Page 29 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
‘Nothing, as far as I know.’ Sophie pulled a cheese string off her lower lip. ‘This is amazing.’
‘Good.’ Harry gave her a quick smile. ‘I wasn’t sure. You get your sandwiches from Dexter, and that’s a high bar.’
‘Oh, you’ve definitely met that standard,’ Sophie said, enthusiastically.
They munched away in contented silence, and then, when Harry had finished, he pointed at her notebook. ‘You’re a proper fan, then. You don’t just sell them.’
‘Of course not. I make them, too.’
Harry’s eyes widened. ‘You madethis?’
Sophie nodded, savouring the last bite of her sandwich, regretting its loss as soon as it was gone. ‘I’ve always loved notebooks – everyone should have at least one good one – and after I finished art college, I realized it was what Iwanted to do: making things that were beautiful and practical, being able to sell them too. I wanted to be busy, but not stuck in a studio every day, only showing my pasty face for exhibitions.’
‘You learnt how to bind them?’ He sounded incredulous, as if it was impossible for an individual without high-powered machinery to be able to bind books to a high standard.
‘There are a lot of different techniques,’ she explained. ‘I’m limited to which ones I can do, because I only have a tiny workspace in my flat.’ She thought of the old sweet shop, the room behind the shop floor that she hadn’t investigated yet. Would it be big enough to allow her to expand her designs? ‘But there are a few I’ve got good at: stitched, casebound, spiral-bound. You’re acting like you don’t believe it.’
‘No, I … no! Not at all! It’s – I’m surprised, that’s all.’ He laughed, but it sounded awkward, as if he was unpractised. He tapped his laptop. ‘I’m afraid I don’t use notebooks.’
‘Writing is a completely different thing to typing,’ Sophie said. ‘There’s something about scribbling on a page that’s cathartic and illuminating. It fires your thoughts in different ways. Even if it’s just a to-do list, or a note to someone else – I’m not just talking about journalling.’
‘But you do? Keep a journal, I mean?’
‘Most days,’ Sophie admitted. ‘I like to get my thoughts out of my head. Sometimes it feels like there isn’t enough room for them, and when I’ve written them down, I feel lighter.’ She flushed at the confession, and at the way Harry was watching her, his gaze steady. It was disconcerting to be sitting opposite him. He was a big presence even when he was silent.
‘What sort of thoughts?’ he asked gently, and Sophie was, once again, at a loss. He’d barely been able to say hello to her a few days ago, and now … this?
‘All sorts,’ she said vaguely. ‘Outlines for new notebook designs, marketing strategies. Plans for my future.’ She cleared her throat. ‘What do you do, then?’
‘About what?’
‘What helps you clear your head? You obviously have a lot to deal with.’ She gestured to the paperwork on the windowsill. ‘You face questions and challenges whenever you leave this place.’
He puffed out a sigh. ‘I like working outside, being practical. That helps me sort through anything I need to – fresh air and physical exertion.’
‘I run too,’ Sophie said.
‘Not along cliffs in the dark, I hope? Or at least, not that often.’ He gave her a half-smile.
Sophie grinned. ‘Notthatoften. Winnie was hard on you,’ she added. ‘I can see why you were reluctant to meet with her.’
‘There aren’t many people here who approve of the way I’ve dealt with things over the last few years – and please don’t mention the oak tree.’
‘Fiona thinks you should have taken over the bookshop from your dad, rather than let it close down.’
Harry groaned. ‘My other favourite subject.’ He picked at the label on his beer bottle. ‘She’s not the only one who thinks that, and I don’t know how much you know – how many rumours you’ve heard – but I couldn’t come back here when Dad first got ill. Also, he was much better off in the care home than he would have been here, with me looking after him. I would have been a hopeless carer.’
Sophie sipped her beer, letting the bubbles invade her mouth. ‘I bet you would have done a better job than you imagine,’ she said quietly. ‘But only you can make the right decision for you and the people you love. Anyone can look in from the outside and have an opinion, but nobody knows all the variables except you.’
He stared at her. ‘Thank you. May’s the only other person who gets it, but she’s known me a long time.’
‘You both grew up here?’
Harry nodded. ‘With my shorts falling down most of the time, according to Winnie.’
Sophie laughed. ‘And are you …?’ It was on the tip of her tongue to ask. Were they actually together? Would it be strange for them to live here, just the two of them, if they were nothing more than friends, or was she being old-fashioned?
‘Am I what?’ Harry’s brows drew together, the side of his face turned golden by the fire. Sophie felt a flutter of something, but pushed it away before she could examine it too closely. He’d been nice to her for an hour, and her affection-starved brain was making too much of it. ‘Sophie?’ he prompted.
