‘Molly, stop staring,’ whispered Lara.
‘But what about Damien?’ I whispered.
‘You’ve utterly lost it, Molly,’ said Lara, pushing me down a narrow corridor lined with books. ‘She’s not doing anything wrong. Let her have a conversation without freaking out.’
We headed through the creaky shop, pulling out well-thumbed volumes from the packed shelves and pressing our hands to the tops of the various stacks to see what the bookshop magic would deliver.
‘I do love some weird nineteen-fifties sci-fi with tentacle alien women on the cover,’ I said, flashing a truly majestic paperback at Noah.
‘And I am here for this nineteen-seventies suburban swinger manual,’ said Lara, cracking up with laugher. ‘I can’t believe the bookshop thinks that’s what I’m after.’
‘It knows your true nature,’ said Noah with a grin. ‘The id that lurks beneath the understated exterior.’
Lara pretended to be shocked. ‘Molly, are you going to let him besmirch my good name?’
‘Every time,’ I said, giving her a pat on the arm.
‘The absolute worst friend in the world,’ she said, pulling out a retro young-adult book titled just that. ‘See?’
We wandered about, peeking our heads into the various rooms of the shop and pointing out the curious framed posters and postcards pinned to the walls. Noah had to duck to avoid being smacked in the face by a hanging mobile recreation of Moby Dick.
‘I’m going to read some soft porn on that comfy armchair,’ said Lara, waving a garish cover at us as she plonked down on the padded chair, propping her feet up on a leather ottoman. ‘You kids carry on.’
Lara knew exactly how to give someone their space. And in style as well.
‘Thank you,’ I mouthed, as Noah carefully picked his way up the stairs, which were stacked either side with books.
Lara proceeded to wrap her arms around herself and feign a make-out session with an invisible lover. I shook my head, trying not to laugh. Lara was many things, but subtle was not one of them. Especially in matters of love and lust.
I followed Noah up the stairs, pausing to check out the literary posters and vintage bookmarks pinned over the geometric wallpaper.
‘I could live here,’ he admitted, flipping through a huge coffee table volume of Renaissance-era paintings. ‘There’s treasure in every book stack. I never knew I was so invested in garden paths or mid-century chair design, but the bookshop knows me better than I know myself.’
‘I’m here for the diaries and letters, personally,’ I confessed. ‘Although the shop has surfaced the occasional set of pickleball stats and the odd baseball biography for me. Not to mention a few vintage picture books. I found those when I was looking for a birthday present for Dad one year.’
Noah looked amused. ‘I could see your dad appreciating some retro two-colour block printing.’
‘He had a vintage cereal box collection for a while. Until Mom put her foot down. Little does she know that it’s hiding in one of the store rooms at the office.’
The corner of his mouth quirked. ‘Hopefully not the kitchen.’
We browsed the shelves, showing off fun finds as we went – a calendar of fluffy kittens, a beautiful cloth-bound volume with gold-stamped flowers, a collection of short stories with a handwritten love letter inside.
‘On three,’ said Noah, hand on a book stack.
‘This is my kind of quick draw,’ I said with a laugh.
He counted to three, and we both pulled out a volume from our respective stacks: a copy ofThe Secret Garden.
‘Wait, they’re the same,’ I said, eyes wide. ‘Just different editions.’
‘I’m a sucker for linocut illustrations,’ said Noah, flipping through his classic edition.
‘And I love a movie adaptation cover,’ I said. ‘Even though I know it’s wrong.’
‘On every level,’ he agreed.
‘I wonder what would happen if we both tried to pull something from the same pile at once,’ I mused.
