This Book Made Me Think of You(87)

Snapshots from her own wedding come flashing into her mind. Joe didn’t have much of an appetite so barely touched the wedding meal that they shared in the top floor of a nearby Italian restaurant. Only their closest family attended, and it was a day full of love, but it couldn’t be further from this jubilant, colorful day. Harper and Raj’s wedding has felt like a beginning in every way. But when Tilly thinks back to her own, all she can think of is an ending.

“No one would think you aren’t happy for her,” Alfie says softly. “But it’s OK to feel happy and sad at the same time. Very few moments involve just one emotion. That’s life, isn’t it? It’s messy.”

Looking across at him, his face glowing in the light of the outdoor heater, she thinks how true his words are. That alongside her deep well of sadness there’s the way Alfie’s eyes seem to shine as he looks at her, the eucalyptus smell of his aftershave and the comfort of having him sit here with her. She misses Joe with everything she is, and she also wants to run her hand along Alfie’s jaw, just to know what it would feel like.

“I guess you’re right. Maybe I need to stop fighting it.”





Fifty-Four




The end of the first dance is signaled by riotous applause and cheering from inside. The band starts up with a different song, another whoop rising from the wedding crowd as they begin to passionately belt the lyrics to “I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor.”

“Oh, I love this song!” says Tilly, leaping from her chair, the blanket slipping from her shoulders. Alfie tries not to focus too hard on the freckles on her bare arms.

“Come on,” she says, reaching out a hand. “I feel like dancing, and I really don’t want to dance alone.”

How can he refuse? He takes her hand, small and warm and soft in his, as he stands up. “I don’t really dance,” he says, standing stiffly. But then the chorus kicks in and he just lets go, twisting and jiving, flailing his arms. He dusts his shoulders, then breaks into an enthusiastic robot.

Tilly laughs wildly, clutching her sides.

“Oh my god, I was not expecting that.”

“What? Do I not look good on the dance floor?” he says, swinging an imaginary lasso around his head before going into something he’s seen his little nieces describe as the lawn mower, pulling an imaginary cord back and forth.

Oh god, what is he doing? He wasn’t kidding—he doesn’t usually dance, but she is still laughing, and the sound of it is so intoxicating that he throws all his inhibitions to one side and lets his long legs and arms move as if he were a child dancing with his dad to the Beatles. Tilly is getting into it now, too, twisting her hips, the silk of her dress riding up, clinging to her curves.

She reaches for his hands and they bop along together, swinging each other’s arms.

“We are definitely not in time with the music,” she laughs as he spins her out and she nearly knocks into a table before twirling and coming back toward him.

“Doesn’t matter.”

They continue to twist and twirl, shaking their hips and kicking their legs in a mad, uncoordinated dance. Somehow, he has ended up with his arms around her waist, her hands draped around his neck.

A pain stabs him under the ribs, and he lets out a groan. “I think I need to stop, I’m getting a stitch.” They slow to a stop, their hands still on one another.

“Probably for the best,” Tilly says, her breath fast. “I’m a mess.”

Her hair is wild on her shoulders, the flowers in her crown drooping. A pink flush spreads over her cheeks and forehead.

“You’re beautiful,” Alfie says without thinking. Her eyes widen, and he drops his hands from her waist. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. I’ve been trying so hard all day not to say that.”

From inside comes another roar and the opening chords of “Mr. Brightside.”

“It’s OK,” she says softly, her hands still on his shoulders.

“It isn’t though! You’ve made it very clear you just want to be friends, and I completely get that. I’m more than OK with that. Being your friend is an honor. But then I have to go and make it weird by saying how incredible you look in that dress. Shit, I’ve done it again!”

He steps away from her, putting distance between them, because if he keeps standing so close to her, he might say more stupid things.

“Alfie, it’s OK…”

It seems that the distance hasn’t helped, because she is still there, still in that red dress, still the person who has got him to laugh more in the past few months than he has in years. He opens his mouth, and the words come tumbling out.

“I think you’re amazing, Tilly Nightingale. You’re brave and so kind, the way you’ve listened to all of my baggage and everything you’ve done recently to help the bookshop, and the way you’ve been here today for your sister even though it was hard. But I shouldn’t have overstepped. I want you to feel safe with me.” Because that’s how I feel with you, he thinks.

Tilly looks at him, her face unreadable. A cool breeze catches at the strands of her hair. When she answers, her voice is soft.

“I do feel safe with you. You’ve always made me feel that way. I feel it whenever I step into the bookshop. Whenever we’re together.”