The Bookish Life of Nina Hill(85)

“I want to take you to my place,” said Tom. “It’s actually not far from here.” Nina nodded, and they walked through the dark streets in perfect happiness, holding hands and saying nothing.

They reached a low building, and Tom pulled a key from his pocket. “This is where I work,” he said, “rather than where I live, but I need to show you something.”

He unlocked the door and led her inside, along a narrow hallway to a large room at the back of the building. Nina followed him, wishing she were still holding his hand. The room they walked into was filled with wood and pieces of furniture. It smelled wonderful, of sawdust and linseed oil. Of Tom.

“This is my workshop,” said Tom, switching on the lights.

“You said you were a carpenter.”

“I am,” he replied, smiling at her. “But not the house-building kind. I’m a cabinetmaker. I make furniture.” He pointed. “In particular, bookcases.”

“You’re joking.” Nina looked around; he clearly wasn’t joking. There were several large, beautiful bookcases in the room. They weren’t simply shelves; they had doors and glass and drawers and little wooden twiddly bits that probably had a proper name.

Tom shook his head. “No, really. I talked to Peter about it that day at the Festival, and we agreed it was too corny to tell you. I was kind of waiting for the right moment and then . . . you know . . . we broke up, so it didn’t matter.”

Nina gazed at him. “It’s . . .”

He blushed. “I know. It’s ridiculous, a man who makes bookcases dating a woman who sells books.”

“Yeah.”

“How about I refocus on cupboards and dressers?”

She smiled. “I could quit my job.”

“I could carry on making bookcases, but make them really badly so the books keep falling off.”

“Knight’s could switch to selling audiobooks only.”

They looked at each other. “See,” said Nina. “I’m willing to change.”

Tom stepped closer to her and took her hands. “I don’t want you to change, Nina. I want to take care of you. If you get less anxious, great, but if you don’t, then that’s fine, too, because that’s who you are.” He shrugged. “I’m never going to be a huge reader, I’m never going to know all about the stuff you know all about, but that’s who I am.”

“I like who you are,” Nina said, not feeling anxious at all. “And you know plenty of stuff I don’t know. Like Don Shula. I don’t even know who Don Shula is.”

“You don’t? Well, maybe this won’t work after all.” He grinned. “Look, I cleared you a corner.” Tom pointed to an area near a large window. It was dark then, of course, but in the daytime it would get plenty of light. “I was going to surprise you and put a comfy chair there so you could sit and read while I worked, and we could, you know, hang out.” He tugged her closer and kissed her. “I want to be with you the way you are, the way you’re going to be, and the way you end up. Every way you are is beautiful to me.”

They kissed, and then Nina said, “That was the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Tom laughed. “Really? I worked on it in my head for days.”

Nina was going to make fun of him again, but didn’t. He wasn’t a poet, but whatever. She wasn’t a competitive skier. It didn’t matter what they weren’t; it only mattered who they were.

“I could be in love with you,” she said.

“I could be in love with you, too,” he replied.

“We’re very romantic, aren’t we?”

“Very,” he said, and kissed her again. “Let’s go home and be alone together.”





Thirty




In which Liz loses her mind, finds a friend,

and gains a partner.

The next morning, Nina woke up to find Tom already awake and looking at her.

“Good morning, creepy boyfriend,” she said. “Have you been staring for long?”

“About thirty seconds,” he replied. “Your cat registered a complaint by standing on my eyeball.”

Phil was sitting on the chair, washing his paw with the air of a cherub grooming his wing.

Nina grinned and got up to feed him. She went to get the coffee started and found it already set up, water in the reservoir, coffee in the filter. She paused.

“Did you do this?”

Tom turned over in bed and nodded. “I was inspired by my brother’s wedding vows.”

Nina was opening her mouth to comment positively on this when her phone rang. She looked at the clock. Oh. Ten o’clock. Not exactly the crack of dawn.

It was her friend Vanessa.

“Hey, I think you better get over to the bookstore.”

“Why are you in the bookstore? And why are you whispering?”

“I’m not.” Vanessa sounded suppressed, like she was either about to laugh or cry. “I’m hiding from the manageress because we’re not supposed to be on the phone at work, and I think you should hurry up because there’s a crowd outside the store and occasionally Liz appears and hands out books.”

“Sells them?”

“No, gives them away.” Vanessa paused. “Enthusiastically.”