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She threw her phone onto her bed, tempted to crawl back under the covers and get lost in a story. Though she had a shop to rescue. Events to bring together. None of that would happen if she spent her morning sulking because an unreliable elf impersonator had stood her up. Worse still, she wasn’t sure she could concentrate on a book while she was wondering about him. Urgh. And this was exactly why sticking to fiction was so much easier.

Noémi moved around the flat on autopilot, getting showered, pulling on clothes that probably didn’t match, making toast she couldn’t be bothered to eat. All the while, her mind was in overdrive. Should she message Shay again, or was it too early? Was she overreacting? Maybe he had a genuine reason for not showing up the night before, and by the time he’d seen her message it had been too late to reply?

Or more likely, this was exactly as she’d expected from a man who couldn’t settle. He’d be unreliable, until he finally disappeared, attracted by the promise of his next adventure. Perhaps she was altogether too boring for him. He’d had the chance to get naked with her when they’d stayed over after the ice-skating, but he’d made some excuse about being chivalrous. He could have visited her last night, when she wouldn’t have been under the influence of boozy hot chocolates nor trying to get frisky in the back of a van. But still, he hadn’t wanted to. Was it her non-sexy nightwear? Or the fact she couldn’t end her day without curling up with a Milly Johnson? Did he think she was nothing more than a cookie-munching book nerd?

She was trying not to take it personally, nor escalate one no-show into more than it was. But she was only human. Her mind wanted answers. If she didn’t hear from him that morning, she should carry out discreet enquiries. Or better still, go and yell at him for making her feel utterly rubbish. Because a person was entitled to wear whatever non-sexy PJs they wanted, and she would not be giving up her habit of devouring cookies or books for anyone.

The morning passed painfully slowly in the bookshop, with curiously less customers than they’d become used to. Perhaps most people had finished their Christmas shopping – which would be a worry for their takings. At least Noémi still had the final pre-Christmas online orders to pack. She did her best to keep her distance from Daniel and Tommaso, because she couldn’t bother to explain why she was feeling grumpy. They seemed jolly and playful as they took photos for the bookshop’s social media and Tommaso’s online magazine, and she didn’t want to burst their bubble by moaning about the neighbour who’d ghosted her.

‘You’re dusting that window a lot this morning,’ said Daniel casually, coming to see what she was looking at.

Was she? ‘I’m just cleaning the Christmas décor,’ she improvised. Well, you ought to keep on top of these things.

‘Is it strange we haven’t seen Shay this morning?’ Daniel asked, before lowering his voice. ‘Or have you got him chained up in your bedroom, next to your toppling pile of books to be read?’

‘Don’t be crude,’ she chided. Though she had to admit it was odd his shop wasn’t open.

‘What’s going on with the blackboard?’ Daniel asked, squinting.

With her mind preoccupied with vigorous dusting and Shay, she’d forgotten about the new writing she’d half-glimpsed. Daniel and Tommaso had come in the back way that morning, as they sometimes did if they stayed at Tommaso’s.

‘I think our mystery signwriter has pimped it.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll go.’ It would give her an excuse to have a nosy at Shay’s shop for clues.

When Noémi got outside, she couldn’t see any signs of life in Shay’s shop or the flat above. It seemed to be locked up. Though her attention was quickly drawn to the A-board. She’d left it advertising the Merry Singles Mingle, and the Christmas Eve meal and Book Flood. Though as she read the sign, her insides began to sink.

A book flood is coming.

What does it mean?

Will we need floats and a boat?

Not sure if I’m keen.

Will the books get soggy? Will the carpet be boggy?

Can cookies save bookshops before Santa gets jolly?

Well, ho, ho, ho.

‘Are you OK?’ asked Chai, apparently on her way to Prisha’s, carrying their friend’s latest craving of a white hot chocolate, complete with a melting marshmallow snowman. The poor, droopy thing looked about as good as Noémi felt.

‘Fine,’ Noémi replied, trying not to let out her inner petulant child, who wanted to shout Who touched my stuff? and throw her Barbie dolls. This was not what she needed on her final countdown for the bookshop’s make-or-painful-break.

‘I wouldn’t be,’ said Chai, reading the sign. ‘I guess they’re trying to be funny, but it’s a bit on the snarky side.’

‘Aye, you’re right,’ said Carrie, stopping as she passed. ‘Who’s done that? I’ll give them a piece of my mind when I catch them.’

‘Have you had a flood?’ asked Barbara, coming out of Ham’s Hardware with a bag of borrowed change. ‘Do we need to cancel Christmas Eve? The children were looking forward to the dinosaur nativity.’

‘A flood?’ asked Mr Ham, sticking his head out. ‘What about singles night?’

‘No flood!’ said Noémi as loudly as she could above the emerging racket. ‘And nothing is cancelled. Just a mix-up over phrasing.’ Though it explained why the bookshop had been quiet that morning, and that made her anxious. ‘Can you spread word that nothing is wrong, if anyone asks?’

‘I wonder what’s ruffled the mystery signwriter’s feathers?’ asked Chai, still looking concerned. The snowman in Prisha’s drink had all but drowned, his pretzel stick arm now the only thing left above the surface.

‘Right, well nothing to see here,’ said Carrie, thankfully taking charge. ‘I’ll get this sign inside and scrubbed. And ears to the ground so I can update my culprit spreadsheet. We can’t have anyone ruining what we’ve all worked so hard for, joke or no joke’. She waved the shop owners off and scooped up the board like it was made of the lightest cookie dough.

Noémi thanked her, barely able to carry herself in that moment. As the crowd dispersed and Carrie pushed her way into the bookshop, a man arrived. Noémi vaguely recognized him as the landlord of Shay’s shop, though they didn’t see him often.