Chapter 22
It was a Sunday and the shop was closed, giving Aurelia a free day to do as she pleased.
The day before had been busy with Saturday shoppers, and she’d spent another night with the characters, listening in as Marianne and Rachel shared their ideas for Vronsky’s future.
Although she usually spent Sundays running errands or meeting up with friends, she was at home reading through her battered copy of Anna Karenina and trying to come up with a few ideas of her own for what Vronsky could do in his imagined future.
When her phone rang just past one o’clock, it gave her a start.
“I’m very busy,” she said importantly, knowing it would be Antonia.
“Apparently! I haven’t heard from you in days. What’ve you been up to?”
“Um, the shop’s been a bit hectic,” Aurelia invented quickly. It wasn’t an outright lie; she had been busy in the shop, only more so at night than during opening hours.
“Well, I hope you did something last night? Or Friday? Kick up your heels a bit?”
“I did, actually,” Aurelia said as she tried and failed to hold back a yawn.
“Wild party? Rave?”
“Dinner with Dad.”
“Not exactly what I had in mind. Has David been harassing you about that guy—what’s his name again?”
Aurelia had filled her sister in on the date, but only after threatening to withhold details because of Antonia’s role in arranging it with David.
“Oliver.”
“That’s a good name.”
“It is,” Aurelia agreed, momentarily sidetracked by the observation. “And David hasn’t been too bad—only some mild prodding about trying for a second date.”
She paused, debating whether to tell her about Oliver’s visit to the shop before quickly deciding she was already keeping the characters from her sister and didn’t want another secret she’d have to remember to keep.
“He stopped by the shop a few days ago.”
“David?”
“No, Oliver.”
“Did he, now?” Antonia’s voice went up dramatically, clearly happy to have a scoop.
“He did and don’t you dare tell David.”
“He came by to tell you he’s desperate for a second date and to give him another chance, didn’t he?”
“Mm—not quite,” Aurelia mumbled, embarrassed by how very different his message had been.
“You said he’s cute, right?”
Aurelia thought back to that smile of his—the few he’d given her that lit up his face—and had to admit, “Yeah, he is.”
“Well, did you ask him to go out again?”
Embarrassment doubled as memories of Oliver’s visit came back in full force—how he’d come by just to tell her he wasn’t interested in her, how he’d paused as if he’d wanted to kiss her again but then quickly changed his mind. Those were details she didn’t feel guilty about hiding from her sister.
“No, he’s not my type. He’s cute, but sort of… buttoned up. He’s also hung up on an ex-girlfriend. Oh! And he hates classic literature.”
“He’s out then,” Antonia said with a laugh.
Aurelia was so focused on trying not to think about how Oliver’s visit to the shop had felt like a rollercoaster ride with its unpredictable highs and lows that she forgot to hold back yet another yawn.
“Why’re you so tired?” Antonia asked.
“I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“What’s been going on there, Aurelia?” Antonia asked, her tone quickly shifting to concern. “First burglars, then ghosts—are you alright?”
“Oh, no, nothing’s going on,” Aurelia said quickly. “I was just overtired before, but I’m catching up on sleep.”
“Are you still hearing things at night?”
Aurelia hated to lie to her sister—again—but didn’t think she had a choice.
“No. Nope. All quiet here. I’m really settling in. I’ve been unpacking and getting things sorted in the flat and organizing the shop.”
“Okay…” Antonia said, sounding unconvinced. “But it sounds like you’re spending all your time there—aside from this failed date, when was the last time you actually left the building?”
“I go out! I leave the building. I told you—I went out for dinner with Dad.”
“Hmm,” Antonia intoned critically. “Why don’t you meet someone for dinner tonight—a Sunday roast with friends?”
Looking around her flat longingly—she’d wanted to spend the day and evening researching and thinking—Aurelia decided it wouldn’t hurt to leave for a few hours.
“Fine. I’ll find something to do.”
“Relia…”
“I will, I promise.”
Deftly switching the subject to her niece and nephews, Aurelia managed to fend off Antonia’s disapproval for the rest of their call.
Once they’d rung off, Aurelia had to decide which of her friends might be up for a last-minute plan as she knew Antonia would call the next day for a full report on where she’d gone.
Kali usually went to her parents’ house in Essex for Sunday dinners, but David and James might be up for a visit, so she gave David a call.
“What are you up to?”
“I’m plotting my next culinary masterpiece,” he said matter-of-factly.
Aurelia hesitated. As a history buff, David had recently started a food blog where he detailed his attempts to make recipes from different historical periods. He was a fantastic cook, but some of the strange dishes—tested frequently on Aurelia and James—weren’t all that appetizing.
“Antonia is harassing me about not getting out enough. I was going to ask to crash your Sunday roast, but now I think I might try my luck facing her wrath instead of one of your medieval experiments.”
“Tonight’s recipe is really just beef stew, so you’re probably safer with me.”
“No strange secret ingredients? Hair of calf? Essence of pork liver?”
“Not this time, I promise. James has already reviewed and approved it. The recipe makes enough for an army, so you’d actually be doing me a favor if you came by. Oh…”
He trailed off, prompting Aurelia to ask, “What?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
They made a plan for Aurelia to stop by at seven o’clock so she could keep him company while he cooked, since James had been banned from the kitchen after ‘ruining’ one too many of David’s experiments by ‘helping.’
Having been in the same spot on her sofa for over an hour, Aurelia uncurled herself to go and make another cup of tea.
Passing the bookshelves on the wall, she slowed as she caught sight of the rows of notebooks she’d unpacked and lined up there.
She ran a finger along them and pulled out a notebook she had bought just before her mother became ill.
Flipping it open, she saw that it was still blank inside—not a single pen or pencil dot marked its pages.
She carried the notebook to the kitchen, made tea, hunted down a pen, and then sat on the living room floor with the coffee table serving as a desk.
Sipping her tea, her mind traveled back to her conversations with the characters, their plan to dream up a future for Vronsky, and what she imagined might make him happy.