Page 4 of Christmas By Lamplight
“Great Expectations, Easy Classics Edition,” the grandmother said apologetically. “He liked the cover.”
“His hat’s cool,” Oliver announced, pointing at Pip on the cover.
“Solid reasoning,” Tanner said without looking up from the shelf. He paused until Oliver was gone, then he reached for the full Penguin Classics edition on a nearby shelf and flipped through the pages like he was looking for a specific passage.
He ran his finger down the page and found it.
Then, as if compelled by something beyond his control, he read aloud, “I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be.”
The shop went silent. Even the ancient heating system stopped its wheezing to listen.
He’d just read Carrie’s chapter twenty-nine line, the one that made her forget how to breathe. And he’d read it like it was nothing, like her entire nervous system hadn’t erupted in volcanic desire, spreading like a molten puddle all over the floor.
Tanner looked up, seemed to realize what he’d done, and cleared his throat. “Good line,” he said. “I doubt it’s in Oliver’s version, though. So he’ll grow up thinking that he knows the story without ever knowing the language and writing that made it a classic in the first place.”
Carrie was still processing not only the thought but that it came from him—from The Voice, the voice that had just read The Line—when he turned back to his work.
“You okay?” Shannon whispered, appearing at Carrie’s elbow.
“I’m totally fine. Completely normal.”
“You just alphabetized the sugar packets.”
Carrie looked down. She had, in fact, arranged the coffee station’s sugar and creamer packets alphabetically by brand name. “It’s more efficient.”
“Than color? It’s just yellow, pink, brown, and white.” Shannon studied her face. “Do you need to sit down?”
“I need to work.”
But working was difficult when Tanner Blake was fifteen feet away, fixing her shelf with those massively capable hands while her brain played chapter twenty-nine on a loop.
He finished half an hour later, testing the shelf’s stability with his full weight. “That’ll hold. But the footer’s a temporary fix. You should have the whole unit re-anchored to the wall. I can do it tomorrow if you want.”
“I can’t afford you.” The words were out before Carrie could stop them.
He started packing his tools. “There’s no charge. It’s no problem. I’m your upstairs neighbor fixing a safety hazard.” He closed the toolbox and headed for the back stairs, then paused. “For what it’s worth—I appreciate you not making a big deal out of who I am. Most people either pretend they don’t know or they can’t stop knowing, if that makes sense.”
“It makes sense.”
He nodded and left, footsteps fading upstairs.
Shannon waited exactly three seconds. “Oh, my gosh!”
“I know.”
“He’s gorgeous, talented, and he fixes things.”
“So I noticed.”
Shannon was still staring at the stairs. “You’re going to fall for him so hard.”
“I’m not going to fall for anyone. I’m going to save this shop, prove Dennis wrong, and learn to run a business that doesn’t hemorrhage money.” Carrie grabbed her marker and fresh index cards. “Now help me hang the Secret Santa letters. It’s tradition.”
She wrote on the first card in her neatest print:
Tell us your Christmas wish.
Your friends at Lamplight Books
