This Book Made Me Think of You(16)

“Sorry, it’s an editor’s bad habit,” Matilda Nightingale replies, adding, “I worked on the book with her. That’s my niche—celebrity memoirs.”

“Ah, so you work in publishing. And that’s quite a niche. You must have some stories.”

“A couple. I bet you do too. Nightmare authors. Difficult customers…like me.” She raises an eyebrow.

He doesn’t take the bait, and instead says, “What’s she like then, Aimee Rain?”

“Actually, one of the good ones.”

“Would you even tell me if she wasn’t?”

“Of course. But then I’d have to kill you,” she deadpans. “Or at least get you to sign an NDA.”

Georgette has poked her head out of the cardboard box, and in a less-than-graceful move, she half jumps, half flops out onto the floor, where she winds herself between Matilda’s legs, purring extravagantly. Matilda bends to stroke her and Georgette reclines, exposing her soft belly and leaning her head back on the floor like a Grecian goddess.

“I have to apologize, she’s a terrible flirt.”

But Matilda is already scratching her, and Alfie watches as both Matilda and the cat seem to relax. The tense line of Matilda’s jaw softens, her lips parting slightly.

“That’s OK, I love cats. My husband always wanted a dog…” Her jaw tightens again, and he can see her throat move as she swallows, blinking quickly. “Your Georgette is a lovely cat.”

“She’s not really my cat. She’s technically a stray, but she keeps coming back because I feed her the fancy kind of food. She’s going to bankrupt me.”

“I think all bookshops should have cats,” Matilda says, Georgette’s eyes now softly closed as she luxuriates in being stroked. “They just seem to go together.”

“That’s because cats and book lovers are quite similar when it comes down to it.”

“What do you mean?” Matilda’s nose wrinkles slightly as she says it, a bridge of freckles forming that makes it suddenly hard to remember what he was going to say.

“Like spending time indoors or lounging in sunny spots,” he says, counting each point off on his fingers. “Fond of snacks. Enjoys quiet time in their own company…”

“Are you still describing cats or me?” she says with a soft laugh.

“Plus,” adds Alfie, “I can just imagine Georgette reading a book among the stacks when my back is turned. You’d never catch a dog reading a novel.”

She looks up suddenly and gives him a strange look that makes him want one of the shelves to topple down and bury him in books. But to his surprise she nods. “I think you’re right. And there are so many books that feature cats…” She frowns again, a tiny crease forming between her eyebrows. “Breakfast at Tiffany’s…The Master and Margarita. Oh, Carbonel. I loved that one as a child.”

“Me too.” He considers for a moment, then adds, “The Travelling Cat Chronicles and The Goodbye Cat.”

“His Dark Materials,” she volleys, “if we’re counting wildcats in the category.”

“I think I’ll allow it. The Cheshire cat in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.”

They spar back and forth, bouncing from Doris Lessing’s memoir On Cats to Sosuke Natsukawa’s The Cat Who Saved Books to Kafka on the Shore and several Terry Pratchett novels.

A wide smile spreads across Tilly’s face as she plays her final trump card. “And the greatest cat book ever written, The Cat in the Hat.”

“Well, obviously. A literary masterpiece. I can’t argue with that.”

“Maybe you should do a cat-themed window display sometime.”

“Maybe I should. I bet Georgette would love that.”

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” she says, reaching into the satchel slung over her shoulder. She pulls out a Tupperware containing what looks like an extremely squashed slice of cake. “I’ve been doing way too much baking thanks to Delia. There’s no way I can eat it all by myself. I hope you like coffee and walnut. I swear it tastes better than it looks. The shop always smells a bit like coffee, so I thought…”

She trails off, her hand still outstretched. Alfie has occasionally been given gifts before from customers. Biscuits from their regulars to help them through the manic Christmas season and a bottle of champagne from a happy author as a thank-you for hosting their book launch. But he has never been given a homemade slice of his favorite cake.

Alfie coughs slightly. “That’s very kind, thank you.”

“Maybe don’t thank me until you’ve actually tasted it.”

As he takes the box, their fingertips brush, but he pulls his hand back quickly, placing the cake on the counter and reaching for Matilda’s parcel.

“Your March book.”

To his surprise she begins immediately tugging at the pink ribbon. She looks up, her gray-green eyes flashing to meet his. “Do you mind? I just don’t think I can wait until later. I’ve been trying to guess what he might have chosen, but I have no idea. If last month’s was on cooking, maybe this will be about DIY.”

“Go for it.”

As she tears at the paper, he turns away, busying himself with scrolling through some online orders on the shop’s computer.