Page 65 of Finding Love at the Magical Curiosity Shop
The thought makes me smile. Despite my love of the table and my curiosity about what a dragon fruit itself would taste like, it had never occurred to me to actually look for one, and I love that he’s made such a simple gesture into something truly special.
‘So what exactly is going on here?’ I wave a finger towards the rest of Ever After Street behind me without turning around to look because I’m certain thateveryshopkeeper will have given up the pretence of fixing their windows and just be overtly watching by now. ‘Why does everyone know?’
‘I was looking for insider intelligence on how much you might hate me and how much of a chance I might have. I only spoke to Lissa and Cleo, but word has apparently spread.’
I hate to tell him that that’s what wordsdoon Ever After Street – they spread, because if this little community can find a way to help one of their own, they always do.
‘But that’s not the point.’ He checks his watch. ‘Right now, I figure I’ve got about ten minutes before customers start arriving, and there’s something I want you to read. It’s not as interesting nor as historically important as the first diary, but it’s written by someone who is almost as incapable of saying the things heshouldsay at the times he should say them, so I’m going to take a lesson from our mermaid – shut up and let written words speak where my spoken ones so often fail.’
He nudges the book on the table towards me. It’s a leather-bound notebook with an old-fashioned look and a gorgeous smell of vintage paper to it.
I open the cover, and on the first page are the words:
Diary of a modern-day history teacher who wouldn’t know a good thing if it smacked him in the face.
An unexpected giggle escapes and I look up at him, but he refuses to meet my eyes, and I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing. ‘You’ve written me a diary?’
Instead of nodding, he holds a hand out towards the chair, inviting me to sit down, and I realise that he’s right about the time, and if customers are likely to come along shortly, this seems like something I would rather readwithoutMrs Moreno’s cat’s bladder issues coming into it.
Given the two chairs, I thought he might sit opposite me, but he paces, wringing his hands together. He was doing a good job of covering his nerves until now, but they’re suddenly so tangible that it makes my heart pound faster as I sit down, wondering what on earth he could have written that would make him so nervous.
I start reading his account of this summer, the first two diary entries recounting the first days he and Ava came into the shop, a handwritten apology for his initial insults and rudeness, but I’m struggling to concentrate because he’s pacing so much, but there’s something else. While it’s a nice gesture and a thoughtful throwback to the thing that brought us together, it feels a bit impersonal and cold too. ‘Isn’t this a bit… detached?’
He stops pacing to look at me. ‘I thought it was a sentimental touch. You loved reading Mayme’s diary.’
‘Mayme isn’t here to tell us her thoughts in person.Youare. I know you aren’t particularly good at dealing with feelings, but why do I want to read this on a page when you’re standing right in front of me? If you have something to say,sayit.’
‘Not giving me the easy way out, huh?’
‘No. Why should I? You were way out of line the other day. You said some really horrible things that were undeserved. I’m not sure why you’ve gone to all this trouble today, but if thisisan apology, or an explanation, explain it to me.’ I look up at him expectantly, trying not to show that I’m really touched by this gesture, even if I do think he needs to work a bit harder and get a bit more personal too.
‘But that would mean ugly, messy feelings…’
‘Yes, exactly. And exactly the example you should be setting for Ava. Sometimes feelingsaremessy and you can’t keep them all in a nice, neat notebook, even if I do appreciate the displaced romance you were aiming for.’
‘I knew you were going to do that.’ He nods to me as I close the book. ‘I knew you were going tosaythat.’ He paces a few more times, and then finally slumps into the seat opposite me.
‘What does it say?’ I push him to elaborate when I start to get the feeling that we could sit here all week and he still wouldn’t have found the right words for whatever it is that he’s trying to say.
‘The first one says I was an arse on the day we came into your shop.’
‘I know, I read that part.’
He sighs. ‘It says something changed in me when we hugged in the café. That hug untethered something inside of me and made me feel like a boat rocking on a stormy sea when I’d spent years trying to keepeverywater as calm as possible, and how I couldn’t get you out of my head. And when I came to start decluttering, I felt lighter than I had in years. Talking to you was like a metaphorical weight being lifted off my shoulders. It’s about how you can see right inside me, how I really wanted you to know why I’m like I am, and how long it had been since I wanted anyone to knowanythingabout me, but you made everything feel different, and opening up to you was eas—’ He hesitates. His eyes flick to mine and then he looks away again. ‘Well, it wasn’teasy, but it did feel natural and right, and it had been a long time since anything felt right in my life.’
He’s twisting his fingers together and deliberately avoiding eye contact, and I stretch my leg until I can push at his boot with my toe, trying to prod him into carrying on. I know he’s trying to apologise for the other day, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying his discomfort just the teeniest little bit.
‘It goes on to mention the argument we had and the night on the riverbank.’ He pushes out a long breath and seems to steel himself. ‘I fell in love with you that night.’
I don’t even try to hide the intake of breath at the surprise of him saying it so openly. I didn’t expect him to lay himself quitethisbare, and he carries on quickly, like he’s trying to make sure nothing derails his determination to get it all out there.
‘You’re the most affectionate and open person I’ve ever met. That night, you stroked my hair, kissed my cheek, gave me the best hug of my life, and I fell in love with you. My heart felt like it had increased in size. The next morning, I kept touching my cheek because I could still feel the imprint of your lips. I felt giddy and joyful and I ran away because I couldseelife being wonderful again, and I wasn’t ready to really believe it yet.’
I can feel my own heart increasing in size because there’s something truly special about hearing him candidly say what I thought was happening at the time, but was never sure if I was reading the situation quite right.
‘…If it makes you cry, maybe it’s not a good thing?’
I sniffle and swipe away tears that I hadn’t realised were rolling down my cheeks. because I’ve been so consumed by his words that everything else has ceased to exist. It’s so impactful to hear him say it so frankly, and to know that somewhere in this book I’m still caressing, he’s written it in permanent ink on white paper. A fact. Something that will last forever, like Mayme’s diary. What felt like an easy way out earlier has suddenly become by far the most thoughtful and heartfelt thing anyone’s ever done for me. The idea he’s taken inspiration from a diary he never believed in and used it to give me his perspective on the summer we’ve spent together is illuminating and moving. I want to get up and hug him, but I don’t want to move a millimetre in case he clams up again.
