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‘Though, I’ll need a guinea pig to test that theory. Preferably a story-bashing, sweet-treat-dodging sceptic.’

‘I would never bash a story,’ he protested. ‘But you’ll have to chase harder to seduce me with your sugary offerings.’

‘Will I now?’ She popped her stirring spoon into her mouth, her eyes sparkling.

Chapter 32

When Noémi walked into the shop carrying a plate of deliciously warm cookies, she almost dropped them in surprise. It was a shame nobody had called the Guinness World Records to come and count how many people you could cram into a bookshop – because she had a sneaking suspicion that they might be pushing new boundaries (or indeed, business capacity laws).

She staggered backwards as the room erupted into cheers and applause, the usually silent Mrs Jingleman whooping, the Tequila Jammers singing what sounded like ‘Do they know it’s chocolate time?’ to the tune of Band Aid’s ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas?’. Noémi heard at least one yell of ‘You see, I told you she was the woman who makes the Christmas cookies.’

‘They do know they’re just gooey biscuits, right?’ she whispered to Shay behind her, as she took in the hordes from the coach trip interspersed with locals from the village, a few shop owners from the street, and the cheeky head of one uninvited goat who’d better keep her teeth to herself. ‘We should encourage them to get out more.’

‘Nooooo,’ he replied. ‘Real-life adventures would never catch on.’

The rest of the afternoon whizzed by in a flurry of delight, with customers sampling cookies, oohing and ahhing over the soft, squidgy textures and talking excitedly about their favourite Christmas flavours as well as their thoughts for other times of the year. Noémi was taking notes on red velvet Valentine’s hearts, summer strawberries and cream, and all manner of ghoulish delights for Halloween.

And as she got a sense of people and their penchants, it was as though she was intuitively guided to the stories they might love. She had plenty of witchy reads for fans of the spooky season. The lovers of decadent sweet pleasures would fall for Joanne Harris’s Chocolat. And she had a few romcom favourites for those keen on ginger, baking, and spice.

It almost felt like cheating that the crowds were so blissfully wooed by her cookies that they floated among shelves, joyfully selecting books and falling in love with their contents. It wasn’t as though customers could actually be drunk on her chocolate ganache. Even so, Noémi felt a touch tipsy on life as she tuned into the sounds of happy customers and people discovering their next armchair expedition.

‘I’m off to Mexico with this romance!’ Texan Jim waved a book in the air.

Noémi scribbled down the possibility of a cinnamon-churro-flavoured cookie, almost tasting the warmth on her tongue as she wrote.

‘It’s a Parisien patisserie for me,’ said Catherine, licking her lips.

Noémi added lavender macaron-style cookies to her list. Perfect for the summer months.

As she moved around the bookshop taking it all in, a thought came to her, as clear as the bell above the door.

Choose your own adventure.

Here she was, offering books and cookies. Perhaps an odd combo – and goodness knew, she’d been worried about sticky fingers and crumbs. But somehow, it was working. Just like Shay’s real-life adventures were working right next door to her fictional ones. Much like their whole higgledy-piggledy street was beginning to flourish again.

And perhaps that was exactly what her new book club needed. Not everyone being badgered into picking the same book. No arguments over murder or Mills & Boon. No deadlines. Just everybody choosing their own adventure. Reading whatever their heart was drawn to at their own pace. Coming together to read amicably and indulge in a sumptuous array of cookies – preferably with a napkin. Then being free to share the joys of their book, with no spoilers. Or being equally welcome just to listen along.

Noémi grabbed a sauce spoon and tapped it against a glass until she had everyone’s attention.

‘Who would like to put their name down for my brand-new Choose Your Own Adventure Book Club?’ she asked, unable to contain her main-beam smile.

This time, as she explained the concept, the names came pouring in. And she’d be sure to check with her neighbour to prevent any more unfortunate date clashes.

When the tray of cookies was finished, Noémi joined Daniel behind the counter, enjoying the mindful pleasure of giftwrapping purchases in paper that complemented them. Festive books in reds and golds, satin ribbons, and tiny tinkling bells. Travel books wrapped in paper with an old map design, books with a musical theme in sheet music paper.

Noémi looked around the busy shop, bustling like she remembered it in Christmas seasons gone by. Her mum had been in her element when the shop was thriving and people were animated about books. A wave of nostalgia washed over her, making her miss her dear mum. She could visit in the morning. Hold her hand. Tell her all about this. And yes, she would bring her here soon, like Shay had mentioned. She would love this, whether or not she quite remembered things. Noémi’s eyes drifted around the shop, absently looking for Shay. Perhaps he’d returned to man his own shop, with this influx of customers around.

‘I’m proud of you today,’ said Daniel, coming over to squeeze her shoulders. ‘Your mum would be too.’

Noémi swallowed hard and gave a quick mmm hmm, which was far easier than blubbing when she was meant to be wrapping a copy of Murder on the Menu.

It was then that the door opened, its jangly bell ringing and the crowd making way. For her mother? Noémi blinked a few times, wondering if she was woozy on the dopamine rush of chocolate. Felix came in behind Élisabeth, looking stronger than he had. His bow tie lights were flashing and his eyes sparkled, seeming surprised but happy at the number of customers in the shop. After both of them came Judith – one of the carers, and Lisa, looking marginally less bored now she wasn’t stuck behind the reception desk at the care home.

Judith took Élisabeth’s arm and whispered to her, pointing at things and apparently trying to soothe any confusion. Noémi’s heart bloomed in her chest, thrilled to see her mum but also desperate to be close and reassure her. She placed down her roll of ribbon and moved through the customers to get to the door.

‘Mum, it’s me,’ Noémi said hopefully, taking her mum’s frail hands that were lost inside far-too-large woollen gloves. ‘Your daughter, Noémi. You’re back at Adventures in Books. Notre librairie.’ Our bookshop.

Élisabeth smiled at her weakly, like she wanted to understand, but it was all a bit exhausting. ‘Yes,’ she said, trying to hold her smile.