With Love from London(72)

The doorbells jingle and Fernando appears, reading the situation. His eyes are laser-focused on the two men.

“Gentlemen,” I continue, “I think it’s time we show you to the door.”

“Perhaps you’re hard of hearing,” Fernando adds when the men don’t budge. “The lady asked you to leave.” He walks closer, cracking his knuckles in a loud crescendo, which makes me want to hug him.

We watch in silence as they saunter out, gasping collectively when they’re gone.

Millie rushes to Fernando and kisses his cheek as Percy stands guard at the window, meowing loudly.

“Is it true?” Liza whispers. “What they said about…taking possession once there’s a tax lien on the building?”

I shake my head as Millie and Fernando look over. “No,” I say with more conviction than ever. “Until our very last moment, we’re going to keep selling books.”



* * *



—

“Hello,” I say, answering my phone in my most breathy, carefree voice. It’s 9:13 p.m.

I’ve just finished loading the dishwasher, and I’m in my sweats, about to head to bed with a book.

“Val? Hi, it’s Daniel.”

“Oh, hi, Daniel,” I say breezily, though my heart is beating so fast, I fear it might leap out of my chest. I remember Liza’s “rules,” and pause. “Um, will you just…give me a moment? I had a little party tonight and I…I’m just saying goodbye to…some friends.” I wave to a few imaginary party guests in the doorway, before sinking into the couch.

“How have you been?” he asks.

“Fine, great,” I say. “Excellent.”

“Fabulous,” he says. “Listen, I’m sorry I haven’t called. The craziest thing happened.”

“Oh? What?”

“The day after your event for the bookstore, I left my phone in a cab. It was a drag, and I was out of touch with everyone until I got it back this evening. I had to track it down from the driver, who had left on a trip to Ireland, but anyway, all is well.” He exhales deeply. “Anyway, I want to apologize to you, for the other night—in person.”

“It’s really okay, Daniel,” I say quickly. “Of course, I understand. And I’m sorry about your phone.”

“When I said in person, I meant it. I’m here now.”

I sit up in a momentary panic. “You are?”

“Yeah, I’m standing in front of your bookstore, at least I think I am. It’s the Book Garden, right? Didn’t you say that your flat is above?”

I cautiously peer over the sofa, look out the window, and there he is, standing on the sidewalk outside, holding a bouquet of flowers. I duck down immediately.

“Uh, yes, yes, it is.”

“So, you’re having a party?”

“Um,” I say. “Well, I was, but everyone…just left—through the back alley.”

“A shame,” he says. “It would have been lovely to meet them.” He pauses. “Hey, it might be too late, but I was thinking…maybe I could come up and say hi.”

“Oh,” I say, my heart racing as I immediately begin tidying up the flat. I shove a pile of laundry into the closet and toss an empty wine bottle into the trash can. “Now?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, if it’s too late, I can always…come back another time. I know it’s a bit last-minute.”

“No, no,” I say quickly, “It’s fine. Come up. Use the side entrance. The code is 7893. I’m on the third floor.”

What in the world did I just do? Daniel in my flat? I’m wearing sweatpants, for crying out loud. I race to the bedroom and change into a pair of skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder sweater. My heart lurches when I hear a knock at the door. I take a deep breath and turn the knob, and there he is, standing in my hallway.

“Hey,” Daniel says, a look of surprise on his face.

“Hey,” I say, leaning into the doorframe casually. He hands me a bouquet of flowers, grinning.

“Thank you,” I say, “they’re beautiful.”

“Tell me,” he says, casting an incredulous look my way as I fumble through the kitchen cabinets until I find a vase. “Do you always wear a mud mask when hosting a party?”

I touch my face, then gasp, remembering the black charcoal goo I’d smeared on my face a half hour ago. “Good Lord. I forgot I had this on!”

He grins. “It’s rather cute. In a…reptilian sort of way.”

“Oh my gosh,” I say, mortified, sidestepping to the bathroom. “I’ll just go and…wash this off.”

I scrub my face, then swipe on a bit of lipstick before evaluating myself in the mirror. It’s not my best look—far from it—but I’m grateful that the living room lights are dim.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask.

He glances at my glass of red wine on the coffee table. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

I open a fresh bottle and pour him a glass, then return to the sofa beside him. I shift positions nervously, expecting him to resume the documentary-style interview of our first date, but tonight seems to be different, somehow. Our conversation takes a grand tour—his favorite London neighborhoods, my thoughts on the royal family, an old friend of his mother’s who is presently incarcerated, fir trees, life and death, and California.