Page 17 of From London, With Love

When I arrived this morning, I was a healthy mix of excited and nervous. Marissa, the owner and manager, met me at thedoor. She’s a little lady, probably somewhere in her mid to late 70s. I knocked once on the glass door before her head popped out from behind the end of a shelf.

Marissa is the epitome of a bookstore owner. White hair pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, round-framed glasses sitting atop her nose, and arms full of books.?

Placing the books on the counter, Marissa approached the door to greet me.?

“Oh, you must be Lara,” she beamed. Thanks to the phone calls prior to my move, her voice was familiar and wrapped around me like a hug. She smelt of book pages and something of a floral nature, but I couldn't put my finger on what exactly. Perhaps jasmine or gardenia? I don’t pretend to know much about flowers, but she smelt homely.

“I certainly am. It’s lovely to finally meet you, Marissa,” I responded, a warm smile pulling up my lips. Marissa pulled me into a hug, and I felt the nervous energy evaporate.?

“Oh please, sweetie, call me Riss.” Her small smile wrinkled the skin around her eyes. She led me inside, plucking a small tin with baking paper peeking out the sides from the countertop and holding it out to me. “Just a small first day treat,” she’d said sweetly. My heart squeezed in my chest in response to the kind gesture, so similar to something my own grandmother would do.

Following a cup of tea together in the reading nook, we spent the next two hours touring the store and each of its genre sections. Riss had drawn a little mud map for me with the layout of the bookstore. It detailed where each genre could be found, as well as prominent subgenres that were often requested. The gesture made my detail-oriented heart sing.

The conversation flowed easily between us. So much so that hours later, I don’t think the stupid grin I’m wearing has left my face once. Riss, declaring her faith in me, has steppedout for an hour or two to run some errands and pick us up some lunch.

Deciding to be proactive whilst she’s out, I tour the different genres. Pen and paper in hand, I make a note of any shelves with space for three or more in their stack. While wandering, I can’t help but pick up some of the newest arrivals. I take in a deep breath and inhale the divine scent of new books—an aroma I can never explain, yet everyone seems to understand.

Happy with my list, I walk through the archway behind the counter and into the back room. Piles and piles of books tower over me, desperately needing some rearranging. The stockroom will be the second thing I tackle when I get a spare few hours.

I grab a cart, place my list inside, and get to looking. A mere two books on the list are secured before I’m rudely interrupted by a loud rumbling coming from my stomach. I glance at my watch. Damn, it’s only been 15 minutes since Riss left. I contemplate whether I can hold off, but my stomach decides for me as it lets out another rumble.

“Okay, okay,” I mumble to myself, “we’ll get a snack.”

My sad excuse for a book cart stands abandoned as I walk over to the cubby holding my bag, trying to remember if I’d packed any sweet treats. I swear I hear angels sing when I spot the tin Riss had handed me earlier. The lid is barely off, but the sweet scent of shortbread wafts through the air and I’m almost salivating in response.

As I take my first bite and moan in satisfaction, the doorbell chimes.

Chapter 8

Carter

“Dex!” I shout. My left arm secures most of my weight as I lean out the door frame of my office, preparing to yell again if he doesn’t appear in the next five seconds.

“Yes, sir!” his voice booms from down the corridor.

Moments later, Dex waltzes out of his office on the left and makes his way toward me, grinning from ear to ear.

“Dexter, you are a right bastard. Have I ever told you that?”

Now standing before me, Dex throws a soft punch at my shoulder. “Only every day since college, mate.”

My eyes strain from the sheer force behind their roll, which sets off Dex’s laughter.

“Before you started your shit, I was going to ask if you wanted some lunch,” I say, turning to walk into my office and gesturing for Dex to follow, “but now I think I’ll revoke the offer.”?

“Oh, Mr Lawrence, you wound me.” Hand shooting to his chest, Dex lets out a groan. “How will I make it through theday?” He leans against the doorframe, his other arm flinging up and behind him in an overly extravagant gesture.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a fucking drama queen, Ford?” I can’t stop the incoming smile from pulling at my lips. The man is a twat, but fuck, I love him like a brother.

Straightening up, Dex pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. He rummages for a moment, then removes a £5 note and throws it onto my desk.

“I’ll take a Buffalo with a side of chips if that’s where you’re heading.” A wink in my direction, and he’s gone before the chuckle even leaves my mouth.

I’m apparently far too predictable because Dex correctly assumed I’d be heading to Honest Burgers to grab our lunch.

I take the bike to Camden. Parking here is shitty at the best of times, and frankly, I don’t have time to deal with the lunchtime influx. Thankfully, I manage to find a parking spot for the bike right outside the burger shop. Removing my helmet, I look through the windows and assess the situation. It looks relatively busy inside, which means I feel no guilt in making a pitstop nearby until the line dies down.

There are two places I frequent in Camden: the first being Honest Burgers and the second being a little bookstore. It’s no Waterstones, but its character is half the experience. I secure my helmet on my bike and head towards Chapter Nine. My phone buzzes in my back pocket. Sliding it out, I see my sister’s name across the screen.

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