Page 45 of Winter Nights at the Bay Bookshop
A customer arrived wanting help in finding a book she’d read about in a magazine. It was the sort of query that always made me smile –I don’t know what it’s called or the author’s name but there was a woman in a red coat/a sunset/a house/a dog on the coveror, even less specific,the cover was blue/yellow/grey– but which also made me determined to track the book down for them. On this occasion, the customer thought it might be set in Greece with a lemon tree on the front. It turned out to be Italy with an orange tree but she purchased the book along with another which caught her eye and left with a big smile on her face. A mystery solved and a satisfied customer made me a happy bookseller.
Lars asked me to check over what he’d done with the window while I’d been serving the customer and I was delighted with it. Not only had he displayed the books beautifully but he’d added a couple of Christmassy soft toys and some of the white flameless candles that I’d ordered for Halloween.
‘Looking great,’ I said as we stood outside. ‘Adding the candles gets you plus figures for creativity.’
The wind whipped my hair and wrapped its icy fingers round my arms. Shivering, I dashed for the door, closely followed by Lars. Winter was definitely coming.
‘That wind is biting,’ I said, rubbing my arms once we were inside. ‘Is it like that in Iceland?’
‘Usually colder and stronger.’
I rubbed my icy hands together. ‘I’m freezing!’
‘My hands are always warm,’ Lars said, putting them out towards me. ‘Can I?’
When I nodded, he cupped his hands round mine and I marvelled at how warm they were and how long his fingers were, completely encasing my hands. I looked up into his eyes, my heart pounding once more. We were standing so close to each other that I could smell his body spray – definitelynotwomen-repellent – and see the lighter flecks and a darker rim around his grey eyes. I really wanted to kiss him and I felt sure that, if I did, he’d respond.I wonder what Cassie would say if she walked in nowwas the thought that dropped into my mind, but I didn’t voice it. I didn’t want to break the moment.
Unfortunately one of our customers did that for us. I groaned as the landline rang and Lars dipped his head as he released my hands.
I reached for the handset. ‘Good afternoon, Bay Books.’
‘Lily, it’s Mr Bryant. Have my books arrived, my dear?’
Mr Bryant was a long-standing elderly customer who’d recently discovered a love for cosy crime and was interspersing the work of classic writers like Agatha Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers with those of contemporary authors. He’d ordered a couple of Christie’s Hercule Poirot books.
‘They arrived with this morning’s delivery. I left you a message on your landline, but you might not have had a chance to check it yet.’
‘Apologies, my dear. I visited a friend this morning and I never remember to check for messages. It must be the third or fourth time I’ve done that. You must think me such a pest.’
‘I think no such thing, Mr Bryant. They’re both here and you’ve got about forty minutes until we close or you can drop by tomorrow.’
‘I’m keen to start one tonight, so I’ll be with you shortly.’
We said our goodbyes and I replaced the handset. Lars had wandered over to the end of the room and was straightening the piles of books on our new-releases table. I wished Mr Bryant hadn’t chosen that moment to call. Or perhaps it was a blessing that he had because I could so easily have kissed Lars and that probably wouldn’t have been a good idea.
Lars had his back to me and I couldn’t help thinking that, if I didn’t speak, there’d be an atmosphere – nothing serious but that sense of awkwardness that came with a moment being interrupted. I fished around for something to say. Anything.
‘We didn’t get to finish our conversation earlier, Lars.’
I hoped he’d remember what the conversation was because, right now, my mind had gone blank. All I could think about was rushing across the shop floor and kissing him. Bad idea. Very bad idea. Although how much longer I could keep telling myself that, I wasn’t sure, because my heart was telling me the opposite.
25
LARS
‘We didn’t get to finish our conversation earlier, Lars,’ Lily said.
I turned around and looked at her expectantly. Which conversation? We’d been talking about the weather and that’s when I’d held her hands and felt something shift between us. Heat rushed to my cheeks as I thought about it and I hoped she couldn’t see that from across the shop.
‘About Christmas,’ she said after an inordinately long silence. ‘I told you about mine. What were your Christmases like?’
Relaxing, I joined her at the counter once more. ‘For years, it’s just been Nanna and me and she favours a quiet, traditional Christmas. It’s breakfast then gifts and I prepare the dinner while she goes to church. We play Scrabble or cards after we’ve eaten and watch the monarch’s speech followed by a film. Tea’s turkey sandwiches and it’s usually an early night for Nanna because she treats herself to a couple of sherries and nods off in her armchair. Some would call it boring but I enjoy it. Christmas Day was the only day of the year My Study Hub provided no technical support so, for me, it was a welcome chance to switch off for twenty-four hours.’
‘I can imagine. What about when you were a child?’
‘Completely different. Well, until we lost Pia, that is.’ My voice caught and I hoped Lily hadn’t noticed as I didn’t want her to feel as though she’d asked a difficult question, so I gave her a warm smile. Childhood Christmases were about the only positive family memories I had. ‘We celebrated a blend of the two cultures so we had the British advent calendar, stockings out for Father Christmas on Christmas Eve and a traditional roast turkey dinner on Christmas Day. Icelanders celebrate the season ofJólwhichisChristmas but it’s more like our yule from the olden days. It starts on 12 December when the first of the thirteen Yule Lads arrives…’
As the shop was quiet once more, I explained to Lily that the Yule Lads were trolls who spent most of the year living in the dark castles in the mountains with a big black cat and their parents – a nasty old troll woman called Grýla and her third husband Leppalúði. For thirteen days in a row the brothers, known as thejólasveinar,took turns coming down the mountains to create mischief. Each brother had a name which indicated the type of mischief they liked to get up to – most of it somewhat random like licking spoons or stealing sausages.
