This Book Made Me Think of You(44)

“Is that your dad?”

He has Alfie’s deep brown eyes flecked with amber, his long lashes and long limbs. He’s heavier than Alfie, his chest and stomach barrel-round, and his hair is cut short, his face cleanly shaven. He’s smiling with a carefree joy that Tilly has never seen on Alfie, but the resemblance is unmistakable.

Alfie nods, taking the phone back and returning it to his pocket.

“This was his shop.”

He reaches behind the counter for a bottle of wine that still has a couple of glasses left and two fresh paper cups. Then he sits down heavily on one of the empty chairs, running a hand along his jaw and looking around at the shelves of books.

“Oh wow, Alfie. I had no idea.”

She joins him, sitting on the chair beside him, moving it until they are facing each other in the small space, their knees almost but not quite brushing against each other. Alfie silently pours the wine and hands a cup to Tilly.

“Thanks.”

They tap their cups together, wine sloshing with the quietest of sounds and making Tilly aware of how still it is in the shop. Compared with the noise and laughter of earlier, it feels like that bit after a party where it’s just you and the person you attended with, having a debrief in your pajamas over cups of tea. Her favorite part.

She watches as Alfie takes a long sip, the soft skin of his neck exposed as he tilts his head. When he looks back at her, it’s with a tight-lipped expression, his brown eyes shining with a vulnerability that makes Tilly want to reach across and take his hand. She keeps them wrapped around her drink as he says, “He worked in publishing when I was young, but he always wanted to open a bookshop. And eventually he did. This place came up to rent when I was ten, and he jumped on it. He started it from nothing. It was just an empty shell, but he built all the bookshelves himself, and Mum found the counter at a flea market, and together they completely transformed the place. Dad made it exactly the bookshop he wanted it to be.”

“Wow, so you grew up here then?” Tilly replies. It suddenly makes sense; no wonder it’s felt strange the couple of times Tilly has seen Alfie outside of the bookshop. He seems woven into the very fabric of the place. Alfie is the bookshop.

“I always wished my parents had their own bookshop,” she confesses. “Did you always know you’d take over then?”

Alfie lets out a breath, the muscles along his jaw tightening.

“I think that’s always what Dad hoped. He didn’t pressure me, exactly, but it was this unspoken expectation. My sister was never interested in it—she’s always been more into films than books—but I’d help out when I could: after school and in the holidays, and always enjoyed it. But when I was coming to the end of school, I had this sudden urge to rebel. I didn’t like the idea that someone else had written the book of my life and I didn’t have a say in it. I wanted to live my own life, at least for a while. So, I left London and went to Edinburgh to study geology.”

“You studied geology to rebel?”

She can’t hide her laughter, and Alfie flashes her a look, making warmth pool in her stomach.

“In my family studying anything other than the arts was as good as a revolt. My mum is an antiques dealer, and even Tash studied film studies and history. But I’d always been interested in science as well as reading.”

“And you love rocks?” Tilly adds with a raised eyebrow. It is surprisingly easy to imagine Alfie as a teenager, all long gangly limbs and messy mop of hair. She pictures his childhood bedroom, stuffed bookshelves and windowsill brimming with rocks and shells carefully carried home from beaches in sandy pockets.

“Hey, I know geology doesn’t sound especially interesting,” he says, his dark eyes meeting hers and his voice soft and low. “But rocks tell the story of life on our planet. By learning about different rock formations, you can learn the history of…well, everything really.”

“I’ve never thought of it that way before. When you describe it like that, it does sound pretty cool. When did you swap rocks for books then?”

“When Dad died,” he says. “I’d just finished university and was taking a year out to travel before deciding what to do next. But a couple of weeks into the trip, I got a call from Mum. Dad had had a heart attack.”

He looks down at his lap as he says it. Tilly draws in a breath.

“Oh, Alfie.” Her heart tightens and she reaches across, placing a hand on his arm. He looks down, his eyes fixing on her fingers. “Did you make it back in time?”

He shakes his head, still not looking up from her hand on his forearm.

“I left on the first flight I could, but it was too late. By the time I got back, he was gone. There was no one else to take over the shop—Mum was a mess and Tash was pregnant. And I couldn’t let it close, not after all the work he’d put into making his dream come true. I just couldn’t. So, I cut off my trip and took over.”

“That must have been so hard, losing him like you did and then taking on such a big responsibility when you were grieving and still so young. I can’t even imagine.”

“It was hard. But I was grateful for the shop too. It gave me something to focus on. Especially as Dad had these very specific ways of doing things. There was so much to learn, and it helped keep me going.”

“I get that,” says Tilly with a nod. “I was the same with work after Joe died. It was something that felt normal when everything else was in chaos.”