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‘You, a lazy slob?’ Noémi’s forehead scrunched.

Regardless of whether she’d heard that right, he was swiftly changing the subject.

‘Tea? I’ll just …’ He waved an arm towards the back of the shop where Noémi knew the kitchen would be. And before she could ask anything more, he was gone. She guessed his past was none of her business anyway. Much like none of his future would be.

Her forehead must still have been creased when Shay came back from the kitchen with a tray, two mugs and two questionable-looking health bars. Not to be ungrateful, but if she’d wanted to eat something made of egg whites and cashew, she’d have made nutty meringue. Meringue Christmas cookies. Now there was a thought. She blinked a few times, because it was not a thought for her.

‘You found teabags,’ she said, looking for the positives.

‘Back of a dusty cupboard. They looked seven years older than my nana, so you might mark me down on taste.’

‘Not quite my usual cup of Christmas tea.’

Why was he looking at her strangely? Had she sounded ungrateful? She quickly added her thanks.

He shook his head, as though dislodging something.

‘Anyway, you looked troubled,’ he said, balancing the tray on a chair because there were no tables.

There wasn’t much of anything, though at least that meant less fire hazards.

‘No-ooo,’ she sing-songed, before realizing there was no point in lying. ‘Well, yes.’ Her gaze drifted to the fish tank that Shay had saved from the fire. ‘My whole life nearly went up in flames, apart from that.’ She tried to sound jokey, but it wasn’t working. ‘Urgh. Why wasn’t I in the shop where I should have been?’

‘Because you have two perfectly good members of staff, and it wasn’t your fault if my shop was distracting one of them?’

‘I can’t keep blaming you.’

‘Was it my rank-tasting avocado offerings that got you back into baking? Because if you win awards again, I want some credit there.’ His eyes were twinkling.

‘Are you desperate for this to be your fault?’ She cocked her head. ‘Anyway, that’s the last you’ll see of my baking efforts. The street will be much safer if I don’t use an oven or light a fire.’

‘None of what happened was to do with …’

She held up a hand. ‘I nearly lost my mother’s lifework. All those books, including her antiquarian collection. Tonight has put a few things into perspective, that’s all.’ Noémi had already decided that she’d be calling that collector tomorrow, if the antique books weren’t damaged by the smoke. What was the point in holding onto them when she rarely looked at them now anyway? If they found new homes, they’d have the chance to be cherished again, rather than being locked up at the back of her shop. Their stories could find new hearts and minds. If they stayed with her, they were more likely to end up as toast. ‘The bookshop has been struggling and I’m trying to focus my energy on saving it. The cookies were an unwise detour and they’re not up for discussion.’ She picked up an uninviting health bar, because she was absolutely starving. ‘Shall we partake in some sensible snacking?’ She waved the other at Shay.

‘Tasteless protein.’ He winked at her. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

They chomped quietly for a while, Noémi trying not to wince at the chewy, flavourless fitness bar. Shay was still doing laps of the shop, as though that was just his habit. He checked his fitness watch, then tapped it a few times, looking confused.

‘It should be fully charged.’ He shook his wrist. ‘Still nothing. Argh. It must have been the fire. I think it got sprayed with chemical foam from the extinguisher. That, or the heat. These watches can be sensitive.’

‘Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. Let me know the cost and I’ll give you the money for a new one. It’s the least I can do.’

‘No, no. I chose to come into your bookshop uninvited and interfere. You didn’t ask me to. I did so at my own risk, not so that I could bill you for my expenses. You’ve got enough to sort out.’

‘That’s my problem. You must let me repay you.’

‘There are other ways.’

‘I was joking about the breakfast tea.’ She gasped in mock offence. ‘And I have a boyfriend.’

‘Relax. There’s no way I’d be propositioning you.’

‘Why, thanks.’ She blew the steam off her mug.

‘No, I meant …’ He ran a hand through his hair, the caramel ends looking – and no doubt smelling – a little sooty. Not that she was imagining sniffing his hair. ‘It would be disrespectful to take advantage in your hour of need.’

‘Right.’