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Daniel stood too, swiftly linking arms with her as though sensing her need for moral support. She gave him a rallying side squeeze too.

‘We’ll let you know if we get any more brainwaves for your shop,’ Catherine promised.

‘Aye.’ Carrie got up and smoothed down her leathers. ‘And we’ll keep watch for Hottie Totty.’

Just as Noémi and Daniel were about to cross the road, a coach came to a halt beside them. Was this … custom? Noémi’s heavy heart began to lift. She could hear the buzz from the other shop owners behind her too.

The door opened, and the driver yelled out.

‘Are you the woman who makes the award-winning Christmas cookies?’

Where was this coming from? She guessed the first week of December was Cookie Week, if you embraced that sort of thing. But she no longer did. Noémi sucked in her sigh.

‘No,’ she said, as brightly as she could. ‘Though I do sell books. Come and visit our wonderful bookshop! And …’ She swept her arm along the street, about to launch into an introduction of the other fantastic shops – but she was cut short by the hiss of the coach doors, already closing.

‘No bother,’ the driver shouted. ‘Onwards to Spring Square.’

And the coach trundled off.

‘Told you,’ she heard Catherine grumbling behind her. ‘Dog’s ruddy armpit.’

At least there was never a dull day on Hazel View Avenue.

Updates to Noémi’s SOB List:

Offer book boxes full of lovely things? (Where will I get the ‘lovely things’ and how will I pay for them?)

Make website pretty – with inviting images of books for sale.

Be more Bookstagrammy? (Take nicer photos for Instagram. But how?)

Be more giftwrappy?

Christmas cookies? (I just … can’t.)

Chapter 6

‘A watched pot never boils,’ said Noémi, giving Daniel a wry look as he feather-dusted the bay window area for the umpteenth time that morning. ‘Especially when you have no proof there’s even a pot.’

She knew he was keeping an eye out for the mysteriously costumed stranger, even though it was complete speculation that he’d return. He could have been a cat burglar, for all they knew. Or some bloke who’d come to fix the drainage on his way to a fancy-dress party. Though it was nice for Daniel to have a distraction.

Noémi gave Wanderer her daily sprinkle of fish food, watching her gold and silver tail swish peacefully. Daniel always said the name was unfortunate, for a creature that went around in circles. Her mum had meant to name the pet after the film A Fish Called Wanda – but she’d got confused, so it had ended up as Wanderer, despite its distinct lack of going anywhere.

‘Do you think we’ve become like that fish?’ Daniel asked, sounding a touch too philosophical. ‘Stuck in this tank, watching everyone else living their lives.’

‘Nothing wrong with a nice, safe tank,’ Noémi said quickly, even though something in her heart panged for Daniel, who used to have his perfect life, beyond the fishbowl. Even she’d had a year of travelling once, after finishing her English lit degree. Though she’d never gone farther than Europe, and in truth, she was a homebird. ‘Wanderer has grasses and a tiny castle. Plenty of visitors.’

‘What, you, me, and Felix peering at her? We should at least get her a companion to mince about with.’

‘I’m not sure fish mince,’ Noémi replied. ‘Anyway, she’s fine – and you know our track record with fish. We’d only end up … losing one – and causing the other a whole lot of unnecessary heartbreak.’

Daniel made a non-committal hmm, and went back to his dusting. Though it wasn’t long before he piped up again – this time with more excitement.

‘The pot has boiled. Look at this.’

‘I haven’t got time for gawping. I’m updating my Save Our Bookshop list.’ It was unfortunate that it shortened to SOB.

‘Trust me, you won’t want to miss it,’ Daniel breathed, his head cocked to one side.