She is browsing the fiction section on the ground floor, her head tilted in the ‘book browsing pose’ that will give her a stiff neck by the end of the day, when she collides with something solid.
‘Oh! Sorry!’ she says, meeting the face of a blond-haired man around her age, wearing a grey hoody, a pair of shorts and damp trainers. His eyes are smiling and a piercing shade of blue.
‘Hi there,’ he replies in a deep American accent. When he smiles his teeth are white and straight, except his front left tooth which has the very slightest chip.
‘I should have been looking where I was going,’ she replies,realizing she is still close enough to smell the woody scent of his cologne mixed with dampness from the rain. ‘I always get a bit blinkered when I’m looking at books.’ She steps swiftly backwards, feeling her cheeks flush like they always do when she is nervous.
‘Would you recommend that one?’
He points at the book tucked under Tilly’s arm – the first of many she plans to ‘rehome’.
‘Oh yes, I love Fredrik Backman. Have you read any of his other books?’
The man glances at Tilly’s copy ofBritt-Marie Was Hereand shakes his head. ‘I don’t think I have.’
‘Well, you should definitely start withA Man Called Ove, then.’ She checks the shelves. ‘Although they don’t seem to have it here. It’s probably upstairs on the bigger fiction floor.’
‘It’s a bit of a maze in here, isn’t it?’ he says, his voice containing a laugh as he looks around him.
It is one of the things Tilly loves the most about the shop. Because what better place to get lost than amongst shelves of stories? She glances around, trying to find a staff member to help, but they are all busy with customers.
‘I could show you, if you like?’
His face relaxes into a wide, infectious smile. ‘That would be great, thanks! I’m Joe, by the way.’ He thrusts out his hand and she stifles a laugh as she shakes it, young enough to still think of shaking hands as playing at being a grown-up. His grip is warm and firm.
‘I’m Matilda. Although most people call me Tilly.’
‘Matilda. Like the film?’
That should be an alarm bell but she is too busy looking at his forearms to notice.
They climb the stairs side by side, Tilly walking and Joe practically bouncing.
‘So are you on holiday,’ she asks, ‘or …’
‘I live here,’ he replies and Tilly realizes with a jolt how disappointed she would have been if he’d revealed he was a tourist. ‘I moved here for work. It’s a great city. I love how green it is. And all the old buildings … I can’t get over how old everything is! You Brits have no idea. Are you from London?’
‘I live here but I’m notfromhere. I grew up in Wales.’
‘I thought I heard something in your voice. It’s lovely.’
His eyes sparkle as he fixes them on her in a way that makes her cheeks turn an even deeper shade of red.
‘Well, I say Wales, but the border with England runs through my hometown. I grew up in Hay-on-Wye.’
‘I’ve heard about that place. Isn’t every shop there a bookshop?’
‘Not every shop. But yes, there are a lot of bookshops.’
‘Do your family run one, then? No wonder you know your way around a bookshop.’
‘No, my parents are both teachers. But they do love books. My sister is called Harper after Harper Lee. And then there’s me … I guess it was inevitable that I was going to love books too.’
‘What’s your favourite book? Or is that like asking a parent to choose their favourite child?’
He flashes her a grin and Tilly finds herself grinning back at him.
‘A bit. My favourite book changes all the time depending on the latest thing I’ve loved. But I think if I had to choose myfavouritefavourite I’d sayMadelineby Ludwig Bemelmans. I was obsessed with it when I was little.’
