Page 36 of I’m Dreaming of a New York Christmas

‘Haha, I’ll leave you to browse – I’ll be over by the pencils.’

I instructed my jaw to shut and smiled at him absentmindedly as I ran one of my hands over the selection of exquisite, cloth-bound notebooks displayed on a beautiful mid-century modern table. How on earth was I meant to choose just one? I wanted every single bloody one of them. Scrap that: what I really wanted to do was to gather all the notepads they sold, use them to build an igloo-style abode inside this very shop, and remain inside of it forever. I’d happily allow the store to turn me into an attraction; it could send new customers their way! Ethan could deliver me coffee and croissants each morning on his way to the office, and empty my chamber pot. Actually, maybe I’d employ someone else for that job. One thing was for sure: I’d get more sleep in it than I was getting in my current bathtub arrangement.

Focus, Flora. Choose a damn notebook.

I picked one up at random and sniffed its pages with my eyes closed, before picking up another one for good measure. I made my way over to the pen section, admiring the stunningly curated selection of greeting cards, paperweights, desk lamps and houseplants along the way. My notebook igloo would surely be the finest, most tastefully furnished notebook igloo in the world.

I spotted Ethan, who was standing among rows upon rows of writing and drawing implements, which appeared to be organised according to a numbered grid system much like the streets of Manhattan.

‘I could live here,’ I mused, as I scanned through the store’s range of shiny fountain pens.

‘In New York?’

‘Ha, no, in this shop.’ I left out the igloo part. ‘But, from what I’ve seen so far, New York isn’t half bad, either.’

I selected a tester fountain pen from a shelf and contemplated the weight of it. A little heavy.

‘It’s your first visit, then?’

I picked up another pen. Still nicely chunky but more lightweight. The slightly rubbery hexagonal shaft felt good in my hand. The lid made a satisfying sound as I removed it, the rich, royal-blue ink gliding and swooping delightfully on one of the many lengths of paper that had been rolled out across the entire surface of the shelving unit for exactly this purpose. I wrote a single word in my best amateur calligraphy, ripped off the segment of paper in question and held it aloft:

YES

Ethan grinned. ‘Not bad.’

I placed the tester pen back down on its perch and glanced at the price label next to a stack of packaged ones.

‘Aha, I see what you mean about that giveaway face of yours,’ he said, chuckling.

‘Hmm?’

‘That was a grimace, if ever I saw one.’

‘Yeah, it’s a bit out of my price range. Have you got what you need?’

He wiggled a substantial bouquet of identical pencils, grinning.

‘Are you sure that’s enough?!’

‘Honestly? Probably not! I go through so many, and I’m always losing them.’

‘Can’t you just buy them online?’

Ethan shrugged. ‘I mean, I guess, but that would be nowhere near as fun. Coming here once a week is my little Monday morning ritual. I’ve just done it on Saturday this week instead.’

‘You enjoy your routines, don’t you?’

‘Sure do.’

Despite my protests, Ethan insisted on buying me both of my notebooks.

‘This will get me some extra ink blots!’

I frowned, but my confusion lifted when he showed me his loyalty card for the store: a credit-card-sized piece of blotting paper marked with various shades of absorbed dots of ink from the shop assistant’s artisanal nib.

‘What do you get once it’s full?’

‘Ink!’