‘I’m sorry,’ Erin says. ‘You’re right. Dating sucks. Remember the guy I went on a date with before John? The one who dropped as many acronyms into the conversation as he could? I swear it was just to see if I could keep up with all the government talk and if I was DC enough and important enough.’
‘Which you totally are.’
‘That’s right. And even if I wasn’t—’
‘That’s no measure of your worth as a person,’ Lexi says. ‘Or your intelligence and ambition.’
‘Exactly.’
Erin and Lexi have had a version of this conversation many times over the years, though less so now that Erin has John, who works on the Hill but doesn’t brag about it, who doesn’t use acronyms without checking first that everyone knows what they mean, who seems open to whatever life throws at him, regardless of what his largely theoretical five-year plan might say.
‘So I guess if I’m going to stay in DC, I’m just going to have to resign myself to being single forever.’ Not that she had much luck in London, either. But then, as her sister was forever pointing out, she only did ever have eyes for Scott the Unattainable.
‘Not necessarily,’ Erin says. Ever the one to look on the bright side. ‘You never know who might be just around the corner.’
‘Hmm.’ Lexi sips the last of her tea, unconvinced. It doesn’t matter if there’s no one around the corner. Living here is worth it. The bookshop is worth it. She hopes so, anyway.
Chapter Four
Lexi is at the till counting change before the shop opens when there’s a knock on the door loud enough to startle her. She looks up, and the hairs on her arms respond before her brain kicks in. Because it’s Sam Dickens standing there. And the thing about Sam is that Natalie was right: he’s also very handsome. Green eyes that crinkle in the corners and fool you into thinking he is kind; a ridiculously chiselled jawline that would be more appropriate for an actor than a bookstore owner in DC, a city which, famously, has all the egos of Hollywood with none of the charisma or looks. Tallish, but not so tall as to be intimidating or tempt you to make terrible jokes about what the weather’s like up there. Far too good-looking for a ruthless businessman.
Part of Lexi is tempted to let him stand there for a while, but he’s carrying a couple of boxes, and it seems unreasonably mean to make him wait in the freezing January temperatures. Not that he doesn’t deserve it, necessarily, but you never can be too careful around people who think all’s fair in love and business.
After unlocking the door, she lets him in.
‘Samuel!’ she cries, her voice full of sarcastic surprise. Playful banter is how Lexi masks her dislike of him. ‘How delightful. To what do I owe the pleasure?’
He rolls his eyes at her. ‘I know you have the last name and all, but do youhaveto talk like a Jane Austen novel?’
Lexi frowns at him. If she really were a Jane Austen character, and not just someone who randomly shares her last name, she’d have a witty comeback. But this isn’t Derbyshire in the 1800s. It’s a Tuesday morning on Capitol Hill, and she is rendered speechless by irritation and that damned chiselled jawline.
‘Anyway,’ he says, while she’s still trying to think of something clever and cutting. ‘These boxes were delivered to us, but they’re addressed to you.’
She stands on tiptoes to peer at the top of one of the boxes. Not that she doesn’t believe him, of course. She just wants to make sure he isn’t pranking her. An orange publisher label peeks out.
‘New books from Penguin Random House?’
She doesn’t say the next part out loud, but she thinks it so hard that he must be able to hear it.I guess I can see why they made that mistake. Since you never used to order new books.
‘Look,’ he says, ignoring her pointed observation. ‘If this isn’t a good time, I can take them back and you can come get them at your convenience.’
Lexi realises that she’s being a bit mean. This is an uncharacteristically kind and helpful thing he’s doing for her, even if he doesn’t seem happy about it, and the last thing she wants to do in this bitter cold is traipse up the road and round the corner and lug the boxes back to her own shop when they’re already here to start with. Meanwhile, she’s punishing him by making him stand in her doorway with two heavy boxes, probably determined not to let on that his arms are giving way. She’s enjoying the punishment, but still.
‘It’s really nice of you to bring them over,’ she tells him, grudgingly but meaning it.
‘Yeah. I didn’t want them cluttering up my hallway.’
‘Understood.’ She swallows asorrythat was forming at the back of her throat and opens the door wider. ‘You can leave them here,’ she says, pointing at the corner.
‘I can take them down to your storeroom,’ he offers, unexpectedly. ‘Really. It’s no trouble.’
Obviously, he wants to snoop. But it’s five minutes till opening time and Lexi still hasn’t finished counting the till float; she’s behind because of the interruption. The less lugging of books, the better for her increasingly creaky back, and besides, what’s the worst thing he can see down there? Boxes of new releases to finish shelving today? It’s not like what’s coming out is a surprise. All he’d need to do is open a copy ofPublishers Weekly.
‘Thank you,’ she says, with as much grace as she can summon. ‘That would be great, actually.’
He nods, in lieu of a smile, and makes his way downstairs. One of the boxes has caught on his coat, and it’s ridden up. Lexi tries not to notice his shapely bottom as he walks down the stairs. She is unsuccessful.
On her way into the shop that morning, Lexi had had a text from Debbie. ‘So sorry to say, but I have flu.’ She knows it’s bad if it’s going to stop Debbie coming into work. She is a keep-calm-and-carry-on type, conscientious to the Nth degree, a perfectionist in everything– she trains the staff in pristine gift wrapping, sends out reminders to dust shelves, figures out the rota. Really, she’d be a perfect manager, if Lexi could afford to pay her for it. Debbie has worked at Pemberley Books since it belonged to Lexi’s grandmother, when her twins went off to college and she was looking for something meaningful to fill her days with. Lexi would trust her implicitly to run things like a well-oiled machine. She could go off to brunch or have a lie-in, guilt-free, or even– imagine!– a holiday, knowing everything is taken care of. The thought makes her practically giddy. But sadly, the reality of those figures means she can’t afford to give anyone that particular promotion.
