‘In translation,’ added Lara, pretending to sound awed.
Tiff shot us each a warning look, and we tried not to giggle.
‘Actually, I’m also looking for something,’ I said, twisting my ring on my finger.
Leon regarded me thoughtfully. ‘Just ask, and the shop will deliver.’
‘What if I wish for a pizza?’ asked Lara.
Leon smiled, revealing slightly, charmingly, crooked teeth. ‘Then I will pick up the phone and call next door.’
‘Please do. Pie in the Wall does the best pizzas. Almost as good as Rosie’s.’
‘I hear it’s hard to compare with hers,’ said Leon. ‘So, what are you looking for?’
I ran a hand over the haphazardly stacked books, wondering how long it would take for someone to find me should one of the larger stacks collapse and take me down with it. Like Tiff had done, I crossed my fingers, then whispered quietly, ‘The ring owner’s story.’
A stack of books by a window nook caught my attention, and I went over to it, aware that I was being watched by Chester.
I picked up the top book in the stack. A photo album. Then the one beneath it. A diary.
‘Wow, the bookshop really does deliver, doesn’t it?’ I murmured, flipping through the photo album, which seemed as though it was from the seventies, perhaps the eighties. Big hair and high pants formed a magnificent sartorial through-line I was mostly familiar with from John Hughes films.
Hold on. There. There was my ring, gleaming on the finger of a brunette around my age, standing awkwardly next to atall, skinny guy while a shorter guy in a puffy varsity-style jacket looked on in the background, arms folded and his expression sour. Was it just me, or was the brunette angled more towards the grumpy guy?
‘Love triangle,’ said Lara, with her usual incisiveness. ‘Told you so.’
Well, shit. I’d somehow inherited a magical love triangle ring. Just what every witchy girl wanted.
‘What about the diary?’ asked Tiff, picking her way between the stacks of books.
I turned to the title page, where a name had been scribbled. ‘It belongs to Josephine … Lovell.’
‘Oh my god,’ said Lara, with a squeal. ‘The ring belongs to J.Lo!’
‘J.Lo?’ Tiff was confused.
So was Leon. ‘Like the singer? Or actor? Jenny from the block?’
‘That soundsadorablein your accent,’ said Lara, who’d happened across a box of vintageVogues. ‘Jackpot. I’m going to take all of these. But, no, J.Lo is from the Heart Tree down by the beach.’
‘I remain confused,’ said Leon.
‘It’s a tree where couples carve their initials. It’s how you show your love. But there’s one heart with just one set of initials – “JL”. Molly and I call her J.Lo for fun.’
‘Ah. I see. And you have J.Lo’s ring?’
‘She has J.Lo’s ring,’ said Lara, ruffling my hair. Which, let’s face it, did not need ruffling after its exposure to the salt and humidity of the ocean. ‘And her very own love triangle to figure out.’
‘Well, I wish you all the best with that. Love is difficult enough even when geometry is not involved. Excuse me.’
He turned to greet another customer, who immediately began talking at length – and with serious gesticulations – about a specific romantasy she was looking for that had a purple cover and definitely the worddragonin the title. And was the seventh in a series that had been published by an independent publisher back in the sixties.
‘Wait, that’s it! Right there!’ The woman, whom I recognized from her early morning beach yoga sessions, reverently pulled a purple volume from a nearby stack. ‘How did you … I’ve been looking for this formonths!’
‘Must be magic,’ said Leon, as he processed the woman’s order and bagged her book. She hurried out, already shouting to someone on the phone about her successful book-shopping trip.
‘Our turn,’ said Lara flirtatiously, which was the only way Lara knew how to speak.
