“No. Certainly not. Out.”

The grin returns, a searing dazzle of bright through the dark of the shop. Quickly, I turn away as my face burns. Never mind him.

“See you next time!” And with that, the door jangles shut behind him.

Chapter Two

On my best behavior, I ring through a shocking number of green books. It turns out The-Woman-Who-Wanted-Green-Books is a most serious connoisseur, with at least a couple dozen selected from the Classics and Collectibles section. There’s no rhyme or reason to the subjects, ranging from textbooks on botany to world cultures to Victorian literature. All hardcovers, all vintage, with a strong preference for gilt lettering. Eli’s in cahoots with her that it’s better to catch the light. He says bling books sell. We make arrangements for someone who will come by to pick the books up for her later in the afternoon. They sit in a pile on the back counter, along with the parcel I need to take to the post office.

I take a drink of the dregs of my coffee. It’s more like I’m drinking the memory of coffee, but in a caffeine emergency one does what one must. I feel like the one who’s been dancing all night, and not Gemma. Maybe the sofa bed is catching up with me after all.

Eli joins me.

“Remember those heady days of yore, when people used to read books?” I ask.

“Such cheek. You just sold thirty books.” Eli’s grin is unrepentant. “It’s not even one o’clock and you can close shop for the day.”

“Very funny. So far today I’ve sold books based only on their looks, processed one return due to a misbehaving poet, and sold two bestsellers that were ghostwritten.”

“It’s fine,” says Eli. “Look at how busy it is in here.”

The shop is still impressively busy for a Saturday. There may even be more legitimate book buyers in the lot.

“I just don’t want books to become ornamental fetishes for decorators.”

“Who knows what sort of fetishes decorators have?” Eli shrugs. “Besides, she wasn’t a decorator. Not quite.”

I glance at Eli as I shuffle some of the collectibles on the shelf to fill the gaps left by the Green Book Debacle, as I will now think of it. “What was she, then?”

“A designer. A set designer, actually.”

I frown. “A set designer?”

Eli nods. “That’s what she said.”

“Isn’t that an ungodly sum of money to spend on books that will never be read?”

He claps my shoulder. “Clearly, they have some sort of budget. Now, darling, I must be off. Ryan will be wondering what happened to me.”

“Thanks for your help.” It’s true: I am grateful. If only I didn’t feel so raw inside.

As though Eli’s reading my thoughts, he gives me a hug and kiss on the cheek.

“Cheer up, Aubs. One day it’ll all be old news. You’ll see.”

I sigh. “Say hi to Ryan.”

“I will. Stay out of trouble. Or find the right kind of trouble. Saturday night in Soho and all that.” Eli winks. The bells on the door ring behind him as he leaves.

Before long, my dark mood starts to lift as several paying customers come through after all. A couple of hours pass in the blink of an eye before Gemma and I get a break.

“I need to run a parcel up the street to the post office,” I say.

Gemma hops up to sit on the front counter, her legs dangling in polka dot Mary Janes. “Go. I’ve got this.”

I hesitate. She just laughs. “Take your phone. I’ll text if there’s a mob. Does that make you feel better?”

“Marginally.”