‘She must have.’ He shakes his head, looking lost for words. ‘And this was her copy. Or, I mean, it’s got the same cover and it looks well read enough. I never noticed it was missing from her library, but it must be.’
I like how posh he sounds in calling bookshelves a library. Unless his mum had an actual library, obviously, and who has their own library other than The Beast? ‘To your father?’
‘Hah.’ He lets out a sarcastic burst of laughter and then composes himself. ‘There’s no way this was to my father. My father’s never read a book in his life and he’s proud of that. Also, that lamppost outside has got more romantic bones in its body than my father has. This couldn’t possibly be to him.’ He stares at the message for a long few minutes. ‘It’s definitely romantic, right? I’m not imagining that, am I? I mean, comparing him to Mr Darcy and mentioning Colin Firth, who she loved. This is not to a friend, right?’
I bite my lip, unsure of what to say. ‘It doesn’t sound like it,’ I venture, aware of the implication if his mum was writing romantic notes to someone who wasn’t her husband. ‘You said your parents were divorced … It could’ve been after that?’
‘That was only a few years before she died. This looks older.’
It does, he’s right there. The biro has sort of fused with the paper so it’s completely flat, there’s none of the usual indentation you get after writing with biro. ‘Maybe it’s not as old as it looks,’ I say, even though I don’t believe myself any more than he does.
‘It’s okay. This is a good thing. Whoever it was, it means she had someone else. Someone who made her happy, which my father did not. She deserved happiness after what she went through with that man. She deserved someone who loved her and appreciated her. If she had that with someone else, maybe it explains why she put up with my father for so long. She handled him with … serenity and detachment. Maybe this is why – because she was happy elsewhere.’
I’m desperate to ask him what the story with his father is, but apart from him being a relative stranger and it being none of my business, he looks lost in thought, still staring down at the book in his hands.
‘Whatever this was, it must’ve been going on for years. It sounds like she was head-over-heels in love with him. She was very practical and sensible. She wouldn’t have written something like that unless she meant it, and she wouldn’t have fallen in love that deeply in a short amount of time. And my father would’ve gone mad if he’d found out. She must’ve taken huge risks to see someone else, and my mother was not someone who took risks.’
‘Love makes you do things you wouldn’t normally do.’
‘And how did it end up here? Whoever she gave it to … gave it away? She couldn’t have been that important to him then, could she?’
‘It doesn’t have to mean anything. And it’s quite old … Something could’ve happened to the owner and his family got rid of his books. It could’ve been thrown out accidentally. Something could’ve happened between them – a row and he threw out all her stuff. You know, the old-fashioned version of deleting someone from your phone and blocking them on social media? Relationships can end, no matter how much people care for each other. He could’ve been devastated after she died and found all reminders too painful …’
‘And you say I’m the one who always looks on the bright side …’
It makes me laugh and release my grip on the ladder, appreciating the giggle in the middle of such a serious moment.
He holds the book to his chest. ‘Can you … can I put it in the office? I don’t want it to be sold.’
‘You can have it, Dimitri. It’s yours.’
‘No. I feel like it ended up here for a reason. Like it was meant to be here. Like we were meant to find it. I mean, what are the chances? There are thirty-something thousand books in this shop and you come across one with a message written by my dead mother. It has to mean something. And I think it should stay here until we find out what.’
‘I told you there was an unnatural ratio of dedications in these used books … Now do you think there could be more?’
He looks up at me with that ever-present smile pasted firmly back on his face, his blue eyes twinkling again. ‘I guess we’re going to find out.’
‘We?’ I say for the second time this evening, trying to hide a smile because I already know what he means.
He grins. ‘I’m involved now. And so are you. We’re going to take an inventory of this whole shop and we’re going to find out who the man in this note is. Together.’
‘How on earth do you think I can help with that?’ I say, even though I had no intention of letting him do it on his own. I was going to get involved whether he liked it or not.
‘I don’t know. But you found it – that’s got to mean something. I’ve still got all my mum’s stuff. I’ll see if I can face having a look through it and finding out if there’s anything about this mystery man.’
Despite his smile, his voice shakes when he mentions looking through his mum’s things, and I’m glad I’ve stayed up the ladder because those few rungs between us are the only thing stopping me hugging him, and that would’ve been even more inappropriate than the way I found myself watching his biceps move as he put those tables together and lugged around books, and I can’t help feel a little thrill at the idea of spending more time with him.
Chapter 6
I haven’t been able to get Dimitri’s mum and her mystery man out of my head all night. It’s so romantic – the kind of love story I’ve always imagined finding in one of those handwritten dedications, the kind of tale I’ve always made up but never believed could actually happen. I’ve never even told anyone how much I love looking inside second-hand books for those secret messages, knowing Nicole would ridicule me and my mum would tell me to get my head out of the clouds and look for a real man.
The only man I’m interested in seeing the next morning is Dimitri. I’m up early, which is a miracle in itself because I’m never up early, and there’s a little flutter in my stomach at the thought of seeing him. I’m even looking forward to his cheery ‘Hello!’ as he pokes his head round the door. Usually I’m utterly against people who can be cheerful in the morning and feel they deserve the wrath of a thousand miniature Satans, but it doesn’t apply with Dimitri.
By half past eight, I’ve drunk two cups of coffee, eaten more Cornflakes than is probably legal and managed to get the timing between dry and soggy right which is a miracle in itself, and now I’m pacing the aisles, plucking random second-hand books from the shelves and snapping their covers open like I’m trying to catch the messages inside before they go into hiding. I don’t have much luck though – I only come across quick dedications like ‘with love’ and ‘enjoy’, but nothing that could be considered declarations of love or special wishes.
I’m still convinced there’s an unnatural ratio of second-hand books with inscriptions in them though. Almost every one I pick up has got something written inside it, even if it isn’t anything important, and my eyes are peeled through every one, trying to catch a glimpse of Della’s distinctive looped writing, wishing I could find another one, something that answers the mystery that copy of Pride and Prejudice has stirred up. It would be amazing to greet Dimitri this morning with an answer to who the mystery man is or how that book ended up here.
Heathcliff is eating his breakfast of fish food flakes, so I wedge the door open with the book-shaped doorstop, and lean against the doorframe, watching the street waking up around me, like I see other shop owners do most mornings.
The air is heavy with the scent of fresh-baked bread and freshly brewed coffee from the deli, and bees are already buzzing around the flowers in the hanging basket on the Victorian-style lamppost near my door. I deadhead some of the faded pink petunias in it, shout good morning to the lady from the chocolate shop next door to the tailor, and my eyes wander to the steps leading up to the roof terrace. I know Robert said it needed repair, and Drake Farrer having part ownership of it doesn’t fill
me with joy, but I haven’t even had a chance to go up there yet. I close the shop door behind me and dig the keys out of my pocket, jangling through them until I find one with ‘roof terrace’ written on the attached tag.
The staircase is criss-crossed with heavy chains holding up a hefty ‘Danger: Keep Out’ sign. Rust flakes off as I find the padlock locking the chains to the railings and push the key in, but it doesn’t move when I try to turn it. The padlock’s near the bottom so I bend down to get a better grip on it and twist the key, but it’s stuck.
It’s probably one of those padlocks that are supposed to never rust. Promises like that are guaranteed to never work when they’re in my vicinity. Like non-stick frying pans or easy-peel price stickers.
I try to at least get the key back out considering it’s attached to my keyring and I can’t leave the entire set of shop keys dangling out here all day. This is not the breezy stroll up to the roof terrace I’d envisioned when I came outside.
‘Come on, you rusty thing,’ I say through gritted teeth as I throw all my strength into it and give it one final pull, and at exactly the same moment, a voice says, ‘Hello!’ It makes me jump so much that my movement obviously catches the lock just right because it releases my keys and the momentum makes me go careening backwards and straight into Dimitri. Who is carrying a tray of two coffees. No. Who was carrying a tray of two coffees.
I look down as coffee soaks through his light blue shirt and navy waistcoat, and runs down my jeans, making me feel like I’ve wet myself. The cups are upside down on the floor and Dimitri’s strong arms are around me, holding me up. In any other circumstances, this would be a not entirely undesirable position.
‘That went well,’ I mutter. It’s become some sort of catchphrase for my life, especially when Dimitri’s involved. On the plus side, it doesn’t give me a chance to think about how glad I am that he got a full view of my oversized bum wriggling around as I fought with the lock.
Instead of pushing me back up, his arm slides around my waist and he dips me like we’re about to go in for a Hollywood kiss. ‘And people say I don’t know how to sweep a girl off her feet.’
I come over all flushed, and it’s not just because of the hot coffee running down my legs. He has no problem in the sweeping-off-feet department, and part of his charm is that he has no clue how charming he is.
He laughs as he tips me back upright and looks down at himself. ‘I’m so glad I chose a pale shirt this morning. It’s like I knew I was going to get coffee spilt on me today.’
‘I think everyone who puts light-coloured clothing on in the morning knows, on some level, that they’re going to get coffee spilt on them.’
I love the way his eyes get incrementally more twinkly as a smile spreads slowly across his face. ‘Well, luckily, I’m well versed in the hazards of light-coloured clothing and carry a spare black T-shirt with me at all times. Do you mind if I pop inside and change? And you … um …’ He waves a finger politely towards my crotch and I look down to see that my dark brown wet patch is spreading, and now I look like I’ve wet myself and like I’m in desperate need of an Immodium.
‘Do you want to go up to the flat and get changed in the bathroom?’ I ask as I let us into the shop and close the door.
‘No, you carry on. You need it more than I do. Heathcliff won’t mind me changing in here.’
I snort and choke at the same time, like all parts of my body are having a competition between themselves to do the most undignified thing possible in front of the most gorgeous man. Heathcliff might not mind but the idea of Dimitri changing is a bit too much for me. ‘Are you kidding? Heathcliff’s got a real thing for you. It’ll make his day.’
‘Or scar him for life. If you have to go and get Heathcliff Number Five today, you can’t blame me.’ He winks at me. ‘I’ll pinch one of your wet wipes from behind the counter though to make sure I don’t smell of coffee all day.’
I toss him the packet and traipse up the stairs holding my dripping jeans up off the carpet. Obviously I was wearing my lightest-coloured stonewash blue pair today. I stick the kettle on, and after the fastest wash-down in the bathroom, I find a pair of black trousers – probably safer – and make two cups of coffee to make up for the spilt ones.
At the bottom of the stairs, I stop so abruptly in my tracks that I nearly have the second coffee-related incident of the morning. Dimitri’s bare back is to me, and he’s got a black T-shirt over his head and his arms up as sinewy shoulder muscles work to pull it down. If the thought of him changing was too much for me, the actual sight of it has caused my whole body to go into emergency override mode and although I should turn away and give him some privacy, I’m rooted to the spot, transfixed by the sight of all that pale skin dotted with freckles and his strong, muscular frame.
I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice I’m staring until the coffee mugs in either hand drift towards each other and hit with a clink that reverberates through the shop, making Dimitri jump. Heathcliff, who was also transfixed by the sight in front of him, gives me what can only be described as a fishy death glare.
‘Oh God, I’m so sorry,’ I stutter. ‘I didn’t … I was just going …’ I gesture vaguely back where I came from, sloshing coffee around in the mugs to a dangerous level.
It’s an understatement to say I can’t form a coherent sentence as he pulls the bottom of the T-shirt down around his hips, straightening it until just a sliver of skin is showing, and I think I moan in disappointment when he tugs the plain T-shirt down and covers that too.
‘It’s fine, I’m done. And thankfully a very attractive pug walked past the window which took Heathcliff’s attention, so he didn’t keel over in shock either.’
I laugh, but the T-shirt has knocked his hair skew-whiff and I have never wanted to touch something more in my life.
He ruffles a hand through it so it sticks out in all directions and leaves it, looking adorably dishevelled as he cleans his glasses on the bottom of his T-shirt and puts them back on again.
My face is still burning red from the visual of so much skin, and I’m amazed by how hot a simple black T-shirt can look. He managed to escape coffee on his jeans, but he looks different without his shirt and waistcoat combo. Hot rather than quirkily sexy. Really hot. Even with the ever-present pencil behind his ear. I have never before considered how sexy a pencil behind the ear can be.
He comes over to take one of the coffee cups out of my hand and clinks it against mine in a toast. ‘Good morning. Shall we start over?’
‘I think that’s a good idea,’ I say, touched by how laid-back he is. He doesn’t even seem annoyed that I spilt coffee on him or made him lose two cups of not-cheap coffee from the deli.
‘So what were you doing before the thing that didn’t happen? Exploring the roof terrace?’ His glasses steam up as he takes a sip.
I nod. ‘It would make an amazing reading space, but Robert said it needed repair. I was trying to see what I’m dealing with, but the first thing that needs replacing is that rusty padlock. It tried to absorb my key by osmosis.’
‘Ah, WD-40’s what you need.’ He flips open the satchel and plunges his hand in, rooting around inside.
No way does he have WD-40 with him. ‘And you just happen to have …’
He pulls out a blue and yellow can and thrusts it into the air in victory. ‘I’ve got just the thing.’
Literally just the thing. ‘What don’t you have in that bag?’
‘A giraffe?’ he asks like he’s not even sure himself, although I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there was a strong possibility that his satchel did indeed conceal a giraffe.
It makes me giggle so much that it distracts me from him coming nearer.
‘Before I go outside and try it, I don’t smell of coffee, do I? I think I got it all off, but you can never be sure.’
He’s standing near enough for me to sniff him. And actually expecting me to. My cheeks burn red again and I’m starting to think that red-faced and
stuttery is my natural state of being and it’s unusual when my cheeks are normal-coloured.
He definitely does not smell of coffee. I can feel my heart rate speeding up with how good he actually does smell. The powdery scent of the baby wipes, some sort of spicy clove aftershave, and the ever-present scent of pencil lead and shaved wood. ‘No,’ I choke out and have to take a sip of coffee to calm down.
‘Good.’ He doesn’t notice my embarrassment as he takes the keys off the counter and walks towards the door. ‘I’ve been curious to see what the roof terrace is like for ages. Robert never unlocked it. The stairs were too steep for him and he thought it was too dangerous to send anyone else up there.’
‘Luckily, I’m not as health and safety conscious as he was.’ It’s still too early to open the shop, so I follow him outside and watch as he squirts the oil into the lock, jiggles it around a bit and then pushes the key in. It turns easily and the rusted padlock finally creaks open.
Between us, we untangle the chains and lift the ‘Keep Out’ sign away, and Dimitri steps back to let me go through first, so he’s got a perfect view of my oversized bum as I walk up in front of him, and I think he’s seen enough of that for one day. Chivalry isn’t dead, but sometimes it should be. If he gets any closer, my giant wobbling bum will certainly finish the job and suffocate it for good.
The stone steps going up one side of the building are narrow, separated from the empty shop next door by a wobbly metal banister that was painted white once but is now covered in peeling paint revealing patches of rust. The metal fence continues all the way up and encircles the roof terrace as a safety barrier, although the wobbliness doesn’t make it feel very safe at all. At the top of the steps, the space is paved with slabs in different shades of brown from caramel to honey-coloured, perfectly matching the bricks of the surrounding buildings. Some of the slabs are lifting around the edges and some bounce when you step on them.
The Little Bookshop of Love Stories Page 12
