Chapter 16
By her third cup of coffee, sipped at her desk soon after opening the shop the following morning, Aurelia felt her cognition slowly reignite. She wasn’t used to these late nights in the shop, and her internal clock was revolting.
It was during that third cup that she realized she hadn’t heard from David again.
She was surprised but also relieved not to have to discuss the date any more than they already had.
She hadn’t told David about that kiss and she wasn’t sure she had the fortitude to keep it to herself if he really pushed her.
He would almost certainly see it as a sign that his matchmaking was successful rather than, as she did, just an odd ending to an awkward first date.
Aurelia soon had to shift her focus back to the shop, as customers kept her busy through the early afternoon.
They included Sophie, a UCL undergraduate who was fast becoming one of the shop’s regulars.
She’d found Aurelia and the shop through one of Aurelia’s old literature professors and was one of the first customers who felt like hers rather than Marigold’s.
They were standing near the armchair as Sophie was explaining why she preferred George Eliot to the Brontes.
That was when Aurelia’s eyes drifted to the window for a moment, only to spot Oliver walking past, holding something in his hand as he looked up at the shop.
Aurelia frowned as she watched him looking up and down, from the windows to whatever it was he held in his hand, until she realized he was holding the bookmark she’d given him.
“Aurelia? Is everything alright?” Sophie asked.
Aurelia pulled her attention back to Sophie just in time to realize that her frown had turned into a smile.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she watched Oliver approach the door. “I just… There’s just someone—”
Sophie’s eyes followed Aurelia’s.
“Ah, I see,” Sophie said with a knowing smile.
The bell above the door rang as Oliver came into the shop.
“No, it’s not… It’s nothing like that,” Aurelia began explaining in an undertone.
“That’s alright,” Sophie said, grinning now. “I’ll leave you to it,” she added in a whisper as she headed toward the door.
Aurelia felt the color rise in her cheeks as she watched Sophie pass Oliver.
“It’s a brilliant shop,” Sophie said to him as she swept out the door. “I’m sure you’ll find something here to pique your interest.”
Oh, honestly, Aurelia thought as she struggled not to roll her eyes. First David and James, now Sophie.
Once they were alone, Oliver and Aurelia stared at each other.
“Hi,” she said at last. “Uh… welcome.”
“Thanks.”
They stood in silence for another moment until she blurted out, “How’s your jacket?”
“Sorry?”
For some reason it had been the first thing she could think to say, but of course he’d be confused by it.
“The other night—my wine, your jacket,” she clarified. “No permanent damage, I hope?”
“Right. No, not at all.”
They both nodded uselessly in the ensuing silence, and then Oliver took his first proper look around the shop. She watched as he gazed at the shelves with their books, the mezzanine, and Fezz—who was asleep in the armchair—and saw a smile creep across his face.
“I get it now,” he said at last.
Aurelia knew without asking what he meant.
After all his talk during their date about digital being the future, he now understood why she would run a bookshop.
She smiled, looking around for herself. It wasn’t often that she had a chance to share the shop with someone new, and she liked seeing it through the eyes of a person who seemed to feel in his bones what made it so special.
He walked over to a bookshelf and ran his eyes over the spines.
“A healthy collection of the classics,” he said, moving to another bookshelf. “More classics.” He looked around the shop again, then up at the mezzanine. “Are all your modern books upstairs?”
“I don’t have any ‘modern’ books. The shop only stocks novels written by authors born before 1900.”
He let out a laugh and then his face fell.
“You’re serious?”
“I am.”
“That’s… oddly specific.”
“I know,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders.
“One of my aunts—I can’t remember if it was my great-great aunt or my great aunt—had this thing about hating modern literature, how the writing was stilted or the stories were dark and twisted…
I can’t remember exactly, but it sort of became a shop thing—not to sell anything after a certain period. ”
Oliver grimaced and Aurelia cocked her head at him.
“What?” she asked.
“I’m just not a fan of the old stuff.”
“The old stuff? Well, that’s oddly non-specific,” she teased. “You know, some people consider authors like Dickens or Trollope modern,” she added, thinking of Elinor and Marianne.
Oliver laughed. “I’d like to know who.”
Aurelia avoided answering that, saying instead, “There are countless ‘old’ authors here—I’m sure there’s someone you like.”
“Not really,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Give me dark and twisted Vonnegut over, what…” he said, looking around and spotting the Recommended Reads table, “Collins or Austen.”
Aurelia’s mouth was open but she couldn’t find her words.
Oliver’s face broke into a broad grin and she couldn’t help but smile back.
Had he been baiting her, or did he really not like Austen and Collins?
She was mentally planning a reading list for him, but he spoke up again before she could start reciting the books he needed to read.
“Believe it or not, I didn’t come to argue about books,” he said, his smile fading. “I came to apologize.”
“Apologize?” she asked before realizing she knew exactly what he meant.
“The other night—the way I… Well, the way I ended our date. I should have explained myself.”
She was about to insist that it wasn’t necessary then thought better of it. She was curious to hear what he had to say.
“I dated someone, for a long time. We broke up a few months ago—I think I mentioned it?”
Aurelia nodded and he paused. It looked as though he were struggling to let down his usual wall of reserve, and she had the good sense to let him speak in his own time.
“I hadn’t kissed anyone else in years,” he continued.
“That night, I just had this sudden impulse to see what it might be like. Maybe in part because… Partly because I thought we’d never see each other again.
Of course, later I realized we might very well do, since we both know David and James.
Afterwards, I felt bad. I didn’t want… I mean… ”
As he spoke, Aurelia’s face fell and she quickly tried to rearrange it into something neutral.
Had he come all this way just to make sure she understood he didn’t like her?
The fact that he’d seemed to think it was necessary—as if she’d been crossing fingers, hoping he’d ask her out again—made her face flame with embarrassment.
“No, of course not,” she cut in before he could stumble on. “We both said the other night that neither one of us is looking to date anyone, least of all each other. Right?”
“Right,” he echoed, though his face wasn’t registering the relief she’d expected.
She gave a curt nod, as though that settled things.
“Okay, then. Well. I’d best get going,” he said, his words sounding clipped. “Take care, Aurelia.”
“You too.”
She walked him to the door, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek.
Aurelia felt that fluttering in her belly again, like she had during their date, as he lingered a moment too long.
She’d enjoyed that kiss the other night, but he’d come to the shop with the sole purpose of telling her that it—and she—didn’t mean a thing to him.
And so even though the moment felt full of something, she’d take him at his word that it wasn’t.
Oliver’s brow crumpled in confusion, just as it had after he’d kissed her days ago. It shadowed his smile as he pulled open the door and left the shop. Aurelia watched him through the window, feeling just as confused as he looked.
He turned back to the shop as he walked through the square and, spotting her, gave a small wave. She waved back until he turned and continued on his way.
“Seriously, what on earth was that?” she muttered as she watched him disappear on the other side of the square. The inscrutable Oliver had struck again, but no—he wasn’t all that inscrutable; he’d made his intentions clear regardless of that final moment at the door.
Best to take him at his word, she reminded herself before turning back into the shop with a sigh. Dusting the bookshelves wasn’t an ideal task to take her mind off Oliver, but it would have to do until midnight, when she’d have a much more exciting distraction.