With Love from London(42)
I watch with amusement as Millie races to the counter where she pulls out a tube of lipstick from her purse, then hurriedly swipes some on. She pretends to busy herself with paperwork as I unlock the door.
A moment later, she looks up, crestfallen to see a tall man with light blond hair pulled back into a scraggly ponytail. Not Fernando.
“Sign here, please, ma’am,” he says.
“Where’s…Fernando?”
“No clue,” he says. “Out sick? Or maybe they put him on a new route. Corporate’s always changing things around.”
Millie sighs. “Oh.”
“I think it’s high time you admit it,” I say as the truck barrels off. “You have an honest-to-goodness crush on that deliveryman.”
“I do not.”
“Oh yes, you do. And you know what? I think he has a crush on you, too.”
She turns to me, astonished. “You do? Really?”
I nod, somehow comforted by the realization that no matter our age, love can apparently find us and turn us into schoolgirls again. “I saw the way he looked at you the other day. I’ll bet he’s trying to work up the courage to ask you out.”
“You’re only flattering me,” she says, quick to dismiss my romantic notion. “We both know he would never be interested in a woman of my age.”
“Nonsense,” I say, curiously studying her blue eyes, which glimmer in the light. “Were you…ever married?” I finally ask.
“No,” she says. “But there was someone once, a very long time ago. Someone I deeply admired.” Her eyes cloud with memories. “But, alas, he wasn’t for me. His heart…belonged to someone else.”
I instantly regret the question when I see her mouth pinch inward and her presence close up, like a tulip in the cool of night.
“Look at the time,” Millie says, collecting herself. “I have so much new inventory to catalogue.” And just like that, the glimmer in her eyes is gone.
* * *
—
Upstairs in my flat, I sign on to @booksbyval and reply to dozens of messages inspired by my last post on collecting as many books as the heart desires. My followers are fully on team #booksmakepeoplehappy.
I start a new post.
What’s your big life dream? My mother’s was to have a bookstore, all her own, and she did, and it was, and is, magnificent. But the funny thing I didn’t realize about dreams is they can be shared. While I’d never imagined myself running a bookstore in London, and while my relationship with my mother was…complicated…she gave me a gift far greater than simply property bequeathed in a will. In fact, she handed me her dream with the hope that I could make it mine. And guess what? I’ve decided to try.
What’s your big dream? I look forward to reading your comments….#bookishmusings #bookdreams #abookstoreofonesown
* * *
—
Later that evening, I knock on Liza’s door to tell her all about the idea Millie and I discussed. I’ve caught her fresh from the shower, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
“Okay, it’s no secret that the Book Garden needs to up its income in order to pay the estate tax. Millie and I put our heads together, and we came up with some ideas. First, I’m going to link my @booksbyval account to the store’s website, where we’ll announce plans for a community fundraiser.”
“Oh!” Liza squeals. “I love it!”
“But I also had another brainstorm, and this is where you come in.”
I explain the plan to convert the front of the store into a plant and flower shop, of sorts. “You could…run it for us!” I finally say.
Liza throws her arms around me, squeezing me so tight I can hardly take a breath. “Really?”
I nod. “Yes! I mean, we can’t pay much, at least not at first, but we could sure use your green thumb, and you might get a kick out of it. What do you say?”
“I’m a hundred percent in,” she says, smiling, her skin still dewy from the shower. “And you don’t have to pay me. It’ll be a labor of love, and it’s the least I can do, especially after those months when I couldn’t pay my rent, and your mum wiped my debt clean. She was special like that.”
She was special. But she also left me. The duality of those two facts makes my heart ache.
“When do you want me to start? I can juggle my job with this, I’m sure.”
“How about…tomorrow? I mean, whenever you can find time. I have no idea where to begin with plants, let alone flowers. I’ll leave all of that to you.”
“I’ve been a personal assistant for most of my adult life, and if I’m good at anything, it’s figuring things out.” She untwists her towel from her head, revealing her newly colored head of bright blue hair.
“My goodness, what…happened?”
“Oh,” she says. “I thought I’d try something new.” She turns to the mirror and fluffs her cerulean curls. “I had to use a god-awful amount of bleach to make sure the color would stick, so I’m afraid my hair might be fried, but I have to say, I rather like how it turned out. What do you think?”
“I think it’s very…Liza,” I say, grinning.