Page 92

‘No, you did.’ He chuckled. ‘It was quite the declaration. I was impressed by the capital letters and adventurous overuse of exclamation marks. I’ll miss that Book Girl.’

‘But you’re staying? For a while, at least.’

‘I’ve transferred a whole twelve months of rent to the landlord, so I hope so. As long as I can keep my indigestion in check.’ Shay rubbed his heart. ‘It flares up to no end when you’re around. Or if I’m truthful, I might say it was love.’ He dropped his bag and closed the gap between them, his eyes twinkling. ‘I love you, Noémi Blanc. With your kind heart, your big imagination. Your passion for stories and cosiness, and your particularly delicious snacks. I’ve never felt more me than when I’m with you. And just a few days away made me see how painful it is to be without you. The adventures are wherever you are, and quite honestly, I’ve never felt happier than when I’m here. So if you can put up with me?’

‘Stupid costumes, bad jokes, all of it.’ She looped her arms around his neck and sunk into the longest, snowiest kiss.

Chapter 55

When Noémi and Shay returned to the bookshop, it was to rapturous applause, and two plates of hot, roasted, gravy-drunk goodness that she knew would taste like manna from Christmas heaven. It didn’t take long for everyone to greet Shay under the guise of Le Père Noël or to make room for them at the table as crackers were snapped and terrible jokes were shared, the children in awe of Santa’s cheeky humour. Mulled wine sweetened the air and got tongues happily chatting, and soon there were all manner of desserts, from sherry trifles to Christmas puddings – without the flames – and a whole lot of cheese and biscuits.

‘Are you Santa’s pretty girlfriend?’ one of Prisha’s boys asked. ‘Mummy’s reading a book about a girlfriend and boyfriend, but she won’t let us look at it.’ He peered innocently at Noémi, his big eyes just like Prisha’s.

‘She doesn’t usually read stuff,’ the other twin added. ‘But we told her books make you cleverer, so she bought one from your shop to find out.’

Noémi gave a giggle. ‘They do,’ she whispered conspiratorially. ‘Much cleverer. Though am I Santa’s girlfriend?’ She looked at Shay, her cheeks unashamedly blushing. She guessed there was no real need to put labels on things, and she didn’t know his thoughts on the matter.

Shay grabbed Noémi’s hand. ‘Are you fine fellas chatting up my girlfriend here?’ Mirth danced across his face. ‘I mean, only if she wants to be stuck with this old Santa?’

Noémi beamed. ‘I want to be,’ she replied, giving him the swiftest of kisses, before the twins had the chance to say ick.

She was thrilled at the thought at having the best non-book boyfriend ever. If the shop stayed open after Christmas, she might even order some new mugs on that theme.

Jim’s mum Mary Lou arrived in a minivan filled with straw, harbouring Goatrude in the back, ready for her debut as a dinosaur in the children’s play. Mary Lou settled herself down with a large slice of Jasper’s pecan pie and a glass of bacon-infused eggnog.

The nativity played out as perfectly as anything could with a cantankerous goat, a host of overexcited small people, and Barbara in her element, orchestrating the show. Lines were forgotten, costumes were tugged at, one child fell asleep. Noémi cosied up next to Shay on the sofa, not at all wondering about their potential future children, nor toying with names – even if these ones were heart-meltingly cute.

When the children had given proud bows and tables had been cleared, it was time for their more peaceful evening tradition.

‘Jólabókaflóð!’ Noémi stood up and declared in her best Icelandic accent, which was probably not very good, even if Felix had done his best to teach her.

‘I think she just sneezed,’ said Crochet Catherine, passing her a tissue.

‘It’s the part where we give and receive books, then snuggle up and read them, with hot chocolate and Noémi’s cookies,’ Daniel reminded them with a good-natured tut.

‘J’aimais bien ça,’ Noémi heard her mum say.

I used to like this. Noémi’s heart lifted. She remembered.

‘And for anyone who’s forgotten to buy books to gift, shame on you. I’ll see you at the till,’ Daniel sang.

‘Don’t forget to dig deep to purchase your book-themed Christmas cookies,’ Tommaso added. ‘Noémi will probably try to dish them out for free, because she’s nice like that. But she’s got a bookshop to save, and it’s not over until the final shop-closing bell tings.’

‘Hear, hear,’ said Shay, grabbing a platter of sweetly iced green Grinch and Scrooge ghost cookies and tempting people towards the till with them.

Noémi tried not to look too proud as she picked up a tray of her award-winning passion fruit Yule log cookies to join him. They were made from Viennese butter cookie dough layered with tangy passion fruit and swirled into pinwheels, each rolled in cacao nibs and sparkling sugar crystals. They came with a rich chocolate dipping sauce that might have made Willy Wonka dish out medals.

Soon enough, their guests were excitedly exchanging book gifts; wrapping paper flew as Chai and Spirit did their best to gather it for recycling, Catherine saving the bows for next year. And people were curling up on sofas to read and share passages with each other, delighting in stories and nibbling cookies to their hearts’ content. The perfect combination. Noémi floated around, filling cups with thick, oozing hot chocolate, feeling all kinds of wonderful from her head to her toes.

Shay gave her a quick wink from his spot on the picnic blanket, where he was stretched out on his belly, reading The Snowman and the Snowdog to the children. The softness of his words, with the occasional Irish lilt, would soon have them sleepy for the real Santa’s arrival. Though right then, at least three kids were climbing on him, and one was trying to tug his beard.

‘Ouch, that’s real, you know!’ Noémi heard him yelp.

‘Why isn’t it grey?’

‘Why has it got cookie crumbs in it?’

‘Shh, don’t tell my new girlfriend,’ she heard Shay reply. ‘She thinks I only eat avocado. Which is also really nice, by the way. Full of heart-healthy nutrients.’