The Little Bookshop of Love Stories

by Jaimie Admans

  ‘Are you doing the words as well?’

  ‘No, that’s someone else’s department. I can’t write for toffee.’

  I love how posh he sounds, because it’s the opposite of how he seems. He seems dishevelled and rambly and endearingly clumsy, but his English accent is lovely, the kind of accent that should narrate audiobooks you spend hours listening to.

  ‘Your drawings are incredible. And so … unusual.’ I struggle to find the right word. The couple I’ve seen so far have got something about them, something magical, whimsical, and special.

  ‘That’s another way of saying “no wonder you’re thirty-six and haven’t got anything published yet,”’ he says with a laugh.

  ‘I didn’t mean that at all.’ I can’t tell him that sitting this close to him has made my brain start sounding an alarm, and inside my head is a constant flashing sign saying, Remain calm. All is well. Just because you’re sitting next to a gorgeous man who smells of dark lavender and the fresh wood of newly sharpened pencils, don’t do anything stupid like sneeze on him. And for God’s sake, don’t accidentally spit on him like you did that last guy, and I can’t think of anything other than not dousing him in bodily fluids.

  ‘Do you do anything else?’ I ask, because I couldn’t help noticing that paints fell out of his bag earlier, along with every other type of art supply imaginable.

  ‘I’ll try my hand at anything. I take online commissions to pay the bills and build my portfolio. My last job was creating a logo for a vegan marshmallow company. I like creating things on a blank canvas …’ He hesitates like he’s questioning whether to carry on or not. ‘You know the Peter Pan mural upstairs?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s amazing. I’d never really seen it until this morning, but it’s magical. It’s my favourite part of the whole shop. In fact, when the shop’s closed, I think I might sit up there and read.’

  He pushes his bottom lip out and tips his head to the side.

  ‘You?’ I say in surprise when I realise what he’s saying. ‘You painted that?’

  ‘Robert had the upstairs redone and it left a blank space on the wall. He commissioned me to paint something literary in the children’s section, so I chose Peter Pan. It’s one of my favourite stories.’

  ‘Mine too. I mean, the Disney film version. The book itself is a bit dark, but that scene and that quote are so iconic and magical.’ He’s still leaning across me to reach the old book of fairy tales so I nudge my arm against his shoulder. ‘You’re incredibly talented.’

  He looks up and we hold each other’s gaze. He mouths a thank-you, and I’m not sure if he was deliberately trying to whisper or if he’s forgotten how to talk, because sitting this close to him is definitely impairing my motor function.

  Thankfully the bell jingles to announce the arrival of another customer and I jump up and go back to my position behind the counter because sitting so close to him is a recipe for disaster in more ways than one.

  After that, it’s the end of the school day and a steady stream of children and parents start filtering in and drift upstairs, and I listen to little footsteps on the floorboards above me. They’re not here to buy anything – apparently it’s an afterschool reading club run by parents. Yet more people in the shop who aren’t buying anything. Maybe I should rebrand as a library and that would be the way to save Once Upon A Page.

  I watch Dimitri pull everything he’s using closer to take up less space, but when children and parents start filling the sofas around him, he starts putting his things back into his bag, closes the old Italian book and takes it back around the corner to the shelf it came from.

  I’m distracted by serving someone, and he makes me jump when he appears in the gap behind the counter. He’s still smiling as he leans down so he can whisper instead of shouting over the sounds now filling the bookshop. His glasses slide down his nose and he pushes them back up again. ‘I’m gonna go.’ His hair flops forwards and he has to shake it back. ‘Usually I’d take myself round the back, but if you’re moving in tonight, you don’t need to be turfing me out at five.’

  I shouldn’t feel as disappointed as I do. There’s been something nice about him being here today, a sort of reassuring presence that’s made me feel like I’m not alone, and it’s been nice to chat to someone who gets the love of books and doesn’t ridicule me for it, and even though it’s getting on for half past four and Nicole will be here soon, I’d kind of hoped I’d get to chat to him again once this round of customers have gone.

  ‘Thanks for the cookies and the flowers earlier.’

  ‘I think I’d better take them with me.’ He nods towards the pitiful daffodils, which are now so limp that their stems have bent over and their shrivelled yellow heads are touching the countertop. ‘Well, it’s the thought that counts, right? And as for baking, what do you like? I’ll bring something else tomorrow. It’s the least I can do.’

  I go to protest, but he stops me. ‘Okay, tell me what you don’t like?’

  ‘Carrots. I hate carrots.’

  ‘Might reconsider the carrot cake then, although I do tend to agree with you there. Any cake that involves vegetables is not real cake.’ He pushes his glasses up again. ‘See? It’s so much easier to get people to talk about hate than love. Ask anyone about something they love and they’ll umm and ahh, but ask them about something they hate and you get an answer in seconds.’

  That’s so sad. Even as I think he must be wrong, I realise that he’s not. People do love complaining.

  ‘Dimitri?’ I say as he turns to go. ‘I’m not going to perpetuate that. I love coconut. And any form of actual nut – hazelnuts, peanuts, almonds, walnuts, the lot.’

  ‘Well, coconut and peanut butter are my favourite things in the world. Something else we have in common.’ He lifts an imaginary hat and tips it in my direction. ‘See you tomorrow, Hallie.’

  ‘See you tomorrow.’ I ignore the little fizzle inside. I have no right to get excited about seeing him, and there’s no way he really comes here every day. I’ve never seen him before. Surely I’d have run into him by now if he’s really here that often?

  ‘Bye, Heathcliff!’ He plucks the vase of squashed daffodils from the counter and goes out the door just as loaded down as he came in, with an armful of sketchbooks and the flowers held precariously against them. He waves as he walks past the window, and then stops and bends to wiggle his fingers at Heathcliff too, who swims towards the front of his bowl and his mouth movements amp up.

  Clearly Dimitri’s attractiveness is not limited to the human species.

  Gorgeous baking wizard artists and a sex-crazed goldfish. No wonder Robert’s got a sign up in the office that reads ‘You don’t have to be mad to work here, but it helps’.

  Chapter 4

  Where is that coming from? I open my eyes to the sound of a persistent knocking noise coming from somewhere below. Everything feels weird and different, and I’m on top of the bedcovers with half the duvet wrapped around my leg in such a knot that it looks like I’ll need to join the Scouts to learn how to untie it. And I can see, kind of, which means I fell asleep with my glasses on, and they’re now diagonally across my face and one of the arms has left a welt across my forehead.

  I breathe in fresh bedding and blink up at an unfamiliar ceiling … Oh my God, the bookshop! And that knocking must be a customer trying to get in, which can only mean one thing. I look around for something to tell me the time, but my usual bedside clock is still in a box somewhere, and my … where the hell is my phone?

  The knocking gets more insistent and I scramble off the bed, fall across to the window, shove it open, and stick my head out so fast that the momentum nearly pitches me straight through it.

  ‘Good morning!’ Dimitri is smiling up at me from the pavement below.

  ‘Oh thank God, it’s only you.’ I scrub a hand over my face, feeling the pillow creases running across my cheeks, and I don’t need a mirror to tell what a bird’s nest my hair is in. If I stand here for too long, I’m
going to have the responsibility of raising a cuckoo.

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to have overslept, would you?’

  ‘No.’ I screw my face up like I can’t work out what he’s talking about, despite how glaringly obvious it is that I’ve just fallen out of bed. ‘I was busy. With the … um … bookshop stuff. What time is it?’

  ‘Ten past nine.’

  He laughs when I swear.

  ‘Did you know they’ve invented these nifty little things called alarm clocks?’ He calls up with a bright smile.

  I give him a scathing look. Well, as scathing as you can be with pillow creases and wonky glasses as you squint at the morning sunlight like it’s personally at fault for turning up early. ‘And to think I thought you were so nice yesterday.’

  His impossibly wide smile gets impossibly wider, and I briefly consider that if I was more awake, I wouldn’t have admitted that out loud. ‘Stay there, I’ll be down in a minute.’

  I duck back inside and clonk my head on the window frame.

  ‘Ouch!’ Dimitri shouts from below. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘No, I knocked myself unconscious but I expect I’ll come round shortly,’ I call back.

  His laughter reaches my ears as I flail around the bedroom. Where is everything? Why are there so many boxes? Whoever thought it was a good idea to have this many books? I stumble to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and start tearing into boxes to find something to wear. I yank one of my favourite T-shirts on – one that depicts ‘Once upon a time’ scrawled across a Disney castle – and brush dust off yesterday’s jeans because I can’t find a clean pair, and I’m still finger-combing my long hair into a side plait as I scramble down the stairs, dash through the shop, and fling open the door to … a completely empty street.

  Dimitri’s gone. Great. How could I have overslept on my second day?

  Moving in did not go smoothly. In fact, the only success of the night was that I restrained myself from braining Bobby with a book for his constant litany of ‘Why do you need so many flamin’ books when you’re moving into a flamin’ bookshop?’ Braining him would’ve been a waste of a good book. Between that and trying to fit boxes of books into a very narrow flat, by the time I’d found my bedding, got it onto the bed and fallen facedown on top of it, it was gone four a.m., and setting an alarm didn’t even cross my mind. I assumed I’d be so excited for day two of my new job that I’d wake up anyway, and if that failed, then the noise of the street would definitely rouse me.

  ‘That went well,’ I say to the empty road.

  The tailor from the handmade clothing and alterations shop on the opposite corner next to the town square is standing in his doorway too and he gives me a hesitant wave and a nervous nod, clearly wondering who I’m talking to. I gesture to Heathcliff and mouth ‘goldfish’ at him, which only serves to make me look like I’ve got even more screws loose. The man retreats hastily back inside his shop, and I sigh and close the door behind me.

  I look down at myself and realise my top is on back to front. I duck behind the counter, pull my arms out and try to swivel it the right way, and at the exact moment I look like I’m in the middle of a game of strip aerobics, the bell tinkles and Dimitri pops his head round the door. ‘Hello!’

  I squeak and drop to my knees behind the counter to hide.

  ‘I know it’s a bit late, but nothing’s so important that you have to get dressed in the shop.’

  ‘I’m not getting dressed in the shop, I’m getting re-dressed because I couldn’t do it properly the first time.’ It comes out muffled around the sleeve I’m holding up with my teeth to ensure my bra doesn’t pop into view. When I’m satisfied that the top’s on safely, I stand up and do a Basil Fawlty-style double take at how close he is to the counter.

  ‘Oh, I’m not complaining.’ He waggles his eyebrows and my cheeks burn even hotter than they were before. There’s no way he means that as flirtily as it sounds. ‘Good morning!’

  I groan, but at least he’s better than yesterday’s opening-time visitor. ‘Could you be less chirpy? I’m not used to this time of the morning. I worked evenings before this.’

  ‘Sorry!’ he says at the same level of chirpiness. ‘Can I be forgiven for bringing these?’ He puts a cardboard tray of two coffee cups down on the counter, along with another vase of bright daffodils, uncrushed this time, and his beam shows exactly how proud he is of that fact. It makes me smile as I tear one of the coffees out, mumble something that might be a thank-you, and take a huge mouthful. And immediately regret it because sipping lava would be cooler. I wince and suck air in between my teeth, hoping he hasn’t noticed, but he obviously has.

  ‘You look like you need these.’ He digs in his bag and pulls out a Tupperware container and pops the lid. ‘Coconut and almond bites, with flaked almonds and toasted coconut.’

  ‘Oh my God, you are the best person in the world.’

  His smiling face goes the colour of a tomato.

  ‘Oh my God, Dimitri,’ I repeat as I pop one in my mouth, the soft and buttery cake-like centre complemented by the crunch of toasted coconut and almond flakes on the outside. ‘Have you applied for The Great British Bake Off? You could win it blindfolded.’

  ‘You’re just being kind, but thank you.’ He takes one of the delicious little bites and pops it into his mouth. ‘And because I know you haven’t had a chance to prepare lunch this morning, I’m going to the deli down the street for both of us at lunchtime.’ I go to protest but he stops me. ‘It’s non-negotiable. Just call me a sandwich-bearing Prince Charming.’

  ‘I’ve always thought that if Prince Charming was missing anything in the old fairy tales, it was freshly made sandwiches.’ I give him a wink. ‘And you’ve managed to wake me up this morning. Princes are always waking people up in fairy tales.’

  ‘Yeah, but with coffee and a good knocking technique. It’s not quite True Love’s Kiss.’

  ‘Oh, no, kissing and me first thing in the morning would not inspire True Love’s Kiss. It would inspire the appearance of an eighth dwarf called Morning Breath.’

  He laughs, but all this talk of kissing is a bit much for me with a man this gorgeous standing so close. I take another bite to distract myself and try not to make the orgasmic noises I want to at the taste. I’m already embarrassed about the kissing talk; orgasmic noises are not going to help the situation.

  He does look gorgeous again this morning. He manages to look dishevelled and put-together at the same time, whereas I look like I fell out of bed less than five minutes ago. His light-brown hair is in an impressive quiff again, but it doesn’t look like it’s styled, it just looks like it naturally stands upwards. His black-framed glasses make his eyes look bigger and bluer than they probably are – they must do, because no one’s eyes are naturally that bright. He’s wearing dark trousers, a T-shirt, and a waistcoat again, and neon yellow socks are peeking out from above one orange and one blue boot.

  ‘Okay, I didn’t say anything yesterday because I thought you’d got dressed in the dark and I didn’t want to make you self-conscious about it, but now I have to ask. Either you’ve got a serious problem with the electricity where you live or the odd shoes are a fashion choice?’

  He sticks out the foot with the blue boot and wiggles it in my direction. ‘I like to be different. And it really annoys the people in my life who want me to conform. It’s worth all the odd looks I get for that alone. I’m such a klutz that people are going to look at me anyway, I may as well give them something to look at.’

  Before I have a chance to comment on how oddly sad that sounds, he cuts me off. ‘How’d the move go?’

  I groan again as I tell him about the constant moaning about too many books, and totally lose track of time as we both lean on the counter, sipping our coffees, and working our way through the tub of coconut almond bites. I don’t realise how long we’ve been standing there until a customer comes in and I realise how unprofessional it must look.

  Dimitri has already put his things dow
n in the corner of the sofa and he goes to collect his book of fairy tales.

  ‘Hey,’ I say before he sits down. ‘You know a bit about Heathcliff, you wouldn’t happen to know how often Robert fed him, would you?’

  ‘Not a clue. Hang on.’ He disappears up the stairs, his long legs taking them two at a time, and I listen to the creak of floorboards as he moves around.

  ‘Here.’ When he reappears a few minutes later, he hands me a book with a proud smile.

  How to Look After Your Goldfish. With an age range of four to six years old. I try to be insulted, but to be honest, I know so little about fish and am so bad at keeping things alive that one aimed at two-year-olds would be more appropriate. ‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘Just call me Prince Charming bearing children’s books.’ He settles down and gets his art supplies out and spreads his sketchbooks across the table in front of him, while I stand behind the counter reading about how often to feed goldfish, when to clean the tank out, and signs of impending demise. Heathcliff Number Four is not going to become Number Five on my watch. I side-eye the daffodils Dimitri brought in. I don’t fancy their chances much though.

  Again, I try not to watch him as he works. The shop is quiet but a few people come and go, the flip of pages as people flick through books, and readers standing still with their heads bent as they read first chapters before deciding to buy. Or not buy. The amount of people who put the books back and walk out empty-handed is disheartening. I try watching people to see if I can work out why. Do they turn the book over and check Robert’s price stickers and can’t afford it? Do they like it but think it’ll be cheaper on Amazon? Did they just come in to read a certain part with no intention of buying it? How am I going to change things if I can’t figure it out?

  I realise the window display hasn’t changed since I came in on the day after I won the prize draw, and that was over two weeks ago, so I put Heathcliff’s bowl on the counter and start clearing the display, leaving Dimitri to keep an eye on things as I run upstairs for cleaning supplies, thankfully left in a labelled box in the kitchen last night.