Give a piano recital (learn to play first??)
Take him out dancing
Chapter Fourteen
Aside from handing her a book, the only sure-fire way to keep Lexi still and not thinking about work is to put her in front of a TV adaptation of a Jane Austen novel, preferablyPride and Prejudice. The BBC adaptation from the Nineties has always been Lexi’s comfort blanket, the thing she reaches for when she gets her yearly flu, which isn’t really flu but just a bad cold. She knows she’s on the mend when she’s well enough to read, but for those first couple of days, she needs Jennifer Ehle and she needs Colin Firth.
Today, though, because of Erin’s Dashwood references, Lexi is cravingSense and Sensibility. You can’t beat the 1995 adaptation: it might be a bit worn and old-looking, but it’s also like reuniting with old friends: Emma Thompson, Kate Winslet, Alan Rickman, Hugh Grant. Colin Firth is a grave omission, of course, but that only means she’ll have to watchPride and Prejudicenext to complete the set. Not exactly a hardship.
Lexi must be at least a little concussed, though, because images of Sam keep popping up in her head. At the ball scenes, she imagines dancing with him, his warm hand in hers, even though she’s never been to a ball and she’s pretty sure Sam wouldn’t even countenance it. And then, of course, there’s the scene with Marianne and the ankle, Dashwood and his gallantry. Lexi remembers how kind and gentle Sam was with her yesterday, the reassuring warmth of his arm around her waist, the genuine concern in his very green eyes, which may or may not have featured in her dreams last night.
If Erin didn’t want Lexi thinking about Sam, she probably shouldn’t have encouraged theSense and Sensibilitymovie. But then, catch 22: Erin also knows as well as Lexi does that with anything she loved less, she would have just been on her phone, half working, not really resting. With a beloved old favourite, Lexi can rest her eyes and let the dialogue wash over her, and then, right when she knows a good bit is coming up, pop an eye open for a couple of minutes. This is why it’s the perfect sick day activity: minimum effort, maximum reward.
And it’s fine that Lexi’s mind drifts from time to time, because this is a film she knows so well. It’s fine that it drifts to Sam and his warm hand, Sam and his green eyes, Sam and his weirdly analytical coffee habits. She needs to be truly invested if this plan is going to work. If he’s going to fall in love with her, she needs to convincingly act as if she’s not repulsed by him. She’s just getting into character; that’s all. She’s just doing what it takes to save her bookshop.
When Sam first bought the shop, it seemed like Great Expectations would continue to coexist peacefully with Pemberley Books. He seemed kind and cordial, and assured Lexi that even once the refit was complete, his bookshop would have a completely different vibe to hers. He was going to focus on nonfiction: biographies, history, politics. The Serious Stuff that Serious People in DC want to read, or least feel like theyhaveto read, in order to keep up with conversations at dinner parties or impress their bosses on the Hill or research for their appearances on MSNBC and Pod Save America. He planned to host events along those lines, too: live recordings of podcasts, conversations between thinkers on the economy and immigration and voting rights.
Pemberley Books, of course, also sells these kinds of books and also hosts these kinds of events. There’s no getting away from them in DC, and especially in this particular part of DC, where the most politically engaged, most powerful, and most influential people congregate at work and after-work receptions and happy hours. Where people passionate about specific issues or democracy in general assemble to march and wave banners and voice that passion. So it would be crazy to have a bookshop on Capitol Hill andnotcater to them. Lexi’s grandmother did, and Lexi always has, too.
But it’s not where her own interests lie, or those of the majority of her staff. They love poetry, and literary fiction, and beautifully written memoirs, and thrillers to keep them turning pages when they’d otherwise be tempted to doomscroll through social media. They need humour and romance–so muchromance. Their section is expanding year by year as they make room for a genre that’s growing in popularity. Whoever came up with the idea of rebranding it with bright colours and cartoon covers deserves a medal, or at least a hefty commission. Pemberley Books has a book club devoted to the genre, and that book club is the most fun one they have: even when Lexi is stuck in her cave doing admin, she can tell that from the giggles that drift into her office, and from the crumbs on the floor and the empty glasses afterwards.
And then there are the families who come to pick up books. Lexi’s shop is homely; it’s a nice place to hang out with squishy, if slightly worse-for-wear sofas. Sam’s bookshop is all hard edges and shiny surfaces, a Serious Place for Serious People, a slightly hushed atmosphere as befits his Cathedral of Learning.
It’s not that those Serious People aren’t welcome at Pemberley Books. Everybody is. But Lexi does see why they might want a different experience, even if it’s a joyless, soul-destroying one.
So, at first, it was okay. But then... plot twist. Sam started stocking fiction. The bestsellers only: okay, fine. Lexi personally doesn’t think that’s what indie bookshops are for: they’re for championing hidden gems, tailoring recommendations to each individual customer, their interests and needs, and gently challenging them to go slightly beyond their comfort zone. They’re not just for picking up the season’s buzziest books. But Lexi can also see that the Serious People may want to pick up the latest Maggie O’Farrell or Colson Whitehead while they’re at the bookshop anyway for Bill Gates’s Serious Thoughts On Whatever.
The thing is, though: Lexi can see it coming a mile off. Because once you start stocking bestselling fiction, where do you draw the line? She’s bracing for the day when he decides that the top 10 isn’t enough, and maybe he should go with the top 50, and maybe some paperbacks, and why not arrange them in sections of some kind? And then what if the Serious Literary Authors decide to go to him for their events? Pemberley Books love those, too. Lexi wants those readers to come to them– the actual enthusiasts, not the people who cynically decide to throw in some fiction to help their bottom line.
So she’d better hope that this plan of hers will work and that Sam’s being in love with her will throw him off his game. As for Lexi, books are in her bones and the shop is embedded deep in her muscle memory. She knows what she’s doing, can do it standing on her head, though, of course, it’s much more fun to do it properly engaged. She remembers her mum knitting while watching TV and having a conversation. When Lexi’s tried it, she’s been quick to discover that what she needs is a silent room and every ounce of concentration she can summon. Andthatis the difference between an amateur and an expert. The difference, in other words, between Sam and her.
But also, even if Lexi does end up slightly distracted, she has an incredible staff: passionate, knowledgeable, engaged with the book world. Case in point: while she’s here at home with frozen peas on her head, watchingSense and Sensibilityand daydreaming about knocking Sam off his game with a little judicious snogging– just to get into character, you understand– she knows she doesn’t need to worry about the shop. Does she worry anyway? Of course. It’s her personality to worry, it’s her job to worry, it’s a tribute to her grandmother to worry. But she doesn’tneedto. Her team sells, wraps, advises, recommends, tidies, shelves, curates, returns, dusts. They know what to do, the new staff are trained by Debbie, and Debbie is faultless. Lexi doesn’t plan on getting distracted any more than she planned on spending today on the sofa with Alan Rickman and Hugh Grant. But if that’s what needs to happen, in the name of commercial competition, she is covered.
It’s all going according to plan. Or it will be just as soon as her head stops hurting and the room stops spinning quite as much. As soon as Lexi is able to stop thinking about snogging Sam.
Chapter Fifteen
First things first, as soon as Lexi feels like herself again: a piano recital.
Can Lexi play? Well, no, not exactly, but in the words of a young musician from one of the most beloved Christmas films of all time, that is nothing but a ‘tiny, insignificant detail’. As we all know from that film, all you have to do is spend a few weeks learning to play a solo well enough for a school concert, and you can win over the love of your life.
Not that Sam isthat– he’s just an enemy Lexi is trying to distract– but it’s still worth a try.
Does Lexi have time to learn? Questionable. Half-hour lessons: fine. That seems like it should be doable, especially if, say, the lessons are at Music on the Hill, a short walk from the bookshop. But then, rumour has it that lessons aren’t enough, and you also have to practise. Lexi isn’t sure how she is meant to fit that into her routine. She also isn’t sure what to do about the other tiny insignificant detail: she doesn’t have a piano. She’s hoping Music on the Hill can help with that. Do they have practice rooms, too?
This brilliant plan is getting more complicated by the minute. But, of course, as Lexi well knows, nothing worth doing is ever simple, right? Running a bookshop is certainly no picnic, and yet here she is, still standing, after all the complications of the last few years. Logistical challenges have never been enough to faze her.
A couple of days later, Lexi is pushing open the door to the adorable music shop, which has become a bit of an institution in the neighbourhood over the last decade or so.
‘Hi,’ says the man behind the till. ‘What can I help you with?’
‘I’d like to learn the piano,’ she tells him. ‘But I don’t have a piano. Or any idea where to start.’
‘Ah,’ he says, pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘Well, that’s okay. You came to the right place.’
In her peripheral vision, Lexi is aware of someone flicking through stacks of sheet music, browsing. One day, she’ll be able to do that, choose whatever music she feels like playing. But, for now, she assumes it’s textbooks all the way.
The music shop man talks Lexi through different options for teachers and she has a brief flash of a daydream, because falling in love with her piano teacher seems like the stuff of romance novels. But then she snaps back to attention, because that issonot the point. She’s doing this so that Sam will fall in love withher, have his head turned by the distraction.
