Page 11

Well, perhaps she ought to have a glance – in the interests of street vigilance. She rearranged her bun, pushed her pencil through it for safe keeping, and moseyed to the window.

Though now they were both cocking their heads. A man in extremely tight elf clothing. And were those hiking boots? It was the guy they’d seen yesterday, when he’d been looking all Victorian and top hat-ish in a way that ought to have looked strange but that oddly suited him. If she was honest, he could even rock elf attire. She shook her head, because it was weird to make eyes at Santa’s workforce. Not that he’d noticed – thank goodness.

Who was he? And did he always wear odd outfits?

‘You can’t beat a man in tights,’ Daniel whispered.

Noémi’s eyes couldn’t help trailing up the length of them, from those curiously un-elf-like boots, along firm red-and-green-striped calves, thighs that bulged in a good way, and oh. Well, at least his zigzag-hemmed elf top sort of covered his groin area, because elves were not meant to be sexy. And why was he wearing a hard hat with elf ears? He was walking in their direction, and inexplicably, Noémi’s heart was racing. She grabbed Daniel’s feather duster to fan her face, and then shoved it back at him, feeling immediately ridiculous.

Thank God elf man hadn’t yet spotted them doing du lèche-vitrine – which translated directly to window licking but also meant window shopping. Though clearly, they were doing theirs from the inside out.

Then, as though sensing the kerfuffle, fancy-dress man looked up, and his eyes locked with Noémi’s. That small smile again. That wink.

Noémi jumped backwards, toppling onto the patchwork armchair and accidentally pulling Daniel with her. The chair lurched backwards, hinging and wobbling on its two back legs, Daniel’s bum displayed in the window. He tried to see-saw them back to standing, his head jammed against Noémi’s breastbone, her arms splaying outwards.

And the window’s fairy lights would choose that moment to get stuck flashing red. Urgh. Then mercifully, the chair righted itself, narrowly avoiding shattered glass. But Noémi’s self-respect was somewhere in the depths of the bookshop carpet, getting to know the crumbs.

Mortifying.

Daniel pulled Noémi up and gave a quick check over his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, he’s gone.’ He brushed himself down and then looked at her. She knew her face was still red from the exertion, and her neat bun had gone full Medusa. ‘Well, he knew how to knock you off your feet. I haven’t seen you go weak at the knees like that since Leonardo DiCaprio played Romeo.’

‘I did not go weak at the knees,’ she said primly, pulling her hair back together. ‘It was simply a misadventure in dusting. We should have greater regard to safety in the workplace. Shall I get the accident book?’

‘Nothing broken here but my heart,’ Daniel said overdramatically, rubbing his chest and looking out of the window. ‘Where did he go? Shall I check the shop next door?’

‘No!’ Noémi barked. ‘We’ve got plenty to do. I’m meant to be updating my SOB list. And, you know. Doing the stuff on it.’

She sincerely hoped the fancy-dress man had nothing to do with the shop next door, because after being caught staring at him (twice) and then the scene descending into something akin to a red-light district window show, she was in no rush to see him again. Ever. One eyeful of a man in tights and her brain had turned to parsnip soup, and she had absolutely no time for that.

And who even was she, leering at a person’s hosiery? She would have been outraged if someone had been eyeballing her thigh muscles in striped polyester. She tugged at the hem of her pinafore dress. ‘Right, let’s get on.’

She left Daniel to tidy up the window and fix the lights that were still flashing crimson. No doubt he’d also be on lookout for elves – but she had no interest in that. Right then, she longed to disappear into a peaceful maze of books.

There was nowhere safer to be than deep in the bosom of her beloved bookshop, so that’s where she headed. The shop had always been cavernous in places. A labyrinth of shelves and library ladders lit by draped string lights and candelabra-style wall sconces bought from markets in France. Books were stacked in no particular order, almost tumbling. Cascading like waterfalls of words. To her it was dreamy escapism. A world of possibilities without even having to step outdoors.

But now she looked at it, perhaps others might find it overwhelming. If folk couldn’t find their way around, no wonder they didn’t come to browse and buy things. In fairness, customers might need their very own hard hat with elf ears to navigate some parts. People were used to buying online these days, with simple search functions and no faff. As much as she wasn’t willing to organize things to soulless perfection, maybe she could do some work here.

Noémi looked back at her SOB list, determined not to cry at the length of it, or all the changes it might entail. She’d need to do as much as she could without spending more money, because there wasn’t much floating about.

Her eyes found the least controversial item on her list.

Branch out with our range of books …? (Why does change feel so hard?)

She hadn’t meant to stop buying in books that didn’t end in happily-ever-afters. It was just that since Asher’s fall she’d had more than enough of dangerous happenings. Though she wouldn’t mind betting that if she had a good rummage, she would find all sorts in this maze.

‘Ooh. I can see him!’ Daniel’s eager tones from somewhere near the front of the bookshop interrupted her thoughts. ‘Should I go to the van for more coffee? I might get a look at what he’s up to.’

‘No,’ Noémi yelled back, as firmly as she could. ‘We’ve barely finished our last coffee and it’s none of our business what he’s doing.’

‘It’s our business if he’s setting up next door.’

‘Unless he’s setting up a bookshop, I really don’t care.’ Even the thought of seeing him again was making her cringe with embarrassment. Thank goodness she could hide in the aisles.

She began moving around the shelves and teasing out books, dusting them, and arranging them in piles according to genre and type. Once they were sorted, she could photograph some to sell or promote online and then put them back in a more customer-friendly order. Not that she wanted to sell all of them. Her mother’s beautiful classics still felt too much like dear old friends.

Though the more books Noémi hauled out, the more engulfed she felt. How had she let things get in such a pickle? Her mum had always run such an organized ship, and so had Noémi, at first. But it had been hard to care, for a while. Her mum hadn’t been around to see things, and her own dreams of making the place unique had faded when life had thrown rocks at them all.

‘Ding dong. Barbara calling!’