20. Morgan
Chapter 20
Morgan
E very small child’s dream upon seeing Beauty and the Beast was to have a library like the one the Beast gives Belle, and I couldn’t be convinced otherwise. That’s why Cara and I had filled our home with books; having them around us made both of us feel like the world was right at our fingertips.
So whilst I had never been to Hay-on-Wye, the moment I had seen it mentioned for the first time – on social media, of course – I’d been hooked.
And now, as I walked into my fifth book store (!!) in the last two hours, a used bookseller with books stacked so high they were wedged against the ceiling, I couldn’t help but feel like I was a tiny step closer to living that bookish dream. And I had a Gay on Wye tote bag already half full of books to prove it, including two books I’d picked out for Grey. I took a picture of my reflection in a window I passed, in theory to send to Cara, though I already knew she wouldn’t respond.
As I ran my fingers along the spines of the books on one of the shelves, I spotted the book. I hadn’t known what exactly I’d been looking for, but I knew instantly this was it. I pulled it out from the shelf; it was packed in so tightly I had to use my other hand to keep its neighbouring books in place.
Every time we’d hung out, Jack had obsessively told me about the trees and rocks and whatever else around us. He knew every bird species, every flower, all of it. As much shit as I gave him for obsessively bedding in at home after all his travels, this was the most beautiful result of that bedding in: he knew everything there was to know about the landscape and life around him.
And so when I saw the deep forest green spine with a gold foil tree running up the side, roots and branches and thick, knotted trunk adorning every inch, when I felt the uneven deckled edges of the pages, I almost didn’t need to see the title to know that I’d found what I was looking for. But when I saw that it was an illustrated guide to the flora and fauna of the Wye Valley in the late 1800s? The book could have cost a month’s wages and I couldn’t have put it back.
I had a moment of panic when I did think about how much it might be, especially when I couldn’t see a price scribbled inside like in the rest of the books. But it was surprisingly affordable, so I bought a bookmark for good measure before walking back out into the summer sun.
But in the back of my mind – okay, pretty much front and centre in my mind – I was worrying about this little challenge. I’d never been a particularly good gift-giver; it was always way too much pressure trying to find the right tone, somewhere on the spectrum of silly to sentimental, and I felt like I always missed the mark.
For Cara’s twenty-first, I’d given her a necklace I knew she’d been admiring. We’d walked past a shop with jewellery on display, and she’d told me one of the necklaces looked sort of like one she’d been pining after that she saw one of her favourite influencers wear. It had cost me what felt like a fortune back then, but I’d thought it was worth it for a big birthday.
But when I gave it to her at her party, right in the middle of joke gifts from her friends like nipple tassels and offensive t-shirts, I could tell straight away that it had killed the vibe. And even though she wore it constantly, and had even posted a picture wearing it the other day, I had seen a brief flicker of embarrassment on her face that night that I’d taken things too seriously.
The book I’d found for Jack wasn’t particularly sentimental, but it wasn’t exactly funny, either. What if this was all meant to be a funny thing? And what if giving him something sentimental made him throw up his guard like he had after our near-miss the first time we’d hung out? I figured I needed a backup plan, and fast; I only had thirty minutes until I was meant to meet him for lunch.
As I turned onto Lion Street, I actually passed Jack coming out of one of the bookshops. I saw him before he saw me, and seeing him like this, unaware that he was being noticed, I could admire him properly. He really was handsome. I mean, objectively I had known that, but amidst the other people bustling around him, he looked like a celebrity, or the prince of some tiny European nation no one has ever heard of. His honey-blonde hair shone in the sunlight, and the stubble currently adorning his jawline made it look even sharper than usual. The sleeves of the white t-shirt he was wearing hit his arms at exactly the right spot to show off his biceps, which I knew weren’t from long gym sessions but from years of paddling and manual labour. Why was that such an attractive detail?
But most of all I loved how his resting expression was a smile. The corners of his mouth were turned up by default as he walked along the street. There was an intangible aura of warmth radiating off him, and I didn’t know how everyone wasn’t stopping to stare like I was.
Until he saw me watching him, that is, and his eyes went wide. He clutched a brown paper bag to his chest to hide it from me.
“I didn’t see it, don’t worry,” I said as I came close, though I did try – unsuccessfully – to get a peek at the logo on the bag.
“Have you gotten mine yet?” he asked, looking down at my hands. Helpfully I’d stashed his book in the tote alongside all the ones I’d picked out for myself and Grey.
I shrugged. “You’ll find out in half an hour, Evans. Now get out of my way.” I brushed past him with a wink, and his smile back to me, his green eyes crinkling at the corners, nearly made me go weak in the knees.
The shop he’d just come out of was one that sold new books, and I scanned the shelves for a second option for Jack. I was hoping he’d give me his gift first, and I could choose the most appropriate one in return. Eventually I found a book in the humour section about how to become a “grouchy old hermit”; it made me laugh, mostly because the first step was building a house with one’s own two hands. It was a throwaway, but it would be a good backup in case I’d missed the mark, so I paid for it at the till – along with a new fantasy release for me – and headed towards the pub Jack had sent me, which was up the hill at the south end of town.
Of course, he was already there when I arrived, sitting in the beer garden out back with his sunglasses on. Once I was settled we ordered from the menu on our phones, but from the way Jack was practically bouncing up and down by the time we’d paid, I could tell that we wouldn’t be waiting until after lunch to exchange books.
“Did you want to give each other the books now?” I offered, and he grabbed his paper bag before I’d even finished the question.
“I’m excited,” he said. “This was actually really funny.”
My excitement deflated slightly at this – clearly he’d gone the jokey route – but at least I had grabbed a backup.
“Actually,” he said, pausing with his hand in the bag, his face dropping suddenly, “you go first.”
I squinted at him. “Why?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I got nervous all of a sudden.”
“Okay…” I said, digging in my rucksack for the joke book. I had to move the nicer one out of the way to get to it, and for a moment I considered just giving him that one, but he’d said he went funny, so I pushed it aside and grabbed the hermit book instead.
I took a deep breath, tried to stop my leg from bouncing with nerves, and put the book on the table between us, facing Jack. “Here you go,” I said, and watched his reaction carefully. I watched his eyes scan the title, and he smiled, but it wasn’t the crinkly-eyed one he’d been wearing before. Shit.
“It’s funny because the first step is about building your own house,” I said, but dammit, I knew I had missed. Did he not find it funny?
Jack laughed brightly enough to fool most people, and he flipped through the book, showing me other funny bits I hadn’t even noticed myself. But I knew he wasn’t as into it as he was trying to appear.
Then it was his turn, and he hesitated before pulling the book out of the bag.
“I’m afraid I didn’t go for the humorous angle,” he said, which of course confused the hell out of me given his previous comment. But I didn’t have long to contemplate it, because he placed the most perfect book ever on the table in front of me.
I ran my hands over the green spine, the circular illustration in the middle surrounded by runes, the gold foil printed signature from J. R. R. Tolkien. It was an illustrated version of The Hobbit , and a beautiful one at that. Thumbing through it, I was captivated by Tolkien’s illustrations – paintings, maps, sketches.
“What was funny about this?” I asked, a bit breathless, unable to take my eyes off the pages as I flipped through them.
“Sorry?”
“Before. You said it was actually really funny.”
“Ah, yeah, sorry. This is a used copy, and the previous owner wrote their name inside the back cover. Check it out.”
I flipped the book over and opened the back cover, and there, in childish, unsteady handwriting, was a message:
This is my very favourite book. My granny bought me a new one, and I’m too old for picture books, so I don’t need this one anymore. I hope you love it as much as I do.
Sinceerly,
Morgan, aged 9
I gasped in delight when I saw the name. I looked up at Jack, so excited that I had tears in my eyes. He looked more pleased than I’d ever seen him.
“Thank you, Jack,” I said, my voice dripping with sincerity. There was no room for sarcasm or emotional distance or stoicism right now. This was a magnificent gift. I grabbed his hand on the table between us and gave it a squeeze. His smile faltered slightly as he stared down at it, so I pulled my hand back, but I didn’t even have the mental capacity to be worried or embarrassed.
Until I remembered the actual joke of a book I’d given him, and then suddenly embarrassment was the only thing I could feel.
“Jack, I’m so sorry,” I said, my eyes going wide and my shoulders drooping forward. “I wasn’t sure if you were going more for a joke or something genuine. I only gave you the grumpy old hermit book as a joke.”
“I know,” he said, his smile a bit halfhearted. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you like yours.”
“I love it,” I said, “but I also have another one for you.”
He frowned. “Why did you get me two?”
“Like I said, I didn’t know which direction you’d go,” I said as I went rummaging in my rucksack once more. “It’s nowhere near as amazing as the book you got me, but this one should be a bit more up your alley.” I placed the gold foiled book directly into his hand.
It took a moment for him to look away from me and down to what I’d given him, but when he did, I finally got the expression I’d been after all along. That crinkly-eyed grin, and a bit of astonishment for good measure. He pulled the book closer to inspect it, running his finger along the deckled edges just as I had.
“Amazing,” he said, flipping through the book and pausing on key pages; I, too, had chosen one with sketches. Perhaps all adult readers came full circle to liking illustrated books again. I wished I could tell nine-year-old Morgan that one was never too old for picture books, but then she might ask for her book back, and that would be a tragedy.
“Better?” I asked, but I hardly needed to based on his reaction.
“Definitely,” he said, still combing through the book, but then he looked up at me suddenly. “Not that I didn’t appreciate the other one, of course. It’s funny in its?—”
I shook my head and held up a hand to interrupt him. “It was a joke that was funny for exactly five seconds when I gave it to you. I’m sure you’ll get lots more enjoyment out of this one.”
“Definitely,” he said again with a nod, and he was right back into the book. I stared flipping through mine, too, and we both stayed like that, admiring our gifts, until our food arrived.
* * *
After lunch, we wandered through the town together, dipping into the shops we hadn’t been in earlier. It turned out we’d gone into almost all the same ones before lunch, and even bought each other’s books – the real gifts, not the joke one – in the same place. We bought each other books again at the outdoor honesty bookshop just inside the castle walls, with the brief of finding the most ridiculous, unhinged novels possible for each other. He found a copy of a famously deranged science fiction novel, but I found him what appeared to be a why-choose, enemies-to-lovers erotic romance between Mothman and two World War II deserters from opposing sides. We both agreed that, whilst his find might have been iconic, I’d definitely won on novelty.
Once we’d been into all the shops, we circled the castle again and then stopped at a sweet shop for fudge, which we ate on the riverbank as we watched people in canoes and kayaks paddle around. My shoulders and cheeks were pinking up in the sun yet again, like they seemed to every time I was with Jack, as if it was his presence giving off light. But I didn’t care about a slight sunburn. Sitting next to him, filling up on fudge and sweating in the sun somehow felt like heaven. My favourite flavour was the Irish cream; Jack’s was the maple nut. And when I was so full I thought I might be sick if I took one more bite, Jack suggested we walk back to the car.
Partially from our full bellies and partially from how tired we were, it took us twice as long to walk back to the car as it had to walk down into town, but that was okay; despite any gastric discomfort, it was one of the best days I’d had in a long time. And as we walked in a companionable silence completely devoid of awkwardness, I knew why: because there was no more posturing here. I wasn’t wearing any of the masks I’d always had to bust out around new people. I groaned when my belly ached instead of sucking it in, and asked the random questions that popped into my mind.
And whilst I couldn’t speak for Jack, it seemed to me that the panic that had set in for him that first time we’d gone on one of these adventures was long gone. He seemed … comfortable. And that made me feel happier than it probably should have.