Page 40 of An Enchanted Moment on Ever After Street
We both take a sip of our steaming hot tea, which goes some way towards negating the chill in the late-October air and I pull apart a croissant while she puts a whole cake pop into her mouth.
‘Maybe I could persuade him to come to the book festival,’ I say around a mouthful of flaky croissant. ‘If he’d wear some kind of costume or something. I could do with a helping hand there, and he’s been involved since the beginning.’
‘I could help. What do you need?’
‘Really? You don’t have to. You’ve done more than enough tonight.’
‘I’d love to. I love books and I love this place. Tonight was really fun and I love the company. Bookish people are awesome.’ She lifts her teacup to toast against mine, and I grin because I think exactly the same. Bookish people are the best people, and it’s been great to spend time with her. We’re getting on as well as I always thought we would. ‘I’m good at crafts. I love making stuff. If you have any old books, I’d be happy to host some kind of workshop on reusing them. I could do a demonstration and then show other people how to make something. There are these really easy book page roses…’
‘Seriously? That would be wonderful.’
Cleo goes over all the things she knows how to make with book pages, getting excited at the prospect of hosting a bookish craft class, and I can’t help thinking about how lucky I am. A few weeks ago I felt totally alone in the world, and now I’ve made two amazing friends who are both happy to doanythingto help me and my shop, and everyone from Ever After Street came tonight, even though I’ve done nothing but push them away in recent months, and their support made me feel like I belong here.
It’s been a couple of days since I last emailed U.N.Known a chatty email about books. He hasn’t responded, but there’s something about this night that I want to share with him.Once Upon Another Timeis a lot about friendships and the people who come and go from our lives, and I think he’s someone who would appreciate this idea.
When I get home that night, there’s one more thing I have to do before I fall into bed.
Hello again. I know you probably wish I’d leave you ‘alown’, but I can’t give up that easily.Once Upon Another Timeis such a special book, and I wanted to share a bit about Ever After Street and why it’s so special too.
I tell him about this being a place where children can go to believe their favourite fairy tales are real, and then start typing about the friendship dates tonight and attach a few of the pictures I took, wanting to show the pure joy on customers’ faces.
There’s so much we can do with this, but my shop is in real danger of being closed down. So much of A Tale As Old As Time has revolved aroundOnce Upon Another Time, and in a weird circle-of-life way, you seem like the only person I can turn to. Friendship and books go together like tea and biscuits. Reading is like going on a date in a way. You spend endless nights on dates with books, learning their story and deciding if they’re a perfect match for you.
Although my goal is to get him to agree to appear at the book festival, this is just a conversational email to try to make him understandwhymy little bookshop on Ever After Street means so much to me and why I keep emailing him when he probably wishes I’d stop.
He responds almost instantly.
And books always get you into bed on the first date…
That falls flat if you don’t read in bed.
Does it come across as sleazy to say, ‘At least you’re guaranteed a happy ending?’
Honestly? Sleazy.
I add a laughing emoji so he knows I’m joking.
A lesser-known member of the seven dwarves, left out of the Disney movie for obvious reasons.
I laugh out loud, waking up Mrs Potts. This guy is so unintentionally hilarious and there’s something about him that puts me at ease. I stare at my inbox for a few more minutes, but it doesn’t seem like he’s going to reply again.
Please give us a chance. I know you’re anonymous, but you wouldn’t have to give away your real name. We could put things in place to make you more comfortable, like a ban on taking pictures, and a screen or something to shield you from view. You’re not the only one who wants to hide away on Ever After Street, and everyone’s very accommodating of that. I have a neighbour who stays hidden and he came over in a Hazmat suit the other day – maybe something like thatcould work for you too. A costume, maybe? On the Sunday evening, we’re holding a costume ball where everyone is invited to come dressed as their favourite literary characters. You wouldn’t look out of place and no one would ever need to know your true identity. A world exclusive Q&A with you would make this festival unbelievably special. It could be the difference between being the first of many opportunities to spread bookish joy or the last days of a bookshop existing on Ever After Street.
I hit send and sit back, not expecting another reply until my email pings again.
I’ll give it some thought.
I victory-punch the air. It might not be a glowing agreement, but it’s more than I ever expected to wheedle out of him after those first one-line emails, and it lets me settle down to sleep with a smile on my face, and it’s all because of one man. Not the unknown one on the end of an email, but the one who gave me the confidence to do this – the unseen one who I imagine every time I close my eyes.
12
It’s just after five a few nights later, and I’m upstairs in the kitchen making two cups of tea because Darcy is about to come over and neaten up my badly chainsawed hedge when there’s a commotion outside. I hurry over to the window that looks out onto the back garden, and see Rick huffing and puffing his way in the gate, his arms full with a folded-up table, chairs, and a picnic basket.
‘This is private property.’ I march down the stairs and stand on the doorstep, glaring at the man who’s invited himself in and is now struggling up the path under the weight of folding garden furniture. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Nice to see you too, Marn.’ He flashes me a smile so dazzling that it suggests he’s recently had his veneers re-whitened. He’s found his way to the centre of the garden, put down his picnic basket, thrown the folded-up chairs against the hedge, and is now unfolding the tiny wooden table he’s brought with him.
‘What are you doing?’ I repeat.
