Chapter 47
It had only been a few days since she’d given Oliver her latest draft, but time seemed to drag on until he finally called to let her know he was ready with his next round of edits.
They made a plan to have lunch the next day at a spot around the corner from her shop, and she suspected he was testing the waters to see if she could handle hearing his critiques in person again.
It reminded her to try and take his edits with a little more grace this time around.
Oliver stopped by the shop to pick her up for lunch, instead of meeting her at the restaurant as they’d planned. She liked seeing him there amongst the books as it seemed to soften his edges and also put her at ease.
“It looks like you’ve got every Dickens title here,” he observed as he scanned the bookshelves.
“I have.”
“I never got the appeal. Tale of Two Cities, Great Expectations, Oliver Twist—they’re alright, but I was never blown away by his writing.”
“But what about Bleak House? That’s an amazing book. And so is Little Dorrit. You have to admit those are good.”
“I haven’t read them. Once I read the shorter ones, I just didn’t see the point in diving into his thousand-page doorstops.”
Aurelia’s mouth fell open.
“You work with books, and you gave up on Dickens because his are too long?”
“That’s not what I said,” he told her reprovingly. “I gave up because his books were nothing special.”
“No, unacceptable,” Aurelia said, shaking her head and walking over to join him. “I can’t let you leave here thinking that. Alright, I agree—Tale of Two Cities and Oliver Twist aren’t my favorites either, but you’re absolutely missing out if you stop there.”
She looked at the shelves, assessing the options.
“Doesn’t think he likes classic literature, but he’s never read David Copperfield,” she added in an undertone—knowing full well he could hear her—before saying, louder now, “How am I supposed to choose? Our Mutual Friend is my favorite, but I think you really should start with David Copperfield. But then there’s Nicholas Nickleby… and Bleak House…”
She finally pulled copies of David Copperfield and Little Dorrit from the shelves and walked over to her desk, placing them in a canvas shopping bag. Oliver sighed and walked over to join her, pulling out his wallet.
“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her finger at him. “This is a literary intervention. These are on the house.”
“You can’t give your books away! You’ll go out of business,” he laughed.
“It’ll be worth it if I can convert you to Dickens.”
“Tell you what, I’ll buy one and you can give me one.”
Aurelia narrowed her eyes at him in a challenge.
“Final offer,” he added.
“Alright, then,” she said, reluctantly giving in.
Once he’d paid for his copy, they walked toward the door.
“Start with David Copperfield, then read Little Dorrit. And I want a full report on each, so don’t try skimming them.”
“Yes, Miss Lyndham,” he teased.
Aurelia laughed but then caught her breath, tears filling her eyes as she realized their exchange was exactly like one of many she’d seen between Aunt Marigold and her customers.
The memory came on so quickly that she hadn’t had time to prepare herself.
She’d thought she was over these unexpected bouts of sadness, but obviously she’d been wrong.
Oliver’s amused expression turned to concern and she was immediately embarrassed.
“Sorry, I just… Sorry.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes—yeah, I’m fine,” she said lightly, though her voice was breaking. “Let me just run and get my coat.”
She hurried upstairs and closed the door to the flat behind her, leaning against it.
Damnit, she said to herself, can’t you keep it together for once?
She took a few deep breaths, then wiped at her eyes.
Shaking her head in frustration, she got ready to face him again.
It was a warm day, but—remembering her excuse—she pulled a coat from its hook and went back down to the shop, making sure to smile reassuringly as she led him out the door.
They walked to lunch discussing Dickens, giving her a chance to shift gears and try to let go of her shame over nearly breaking down in front of him.
She became animated by their talk of books, forgetting that they were about to sit down to discuss what he didn’t like about the latest draft of hers.
As it turned out, he had plenty of edits, but he’d softened his delivery, making her wonder if James had told him to be a bit gentler with his critiques.
There were no major suggestions—nothing that would set Vronsky off—and she was breathing easier once they’d finished lunch and were walking back to the shop again.
Her relief was short-lived, however.
“Earlier, in the shop, you seemed… upset. Did something happen?”
“Oh, nothing happened. I just, um… I was thinking about my aunt and it sort of caught me off guard. She was always pushing books on people, insisting they had to read something or other,” she said, trying out a laugh. “Pushing Dickens on you made me think of her.”
“You must miss her. It sounds like you had a lot in common.”
His tone was kind, but Aurelia was convinced she’d shared too much, asked too much of him. She’d nearly cried in front of him, the poor man.
“I’ll work on those edits and get another draft to you soon,” she said, back to business as they neared the shop. “I can probably get them to you by the end of next week.”
“Sure, drop them off when you’re ready and I’ll give you a call when I have some notes.”
“Which will also be the perfect opportunity to tell me what you think of David Copperfield,” she reminded him, pointing to his bag of books.
He smiled. “You’re determined to keep me reading.”
“It’s sort of my job,” she laughed.
Once again, Aurelia watched as he walked away from the shop. Once again, he turned and waved, and they exchanged smiles.
Back inside, though, a frown began to crease her forehead as she remembered how decent he’d been about her emotional meltdown.
So much for keeping the proverbial door open, she thought.
He’d just had a window into her fragile state, so why would he want to walk through a door?
She was doing much better than she’d been back when her ex had broken up with her over her tears and her grief.
But obviously she still wasn’t ready to date anyone; this was just further confirmation of what she’d been telling David and Antonia.
She shook her head. Friendship it is, then. She’d just started to allow herself to get used to the idea of him too. It was hard to ignore the tightening in her throat that threatened more tears, and she was angry at herself for being weepy without end.
Catching sight of her laptop, Aurelia made herself think instead about what would happen to Vronsky next. Last night the characters had been begging for an update on his story, and she didn’t want to disappoint them.