Page 52 of The Bookshop of Forbidden Books

“You’re welcome.”

As Mitch turned to leave, Verner called out after him.

“Do you think I should bring flowers, or is that overkill?”

“Depends on the size of the bouquet.”

“Right.” Verner nodded, visibly pleased. “And if you feel like sneaking in a nap in my class today, we’ll be playing some Grieg.”

Mitch declined politely and headed back to work. The day dragged on so slowly it was painful. By eight o’clock he still hadn’t heard from Anna, so he went home. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, not seeing each other every night. Better for him not to try to rush things. He didn’t want to seem pushy. Maybe she’d even miss him a bit. Absence made the heart grow fonder, didn’t it? Even though this romantic foot-dragging seemed to him as pointless as a scientific experiment whose results showed nothing at all.

* * *

At 8:15 that night, Anna stood in the cold room, listening to its steady hum, overcome with a tenderness akin to the way new parents watch over their baby, finally asleep after a hellish day. Her restaurant was coming to life. She’d brought it into the world all by herself, and now she was watching it with pride – deeply moved, but equally anxious to see it grow, terrified by the chaos it might unleash on her life. Running it would be hard work but it was a calling. Today had been exhausting, even though she’d had help that afternoon from a warehouse worker she’d hired at the auction house. Thanks to him, she’d made up for some lost time and had therefore granted herself an hour off at lunchtime for some personal business. Now, utterly drained, she turned off the lights and went home at last.

At that very same moment, Salinas was dining in his office, going over the prosecution strategy for a trial that had been weighing on his mind. He ended the meal with a glass of port, but as he drained the last sip a wave of deep fatigue hit him. Tomorrow’s case was a major one. It could be a turning point in his career, and a good night’s sleep was vital. He rose from his chair, crossed the living room and walked down the hallway to his bedroom.

At 8:45, the prosecutor was lying on the floor, at the foot of his bed. Patches of sweat had started to darken his shirt, right across his chest. His eyes stared vacantly out the window at the fading daylight. They were still staring, unmoving, as night fell, bringing with it the stars, the silence, and the darkness.

* * *

Two days went by without a single word from Anna, leaving Mitch confused and downcast. He did everything he could think of to distract himself, tidying the shop, picking up books to rearrange them only to set them down again almost immediately, his mind too busy turning over the silence that was slowly eating away at him.

There were, he decided, a few possibilities.

The first was that her mysterious troubles had caught up with her, and she’d fled again. Mitch considered this the least likely scenario. If she’d had the wherewithal to stop and buy a book after kind of killing someone five years ago, she probably would’ve found a minute to let him know she was leaving again.

The second possibility was that she’d decided to end things with him. But in that case, she would definitely have said something. She’d be honest, even brutal about it, but everything he’d come to understand about her told him she was the type of person to take responsibility for her own decisions.

And then there was the third – and admittedly, the most likely – possibility. Things at the restaurant had fallen even further behind, and, out of pride, she was determined not to ask for his help.

But as soon as he settled on that third theory, his mind would inevitably circle right back to the first. Then the second. And round and round it went. Even when he tried to distract himself with a walk along the river, or by throwing himself into the most pointless tasks, it made no difference. Never had so many books been moved from table to shelf and back again.

Anna had said in her note not to worry, that she would come to see him as soon as she could. She’d specifically told him not to come to her. That was two days ago. Mitch told himself he would give it one more day before reaching out.

More than once, he considered just going straight there and taking her in his arms without giving her any time to argue. But it didn’t feel right not to respect her wish for space. The only thing that had kept him from heading straight to the restaurant (he’d already made it all the way to the end of the shopping street twice before turning back) was his certainty that he wouldn’t be able to keep from kissing her – or from staying there with her until the renovation was complete, no matter how long it took. As far as Mitch was concerned, nothing made life sweeter than helping someone you love. Doing things together made everything wonderful. Even grouting tiles.

When he lay in bed at night, feeling more dejected than ever, anger would come to replace his melancholy. He would start muttering under his breath that he was more than just Anna’s handyman, that nothing could justify her dropping him like this. Being busy was no excuse – one simple call would’ve been enough.

By morning, when he opened his eyes, there was only one thing he was sure of: whatever this mess was – it wasn’t like him. Maybe the best move was to do… nothing.

* * *

Leaning against the wall, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her apron, Anna scanned the dining room, then turned toward the kitchen, caught her reflection in the mirror, sighed, and started all over again.

Trying to arrange the tables in diagonal rows while keeping them evenly spaced was impossible. Every time she moved one, she backed away ten paces, only to realize the alignment was off.

In the kitchen, the crockery shelves had been mounted too high – she’d have to empty and reinstall them. One of the burners refused to light, despite the auctioneer swearing the range had been fully refurbished. The safety lock on the walk-in fridge (a large red button meant to ensure no one got trapped inside) only worked half the time – and that, of course, would be the first thing the Health and Safety Inspector checked before granting her licence.

But none of that was the real source of her dissatisfaction. What gnawed at her was the fact that Mitch hadn’t bothered to come by to see her. Not once in two days. Worse still – he hadn’t even texted. Sure, he had a bookshop to run, a business to manage, customers to serve. She knew he was just as busy as she was, really. But still – that was no excuse. One call would’ve been enough.

She was almost starting to regret the little note she’d left him. It was too honest, too revealing. It gave away far too many of her feelings for him.

She could think of a few possible reasons for Mitch’s silence. One: he’d got cold feet – a woman like her came with too much baggage. Two: her problematic past had scared him away. And three: she’d demanded too much of his time, and he’d felt taken advantage of.

That night, just as she had done the night before, Anna lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering how she’d got to this point. She’d endured humiliation and unspeakable violence. She’d rebuilt her life alone in the middle of a harsh wilderness. She’d washed dishes, waited tables, worked the line, gone years without a single day off. And still, she’d made it. Her dream was finally taking shape.

Yet here she was, exhausted, unable to sleep. She didn’t have to spend much time wondering about the cause of her insomnia, though. Because when two people who have survived unimaginable cruelty come out the other side still capable of love… that’s not just any old kind of connection.