This Book Made Me Think of You(36)

“I seriously doubt that. I don’t think running is supposed to be easy.”

Tilly glances again at the copy of What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. She thinks back to the words Joe wrote and to some of the passages she has already read in the book, about how running is hard and you have to be disciplined but it can bring you a sense of peace. She could do with some peace in her life.

“Please,” she says, feeling desperate now. “I want to do this for Joe. But I don’t think I can do it on my own.”

Harper lets out a sigh.

“You know, it’s very hard to say no to you.”





Twenty-Four




The next morning Tilly wakes to an email from her mother-in-law.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Anniversary

Hi Tilly,

We have decided to hold a family memorial here at the house for Joe’s anniversary in July. Let us know if you’d like to join in. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about if you do come to visit.

Let me know.

Ellen

She stares at the email, reminded of the conversation she’d overheard all those years ago. We Carters are joiners…I just can’t help but think that maybe you’d be happier longer term with someone who’s a better fit for you…

Maybe she really should join in this time. It’s Joe’s family after all. She probably should spend his death anniversary with them. And she can’t help but feel intrigued—and more than a little nervous—about what Ellen could want to talk to her about.

But on the other hand, maybe she should stay well away from the woman who never thought Tilly was good enough for her son.

She turns her phone face down on the table and changes into her leggings and running shoes. If running works for clearing the minds of Joe and Murakami, maybe it can work for Tilly too.

Despite her best intentions, her mind is still on the email as she steps onto the canal towpath. Which is why she forgets to check the path is clear and is met by a sudden yell and the screech of brakes. A red bicycle skids to a halt, and she leaps out of the way, losing her footing and tripping dangerously close to the water.

The bike clatters to the ground, and a pair of firm hands grab tightly onto her shoulders, steadying her before she stumbles into the canal.

“Sorry!” comes a low voice.

“It’s my fault, I didn’t look,” Tilly pants, her heart beating rapidly. She is right by the edge, just one step away from falling in. But the large hands grip her tightly, holding her steady. She is aware of a broad chest just inches away from her and the feel of warm breath that smells like peppermint.

Tilting her head, she looks up and meets a pair of brown eyes flecked with amber, a tuft of dark hair poking up through the gap in a blue cycling helmet. The eyes widen as they meet hers, recognizing her at the same moment that she recognizes him.

“Alfie!”

Instead of one of his usual oversized sweaters and baggy rolled-up trousers, he is wearing shorts and a green cycling jersey that make Tilly realize for the first time that there was actually a body underneath all the knitwear. And not just any body. His arms are tensed as they hold on to her, making it very hard not to stare at his biceps and forearms. They don’t look like the kind of muscles that come from weights and protein shakes. These are the kind of muscles of someone used to lugging heavy things as part of their daily life, like a woodcutter or a farmer, perhaps. Or, apparently, a bookseller.

He looks down, seeming to only just realize that he is still holding on to her. But instead of immediately letting go, he guides her gently away from the water’s edge to the side of the path.

“Are you OK?” His eyes fix on her and then dart up and down her body as if searching for injuries.

“I’m fine.”

He’s close enough for her to see flecks of auburn among the dark of his beard and to notice how long his eyelashes are and that he must be wearing contact lenses because his usual glasses are missing. He lets out a breath, his jaw relaxing as he says in a rough voice, “Good.”

It’s only then that he lets go. Her arms still feel warm from where he held her.

“Sorry again,” she says, trying to make her voice sound as normal as possible. “I really wasn’t concentrating. I hope your bike is all right?”

“Oh, it’s just an old pile of junk.” He lifts the bike up from the path. “Actually, it was my dad’s. But I can’t see any more scratches than were already there.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, are you sure it’s all right?”

“It’s really fine. It’s just a bike.”

Tilly is pretty sure that isn’t the case—she is so attached to Joe’s belongings that she hasn’t been able to get rid of them, after all—but she appreciates his kindness.

Without discussing it they fall in step beside one another, Tilly walking on the inside and Alfie on the canal side pushing his bike. The water is green and shines in the morning sun, reflecting shards of light onto their faces.

“I’ll be honest, it feels a little strange to see you outside of the bookshop. I sort of imagine you live there.”

He seems taller, making her realize how often he’s either leaning on the counter or bending to reach into a box of books when she visits the shop. Now she has to crane her neck to look at him—he must be over six foot.