Grace cleared her throat. “Where am I to set my belongings?”
“Back room,” he muttered as his hand continued to move against the paper.
She glanced to the rear of the store and saw a door, presumably where she was being directed. “Then what would you like me to do?”
The lead of the pencil snapped, and Mr. Evans hissed out an exhale of frustration. He leveled a stare at her. “I told you, I don’t need help. You can sit in the back room and sew or settle into a corner with a book to read or file your nails. I don’t care.”
Grace nodded and slipped down the misaligned aisle of shelving toward the door he’d indicated. Above it was a dingy brass placard with “Primrose Hill Books” engraved at its top and a small line of words beneath—“where readers find love.” Hopefully it was an omen that her six months might not be all bad.
The room was narrow and dimly lit by an uncovered bulb, with a flimsy table and chair. Boxes lined every wall, sometimes layered two and three deep, minimizing the space so that one could barely move. It was far less welcoming than the shop itself, which Grace hadn’t thought possible. She located several hooks on the wall where she hung her effects and went back to the main area of the shop.
She’d never been one for sewing—that was Viv’s area of expertise—and wouldn’t know where to start with which book to read, let alone how to shelve them. A glance at her nails, however, had her lamenting having forgotten her nail file at home.
There was nothing for it but to find something to do. The thick layers of dust on the shelves begged to be wiped clean. Granted, dusting the shop hadn’t been on the list Mr. Evans had recommended, but the shop was in sore need.
Three hours later, nearly choking on dust motes in the air, she regretted her choice. Her white shirtdress with sprigs of pink flowers, one of her favorites, was streaked with grime, and Mr. Evans glared in her direction every time he coughed. Which was quite often.
Through it all, several customers had come and gone. She’d tried to linger near them as she worked, employing considerable care to not send dust clouds in their direction, but still close enough should they require help.
Not that she would know what to do if they asked her a question. Fortunately no one did, at least not until five minutes after Mr. Evans departed to a nearby café for tea.
An older woman in a checked pinafore housedress approached with her gaze fixed on Grace. “Excuse me, do you have The Black Spectacles?”
Grace smiled easily. At least this was a question she could answer. “We don’t carry spectacles here, I’m terribly sorry.”
The woman blinked her wide blue eyes. “It’s a book. By John Dickson Carr. I finished The Crooked Hinge last night and just had to find the next edition in the Gideon Falls series.”
If the earth were to open up at that moment and swallow Grace whole, she’d offer no protest.
She had two book names and a series to work with and no idea where any of them might belong. While cleaning, she’d tried to find some order to the layout of the books, to no avail.
“Oh, of course.” Grace waved for the woman to follow her in the hopes she might somehow have the dumb luck of stumbling upon the book by happenstance. Or be struck by lightning on the way. She’d accept either at that point.
“Did you find The Crooked Hinge exciting?” Grace asked tentatively in an effort to glean what type of book she was seeking.
The woman pressed her palm to her chest. “Oh, it was the best kind of mystery. I locked myself in my bedroom for the last chapter so I could finish it without the children interrupting.”
Ah, yes, a mystery. Maybe there were some located near the back where she was currently leading the woman. “I believe it will be somewhere on this wall.” Grace’s gaze skimmed over the spines of multiple books. None of which were in any order, not by title or name or even color of the book jacket.
“If I may…” A masculine voice spoke from behind Grace.
She leapt in surprise to find a tall man in a finely tailored gray jacket with his black hair combed neatly to the side. She’d noticed him earlier. After all, what woman would not when he was so handsome? But it had been rather a while ago, and she’d assumed he’d already departed.
“I believe it’s on the shelf on the far wall.” He glanced toward the opposite side of the shop.
“Yes, thank you.” Grace’s cheeks burned. No, her whole body burned, flaming with an embarrassment made all the more scorching by the man’s gaze on her. She indicated the woman follow once more. “If you’ll come this way, please.”