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“Yeah, it definitely needs more genre fiction.”

“I mean, I can order specific books in—I do that for the book club. But it would be nice to browse through a few alternatives when it’s time to choose the next book.”

He looks surprised. “You run a book club? I didn’t realise.”

“Yeah, me, Emma, and Cate Hartley all read the same types of books, and we used to meet up to chat about them, and then Blair joined us, and Harri from the boat yard, and word got around, and now there are eight of us. The Sleigh Belles.” I laugh.

“The what?”

I wave a hand. “I’ll tell you later. The point is that the shop doesn’t sell the type of books we like to read. We do try some literary fiction—we read Where the Crawdads Sing last month, and All the Light We Cannot See at the beginning of the year. But most of us prefer… you know…” I trail off. Men tend to tease us when we admit what we love to read.

“What?” Mitch asks. “Romance?”

“Er, yeah.”

He shrugs. “Nothing wrong with a good romance novel. I loved Fourth Wing. And Lucy Score’s Things We Never Got Over.”

I stare at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. Den of Vipers was a bit…” He crosses his eyes, and I giggle. “But I enjoyed it,” he admits.

“You like reverse harem?” I ask curiously.

“Well, in fiction. In reality, I’d never let another man near my girl.” He meets my eyes, amused.

I blink at the possessive phrase, momentarily speechless. I’ve never heard him say anything like that before. Our conversation has never turned sexual. But then I was married to another man.

Our gazes lock, and my pulse leaps. A man hasn’t looked at me like that in a long, long time. With interest. As if I’m important to him. As if I matter.

Eventually, he sips his coffee, stares at the cinnamon scroll in his hand, then finishes it off. “So,” he says, “you were saying about a sale…”

I scramble to remember my thoughts. “Oh, yes, well, I was thinking that we could bring all the books into the shop and sort them into rough subject areas, and then have a one-day sale, every book five dollars, or buy one get one free, that kind of thing. Have one-dollar lucky dips for the really old books. Make it a big fun event. I reckon a good proportion of the books would go, if they were priced low enough.”

His eyebrows rise. “Yeah, that might work.” He gestures at the wall. “Emma thought putting the archway back and having a book café was a great idea.”

“Oh, it would be amazing. The book club could meet there!” My heart swells at the thought. “It could be made into a really amazing place with some TLC and a little money spent on it.”

I study the far shelves, not seeing the dimly lit corners, the dusty books, some of which have been there for years, or the faded pictures on the walls, and instead imagining bright lighting, bold colours, and freshly painted shelves. It would be fantastic.

“Hmm,” he says again. “Well, I’m going to see Grandad tomorrow. I’ll have to talk to him about it, and all the books upstairs.” He runs his hand through his hair. Clearly, he’s not looking forward to it.

“Would you like me to come with you?” I offer. “Clive works here at the weekends, so I’m free.” He’s in his sixties and retired, but enjoys the connection with the community. “I’m used to going up to Wisteria Villas. I give an order form to the front desk there every week. People order the books they want, and I deliver them the week after.”

“Oh! I didn’t know you did that. I would’ve thought they’d have preferred to borrow from their library.”

“Some do, of course. But lots of people like owning their own books. There’s something about the feel of a new book. The cover’s all shiny and untouched, and the pages smell so good. Reading is a sensual experience, don’t you think?”

Oh shit, there’s The Look again. I’m definitely not imagining it. He stares at me, then looks away, and I see him blow out a breath before he walks over to the rubbish bin and throws his cup and the paper bag into it.

My heart bangs on my ribs, and I concentrate on sorting out the till and finishing the day’s sales report.

By the time five-thirty comes, the bookshop is quiet. I turn the sign on the door around, then close it and lock it. Mitch is sorting through some books at the back, so I finish up at the desk, then wander over to him.

“I think you’re right,” he says as I approach. “A grand sale to get rid of a lot of this old stock is a great idea.”

“Yeah, we can make some banners and put some posters up in town. Saturday the nineteenth would be best—one of the cruise ships is in the Bay of Islands then. There’ll be a lot of traffic then.”

“Sounds good.” He puts his hands on his hips. “I’ll call some old friends and see if I can get them to help carry the boxes from the flat into the shop.”