I say, and he kisses me again.
‘Have you spoken to Bri?’ I ask when he finally pulls back.
Declan nods. ‘She said this tour is going to put the last tour to shame,’ he says. ‘And apparently Jed has made slideshows of all the rare birds mentioned in the book.’
The thought of Jed and Bri together in the same space again is enough to make me grin. They still aren’t officially together, but Bri has taken up what can only be called competitive birding. Last week she took a picture of a bird Jed’s wanted to see for years.
Declan follows me out the back to where the ten boxes of books are ready and waiting; one of them already has a rip in it. He raises one eyebrow at me.
‘I didn’t open it,’ I tell him, raising both of mine back at him. ‘Just took a tiny peek.’
Declan’s eyes scan the boxes. ‘It does feel a little excessive not to let a bookseller open their stock when it arrives,’ he says apologetically, and I slip my fingers through his.
‘You can make it up to me by signing all of them,’ I say.
‘All of them?’ says Declan, sighing when I nod. ‘Will you at least kiss me between each book?’
‘You know there are about three hundred copies here?’
‘I do,’ Declan says solemnly. ‘We will both be working very hard.’
I lean over to press my lips to his, and it’s a few minutes before we finally get to the first box.
I nudge it along the wooden table towards him, and he picks up the Stanley knife to finish opening it.
He reaches in to take one of the books out.
‘You ordered more copies of Flight Risk ?’ he says when he sees the cover, his eyes laughing when they meet mine.
‘I thought they’d sell well with the new one out,’ I tell him. ‘Plus, it’s better than I remember.’
‘High praise,’ says Declan. ‘You want me to sign these too?’
‘Please,’ I tell him, and he kisses me quickly again. Then he cuts open one of the other boxes and passes me a copy of his new book, After the Light .
I run my hand along the black jacket and shimmers of gold wink in the light. I can feel him watching me.
‘I love you,’ he tells me softly.
‘Are you just preparing me for the dedication?’ I ask him, keeping my eyes on the book. It really does look great.
‘Maybe,’ he says. He touches a hand to my cheek, his eyes warm, and I lean into his palm.
‘I love you too,’ I say.
‘I know,’ Declan grins.
I roll my eyes at him, then open the book.
For my favourite bookseller.
And for her granddaughter, Clarrie,
Who shines even when there’s no light.