Ever since Effie had been a little girl, she’d imagined owning a bookshop. She’d played bookshops at school whilst the other children were busy running around the playground playing tag. She’d made her teddies and dolls sit in a neat circle on her bedroom floor whilst she read stories to them from the lofty position on her bed. Effie couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been accompanied by the safety blanket that was a well-thumbed book. She’d clutched on to them at dentist appointments, burrowed into them on long car journeys or snuck them into parties, just in case she needed to escape the games. No gift was more exciting to Effie than a book token.
Effie had owned as many books as her parents could afford to buy. Most of them acquired from charity shops, the pages scarred from previous readers, the corners tatty and preloved. The idea that books could be shared, passed along between readers had amazed a young Effie, who now, at the age of twenty-nine, could still remember how her jaw had dropped open on her first visit to the library when she was told she could borrow fifteen books. She couldn’t recall a time when her library card hadn’t been maxed to the limit.
Such was her love of books that Effie had volunteered to help in the school library, a room tucked away in the large authoritarian building, attached because having a library seemed to be the sort of thing a school needed. Effie had loved reshelving the few books that were borrowed. The librarian, a life-weary woman called Mrs Lloyd, who seemed to find children who loved books slightly bothersome, tolerated Effie, who had remained undeterred from her stoic duties.
University had been full of dry, prescribed texts, classics Effie had already read, Shakespeare she spent hours trying to get her head around. The dissection of the stories had sat heavily on Effie. She might have loved the written word, but was of the opinion no one knew what the author really meant. She’d even tried, but failed to write her own sweeping historical romance, frustrated that all the novels she’d consumed hadn’t triggered a dormant talent for storytelling.
Landing the job at Books by the Sea had been perfect, even if from the outside, it didn’t appear very aspirational. Effie got to stack shelves, open up boxes of brand-new novels, be the first to inhale that glorious scent of ink and paper. She spent hours chatting to customers, dishing out recommendations, swapping notes on what to read next. She loved to help organise the few author events they had hosted, hanging on to every magical word the writer would say about the craft of storytelling. Effie hadn’t believed she could ever be happier.
Until now.
OK, so it wasn’t her own bookshop by the sea, like she’d dreamed of owning, but it was the next best thing. Now she’d got the miserable business of decorating the shop out of the way, a distraction she hadn’t enjoyed, despite Jake’s help, Effie could finally,finallystart the process of turning the empty shell of a shop into a cosy, welcoming book haven.
The first shipment of books arrived on the Tuesday, four days before opening. The delivery driver had been much more helpful than the last one and had wheeled the heavy boxes into the shop. The armchairs were due to arrive on Thursday. A burst of confidence flashed through Effie about getting it all finished on time for the Easter Saturday opening. She had the bunting, bouquets of fake flowers and the door was a stunning, cheerful daffodil yellow. She was so proud of it. Every time she unlocked the door, a beaming smile spread across her face.
Effie sliced through the wrapping on the first box, tugging out the reams of bubble wrap to reveal a stack of books by local authors. There were ghost stories, local history and two full sets of the cosy mysteries by Christie Kernow, who was the local author Clive had arranged to give a talk on opening day. Effie picked up her latest book and set it aside, knowing she had better read it before Saturday so she could ask engaged questions. Cosy mysteries weren’t normally her cup of tea, but she’d been charmed by Christie’s writing style and devoured them all the previous summer. Effie knew how important it was to keep ahead of what was being published and set locally. Holidaymakers always told her reading about Cornwall was like a holiday in book form.
Effie made a cup of tea, perched on the windowsill and opened the first page of the book. She’d been eagerly awaiting the next instalment in the series and couldn’t resist dipping in. She was ten pages in, turning the pages reverently so as not to damage them, when the door opened. Effie glanced up and saw Jake standing there, taking in the half-filled shelves.
‘Wow, it finally looks like a bookshop,’ he said. ‘Reading on the job?’
Effie closed the book. ‘No, just getting prepped for Saturday.’
‘Ah, is it good?’
Effie shrugged. ‘It’s a very nice, easy read, I could spend all afternoon here with it. I think Christie’s going to be a popular choice.’
Jake rifled through the pile of Christie’s books. ‘They have very nice covers.’
Effie rolled her eyes. ‘You can’t judge a book by its cover. You can borrow one if you want, as long as you don’t spoil it.’
Jake placed the book he was holding back on the pile. ‘I wouldn’t trust myself. I’d definitely bend it or something.’
‘Books are to be read,’ Effie reminded him, ‘I don’t like all this keeping them pristine. I like a book that looks like it’s been enjoyed, dug into. How’s your day been?’
‘I’ve been trying to find a nice location for Lola and Tristan’s engagement shoot. I’m feeling the pressure.’
‘But Mags and Ewan were happy, right?’ Effie said as she slipped off the windowsill and began to break down the cardboard box she’d emptied.
Jake took it from her and folded it up. ‘Yeah, they were, just waiting to get the prints back. It was a good start, I was happy, so were they but a wedding feels like extra pressure. Capturing someone’s special day. You can’t redo the church shots if they go wrong. Shall I take this out the back?’ He held up the flattened box.
Effie nodded. Jake gathered up the wrapping and empty boxes and carried them outside to the communal commercial bins. Effie had opened the next box and was busy organising some coffee table books on a shelf when Jake returned. She watched as he flicked through one that contained absolutely stunning photos of Cornwall, a thoughtful expression on his face. She could see his mind whirring as he studied how the shots had been captured, the lighting, the composition and the sheer luck on the day.
‘I don’t know why I’m so worried,’ he said as he passed the book to her, ‘Cornwall itself is a right old poser!’
‘And I’m sure Lola will tell you exactly what she wants. She’s a woman who knows her own mind,’ Effie reminded him. ‘I wish I could be a bit more like that.’
Jake tilted his head to study her. ‘Really?’
Effie nodded as she swapped a couple of books around so that the height order was more pleasing to the eye. ‘Yes.’ But she sensed some doubt in her voice.
‘The thing is, Effie, I’d love to have words with whoever knocked your confidence,’ Jake said as he passed more books to her, ‘because I think you’re perfect just as you are.’
Effie’s fingers collided with his so that she almost dropped the books. Lunging to save them, she knocked into Jake. His hands clasped around her arms to stop her from toppling over, their eyes meeting like a pause in time. Jake’s eyes darkened, Effie’s heart quickened. Was this what romance novels called ‘having a moment’? If so, Effie found it thrilling and discombobulating.
Not wanting to give herself any mixed signals about Jake, knowing how prone her imagination was to wild flights of fancy, Effie stepped back and slid the books onto the shelf. She didn’t need to complicate the friendship by acting impulsively. Plus, Effie sensed something jittery about Jake, as if he was about to take flight. When she turned to pick up the next few books, Jake was still standing there, transfixed, as if he’d never seen anything quite like Effie and didn’t know what to do about it either.
Shelve books. That’s what she told her wildly beating heart.Just keep shelving.
