The Little Bookshop of Love Stories: A gorgeous feel good romance to escape with this summer!

by Jaimie Admans

  ‘Are you moving into the flat too?’ Dimitri says when the shop’s quiet again.

  I nod. ‘Tonight. My sister and her husband are coming to help. Well, if they don’t turn and run at the sight of all my books. I don’t think they quite understand what they’re getting themselves into.’

  He laughs again. ‘That’s the main reason I could never move. I’d have to hire sixteen vans just to shift the books.’

  We meet each other’s eyes across the shop and he smiles. There’s definitely something about a man who reads and understands a love of books. ‘Do you have family telling you to throw them all out and get them on the Kindle to save space too?’

  ‘Of course I do. Non-readers don’t understand that some of these books are special. Those old, dog-eared paperbacks were there for me when no one else was. They’re friends.’ He pauses. ‘I mean, not literally. I don’t think they’re actual people and have conversations with them and stuff. Not very often, anyway.’

  I giggle, but mainly because he gets it. I keep the books I keep because I love them, because they helped me through times in my life when there was no one else to turn to. When I reread them, I want to read that actual copy – my copy. My friend.

  ‘I’ve always thought it would be amazing to live in a bookshop. Do you remember that guy who got locked in Waterstones one evening? That would be my idea of heaven.’

  He talks with quite a posh English accent, I’m guessing Cambridgeshire or a mix of the Home Counties, and each word sounds polite and refined. I like it. There’s something about the way he speaks that makes it sound like he’s narrating a fairy tale.

  A trickle of customers come through all morning, and between serving them and talking books with anyone who’ll listen, I find myself struggling to keep my eyes off Dimitri. True to his earlier word, he’s as quiet as a mute mouse and there’s plenty of room for others to sit down around him, and I like the way he takes such good care of the old book. He turns pages like he’s got white cotton gloves on, and every time he stops for a drink from his flask, he turns completely in the opposite direction to make sure he doesn’t spill anything near the valuable old book.

  When the clock ticks past one p.m., he leaves the book on the table and his drawings rolled up in the corner of the sofa, and picks up his lunchbox and flask, and waves as he goes. ‘Just popping out for lunch. Back in a bit.’

  Oh God, lunch. I suddenly realise how hungry I am. I was in such a rush this morning that I didn’t think to bring a packed lunch, and I’m used to shift work where you don’t need one, and now, of course, I can’t leave the shop unattended to go out and get something, and there’s nothing upstairs because I haven’t moved in yet. At least Robert was kind enough to leave a box of teabags and some milk in the fridge, but every time I think the shop’s empty enough to run upstairs and make one, another customer comes in.

  I wish I’d asked Robert more questions about the practical side of running this business. He used to manage it completely on his own, with no one to cover if he needed to pop out. Did he close the door with a sign saying back in two minutes? Did he risk leaving it unattended? With both the office and stairway doors open, you could probably hear the bell jingle when the door opened …

  It’s impossible, anyway. There’s a mum and daughter upstairs in the children’s section, and a man wandering around down here, and a woman comes in and asks me to point her in the direction of the Regency romance section, and I get a bit flustered because I don’t even know if we have a Regency Romance section, and I point her towards the Romances and hope for the best.

  ‘Don’t go out there, it’s a trap. There are people out there,’ Dimitri says when he comes back in, thankfully managing to stay upright this time. ‘Zero out of ten, would not recommend.’

  It makes me smile because I’ve often felt the same way and spend most of my time hibernating in the flat. I find it impossible not to watch the movement of his biceps as he shrugs the bag off his shoulder and goes to sit back down in the corner of the reading area. Of course he looks up and catches me looking, and I’m not sure which one of us blushes harder as he concentrates intently on getting his books back out and I tidy the counter for approximately the fortieth time today. It will win an award for tidiest counter in Britain at this rate.

  By half past two, my stomach is actually cramping with hunger, my bottle of water is empty, and my bladder is full. I can’t wait any longer, and for once, Dimitri is the only person in the shop.

  ‘I’m going to make a cup of tea,’ I announce, and the sudden words in the silence of the shop make him jump so much that his pencil squiggles across his sketchbook, and I feel so guilty that I offer him one too.

  ‘I’m okay, thanks. Got a flask.’ He pats the lid where it’s standing on the table beside him.

  He’s been here for hours. There’s no way that tea’s still at optimum drinking temperature. ‘Is that still warm?’

  ‘Well …’ He presses the back of his hand against the metal side of the flask. ‘Warmish, I suppose.’

  ‘This is Britain. There’s not much worse than a cold cup of tea. I’ll get you one. Sugar?’

  ‘One, please. And thank you. I didn’t want to impose. You’re meant to ignore me and pretend I’m not here.’

  Does he have any idea how blue his eyes are? How wide his smile is? He is impossible to ignore.

  I falter in the office doorway for a second. Even though he’s the only person here, if I go upstairs, I’m leaving him unattended in the shop.

  ‘I’ll keep an eye and call you if anyone comes in,’ he says without looking up. ‘It’s no trouble. I did it for Robert all the time.’ He sketches for a few more seconds and then he does look up. ‘And I’ve just realised that means leaving me alone in the shop and you don’t even know me. I’ll go and stand outside so you can lock up and let me in again when you come back.’ He puts his pencil down and goes to get up.

  ‘No, it’s okay.’ I stop him because the fact he realises that makes me feel a lot more comfortable. ‘You stay. I’ll be right back.’

  I turn and go through the office before I can reconsider, propping both doors ajar with their little doorstops that are in the shape of an open book. I’m pretty sure you’re not meant to leave strangers alone in your shop, but there’s something about him that seems infinitely trustworthy, and he clearly knows the shop well and is right at home there. I have no reason to doubt that he regularly watched the shop for Robert too. And if he didn’t, well, what’s he going to do – break into the till and steal my takings? You can barely get into that till when you want to, and I’ve only taken about thirty quid so far today, and if he wants to ransack the place then good luck to him in finding an un-ransacked part to begin with.

  Like Robert knew exactly what would happen, he’s also left two plain white mugs and a sugar bowl on the counter in the kitchen, along with the kettle and teabags. I silently thank him for his forethought and wish I’d had some of my own when it came to bringing lunch as I clatter around the kitchen, spilling things because I’m rushing so much.

  When I eventually get back downstairs, the shop’s still empty and Dimitri doesn’t look like he’s moved. It feels like I’ve been up there for hours when it’s only been five minutes. I put the mug down on the table near him, at a safe distance not to be spilled on the old book, and go to take my own mug back to the counter, but he stops me. ‘You have to stay and drink it with me now.’ He rifles in his bag, pulls the lid off another Tupperware container and holds it out to me. ‘Cookie?’

  I’m so hungry, I nearly burst into tears. And I definitely nearly hug him. Both of which would be Very Bad Things.

  The scent of vanilla and chocolate and the buttery biscuit base is so fresh that it’s like the chocolate chunks are still melting, and I snatch a cookie with an embarrassing amount of enthusiasm and inhale it so fast that I forget to taste it. He hasn’t offered a second one, but I grab one anyway and ram it down my throat with my fist, doing a sterling impr
ession of a baby learning to eat for the first time. He probably thinks I’m practising baby-led weaning minus the baby part.

  I sigh in relief as the hunger is abated, and realise he’s watching me with an alarmed look on his face. He nudges the container on the table nearer to me, and I gratefully take another cookie, trying to appreciate it this time, rather than swallow it whole and circle the box like a vulture looking for more. Regardless of how hungry I am, they really are amazing cookies. Soft and squidgy, with the perfect amount of gooey chocolate chunks and buttery biscuit. I grab another one as he takes one and nibbles it like a civilised person. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have forgotten lunch, would you?’

  ‘How did you guess?’ I ask guiltily, forgetting that civilised people don’t speak with their mouths full.

  ‘Do you want me to go and grab you something? The sandwich deli’s at the other end of the road. It’d be no problem.’

  God, that’s so nice. ‘No need. I’m all right now I’ve stuffed approximately thirty-four of your cookies down my throat. My sister’s getting here at five. I’ll text her and tell her to bring sustenance. That’s so lovely of you though. Thanks, Dimitri.’ I feel abnormally touched by his offer. Pure kindness for nothing in return. I didn’t think people like that existed.

  ‘Call me Dim. Most people do, and they’re rarely talking about my name.’

  I’ve only known him a few hours and I can tell he’s anything but dim, but I like his self-deprecating sense of humour. When you’re as accident-prone as I am, you have no option but to laugh at yourself, and I get the feeling he’s the same.

  I help myself to another cookie. ‘Did you make these?’

  He nods as he takes another one too. ‘This morning. Couldn’t sleep.’

  I’m leaning against the edge of the bookshelf that forms the three-sided wall around the reading area, cradling my mug of tea, and when there’s only one cookie left, he holds out the box to me. ‘Go on, take it. It’s amazing to see someone enjoying my baking. I always think the whole point of baking is to share it, and I still keep doing it, even though I don’t have anyone to eat it now.’

  I want to ask what that means, who he’s lost, but the bell tinkles as a couple come into the shop, holding hands, both glowing. ‘We’ve just found out we’re pregnant,’ the man says. ‘Have you got What to Expect When You’re Expecting?’

  I can’t chew fast enough not to answer them with my mouth full. I make a series of apologetic noises, but before I can splutter cookie crumbs all over them, Dimitri says, ‘Second aisle, fifth shelf from the end, on the right. There’s a good selection of pregnancy and baby books there.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ I call after them, nearly choking myself on the cookie.

  He’s trying and failing not to laugh as he hides his face behind his tea.

  ‘You know this place well,’ I say when they’ve gone in the direction he sent them and I’ve swallowed. ‘You don’t strike me as a man who spends a lot of time in the pregnancy section …’ I suddenly realise that he could have a wife and six children for all I know.

  ‘I often think I might be pregnant myself.’ He pats his quite lovely stomach. ‘And the father is Mr Kipling. Or Dr Oetker, or Betty Crocker, or Aunt Bessie, and maybe even Paul Hollywood.’

  I burst out laughing so hard that I spill my tea and have to rush over to grab the packet of wet wipes I’d found upstairs from behind the counter and mop it up before it stains the carpet. Scrubbing it puts me at eye level with the dust hidden underneath the shelves where some of the dust bunnies have clearly been reproducing like actual bunnies. ‘I never saw how much Robert was struggling. As a customer, everything seemed normal, but I see it now in every inch of the shop.’

  ‘That’s exactly what he wanted. He would’ve been devastated to think that any customers saw how much he struggled with stairs, and could barely get up and down to the flat anymore, let alone the children’s section or the sliding ladders.’

  And yet, the children’s section is easily the most looked-after place in the shop, and I get the feeling that Dimitri does a bit more than just sketching here. ‘You helped?’

  ‘If he let me. And not in any official way. Just as a thank-you for letting me use this old book. After the library closed, he welcomed me with open arms, even though I generally just sit here and make a nuisance of myself and can rarely afford to buy anything these days. I’m the type of customer every bookshop dreads.’

  He’s not the type of customer I dread. ‘With those cookies, I’m going to roll out a red carpet for you every day. You’re welcome here any time. Even without cookies.’

  The almost permanent smile on his face gets wider. ‘So where were you before? I’ve heard you’re not in the book industry.’

  ‘I was a waitress. I live just under an hour away and worked shifts in the local pub, which was … interesting. Don’t get me wrong, most people were families out for a meal who were all lovely and respectful, but a pub is a pub. You get groups of men who get progressively more lewd with every drink and think leaving a tip entitles them to treat you like a piece of meat, slap your bum, stare at your boobs, and call you four eyes when you get annoyed with them. I mean, four eyes, for God’s sake. No one’s called me that since primary school.’ I readjust my glasses self-consciously. I don’t know why I said all that. I seem incapable of not rambling in front of him.

  He pushes his glasses up. ‘No, me neither.’

  ‘I lost my job on the day of the prize draw. I’ve never had much luck with jobs. I’ve always been fired for stupid reasons, and then the odd time that I have found a job I’m good at and have enjoyed, the company’s gone into liquidation or been bought out.’ I pause, aware I’m still rambling. ‘I just want this to go right. I love books so much, and I love this shop, and what bookworm doesn’t dream of owning their own bookshop? I’m just kind of in the deep end here. I’ve never done anything like this before.’

  ‘Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a great job so far.’ He smiles at me and I get lost in smiling back at him for a moment, and then give myself a good shake.

  ‘I’m not doing any job so far. This shop needs a lot of work, and all I’ve done so far is unlock the door and get bitten by the till.’

  ‘He didn’t tell you about the 20p.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You have to balance a twenty-pence coin on the inner tray, right in the corner.’ He stands up. ‘Here, I’ll show you.’

  I follow him over to the counter where he goes behind it and unlocks the till with no hesitation, clearly having done it before. He pulls it open and takes a twenty-pence piece out of the drawer, and steps back to give me a better view. I lean across the counter on my elbows and watch as he balances the coin so it straddles either side of the lower right-hand corner of the inner tray. ‘You might think it’ll make it unsecure, but it won’t. It still locks safely, but now it’ll catch on the 20p and give you a few precious extra seconds to get your fingers out of the way.’ He pushes the till shut and sure enough, it touches the coin and slows for a second or two before it locks shut. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.’

  ‘It’s like that plant in The Little Shop of Horrors. It’s going to start growing with the more blood it gets. It’ll be demanding that Rick Moranis feed it before the week is out.’

  ‘So you have good taste in films as well as being a book lover …’ He nods approvingly as the pregnant couple reappear from the shelves with What to Expect When You’re Expecting and two other books on pregnancy and babies, and Dimitri and I swap places so I can serve them.

  He goes back to the reading area and picks up a pencil while I put their books into one of our branded paper bags and congratulate them again.

  When they leave, I turn back to him. ‘Thanks for your help. With the cookies, the pregnancy section, and the till.’

  He sips his tea. ‘You’re welcome. Feel free to ask if you need anything. I’m never too busy to talk to you.’

 
I like the emphasis he puts on the ‘you’. It makes me feel oddly special, which is a nice change because I feel like a mild inconvenience to most people in my life, but I still have to psych myself up to ask the next thing because I don’t want to annoy him or pry into his work. ‘Okay, one more question because it’s been bothering me all day. Where does the giant flea come in? I’ve never heard of a fairy tale with a giant flea in it before.’

  He lets out a peal of laughter and pats the sofa beside him. I go over, the leather of the seats soft under my thighs as I sit down, keeping a safe distance between us, and he reaches across me to pull the book closer. ‘This is actually the oldest known collection of fairy tales. It was praised by The Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen, but it’s much darker than their stories. It features the first known versions of Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, and Puss In Boots among others.’

  I lean back as he rustles the pages, his long fingers touching them gently, his upper arm brushing my knee where he’s leaning over. ‘Here, this is the giant flea one.’

  I look at the pages of tiny text, just one short story in the book of fairy tales, breathing in the smoky, almost chocolatey scent of the ancient book.

  ‘There’s this king who can’t find a suitor for his daughter, and when his sheep-sized pet flea dies, he hangs its skin up and sets a challenge – whoever can guess what animal the hide came from will get his daughter’s hand in marriage – absolutely certain that no one will guess it was a flea at that size.’

  I shift a bit nearer so I can see the book over his shoulder, and his voice is soft and quiet and close to my ear.

  ‘And then an ogre comes along and identifies it, and the king can’t go back on his word, so the princess is forced into marrying an ogre. A literal ogre, not the nice Shrek-type.’

  ‘Oh, fun.’

  He laughs. ‘But it’s okay in the end because she gets help from a family of half-giants who behead the ogre and take her back to the castle where she gets to marry a prince and live happily ever after.’ He pulls across one of his sketchbooks and flips through it until he finds a pencil drawing of a princess, her white dress covered in red splotches, holding up an ogre’s head with blood dripping from it. ‘That’s what I was thinking of going for, but I’m not sure if it’s too graphic or not. The age group we’re aiming at is too old to be coddled and possibly still too young for quite so much blood.’