Page 12 of The Midnight Book Club
“I…”I’m a writer who can’t write anymorewas the first answer that came to her, but she bit her lip to keep it in.Instead, she said, “I run a bookshop.Thus the bookmark,” she added, nodding to his jacket pocket.
“Oh, right,” Oliver said, taking the bookmark out of his pocket to inspect it.“I wondered about that.”
“You thought I just hand out random bookmarks?”she teased.
“It seemed a bit odd,” he said with a laugh.
His smile spread over his features, momentarily melting his reserve.Aurelia smiled back, taken in by it.She told herself it was just because that smile had been so hard-earned, but maybe it was also because his smile made his eyes squint in a way that was almost endearing.
Looking back down at the bookmark, he read, “‘On the Square Books.’”
“The shop’s on a small square with a park in the middle,” Aurelia explained, feeling a little silly when he’d probably guessed as much.
“Well, it’s brave of you to open a bookshop with everything going digital,” he declared, tucking the bookmark back into his pocket.
“Well, I didn’t open it.My great-great aunt did in the early 1900s.We do alright, actually.There are lots of people still devoted to hard copy.”
“Are there?”he asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“You should know—being a publishing man, and all.”
“Yes, but it’s going to get more and more difficult to sell hard copies.I think exclusive digital sales are in the future.”
“Not mine,” she retorted with a bite in her voice.She took back the idea that anything about him might be endearing.
Despite her insistence, Oliver started detailing sales forecasts and predictions for publishing’s future and Aurelia tried to stifle yet another yawn.He spouted one last statistic, then they were both silent again.She started wondering what time it was and longed to get back to the flat so she could try to catch up on sleep—if the ghosts in the shop would keep it down for once.Or maybe she should try to stretch the date out, after all, since the alternative was dealing with a haunting at home.But it was hard to show an interest in Oliver when she was so preoccupied—and tired.Besides, he didn’t have much to say aside from rambling on about publishing.
“Are you alright?”he asked.
“Yes, I’m sorry.I was in my own world for a second.”
He began talking about what he liked and didn’t like about the publishing company where he and James worked.She hadn’t asked, but he dove right in—though, in fairness, she wasn’t exactly winning points for offering up any sparkling conversational topics of her own.
“It’s a small boutique-type place,” Oliver explained.“We put out a few books a year and only do a limited distribution.My goal is to work there for a year or two before going somewhere larger.I want access to more authors and bigger budgets.”
Aurelia frowned.She didn’t like to think Oliver was just using the publishing closet—house, she corrected herself—as a launchpad to something bigger.He sounded aggressively ambitious, a five-year-plan man who would stop at nothing to get ahead.She took in his jacket, his buttoned-up shirt, and started recasting him as aMad Men-type.
There was a sudden silence and she snapped-to as she realized she must have missed her cue to respond to something he’d said.She reached for her glass of wine, hoping to give herself another few seconds to try and figure out what to say.Yet, somehow, she managed to knock the glass with her hand, sending red wine sloshing over the lip as she fumbled to keep it upright.
“Oh!Damn,” she spluttered as she mopped up the spill with her tiny cocktail napkin before leaping up to grab extras from an empty table.“Did I get you?”
“No, I think you just missed,” he said, patting at his jacket.
“What a mess—I’m so sorry.”
She made a pile of wet napkins between them, and even though the table was clean now, she kept uselessly swiping one last napkin over its surface.Oliver reached out and put his hand on hers, stopping her.
“It’s fine—no harm done.I’m sure it’s not the first time the table has seen some red wine.Or my jacket, for that matter.”
Aurelia stilled, taken in by the gentleness of his touch and tone.There was a warmth there that he’d kept locked away before, and it was disorienting to suddenly see another side of him.She sat back down, her hand slipping from beneath his as she added the napkin she’d been holding onto the pile.
“Let’s try that again,” she said lightly.
She reached slowly for the glass, carefully lifted it to her mouth, took the daintiest of sips, and then used both hands to put it back on the table.His face bloomed into a smile as he laughed with her, and she was distracted by how it lit up his features.Her eyes lingered a bit too long, their silence stretching from a shared moment into something more awkward and unsure.
She dragged her eyes away and looked around the nearly empty bar again, desperately searching for something to say as she stifled yet another yawn.
“We can call it a night,” Oliver said abruptly.
