“It’s good of you to care so much.”
“My intentions aren’t altogether altruistic,” she admitted. She explained about not having a letter of recommendation and how she’d spent years improving her uncle’s shop only to end up in London with no options. Sharing her story with others wasn’t something she often did, but there was a kindness in Mr. Anderson that pulled at her and made him seem trustworthy.
He listened with a slight furrow of his brow, nodding periodically in understanding. “I’m sorry that’s been the way of it. I’d love to be of assistance in your quest to better the shop in order to obtain the most glowing letter of recommendation to ever exist.”
Heat rose in Grace’s cheeks, and suddenly she found she didn’t mind her predicament as thoroughly as she once did. “You can be, actually.”
He lifted the list they’d been working off and raised a single brow in a terribly debonair manner. “By locating all these?”
“I don’t even know if such a feat is possible.” She glanced toward the front of the shop to ensure no one had entered. Their conversation had been so engrossing, she might have actually missed the bell’s chime. “I wonder if I might ask you some questions about reading, to determine how best to advertise.”
“Ah, you wish to tap into the mind of a reader.” He lifted his pointer finger. “Brilliant.”
Another wave of warmth suffused her face. “What do you like best about reading?”
His fingertips steepled together and tapped against one another as he thought. “That’s quite the question, like asking me to describe all the colors in a spinning kaleidoscope.”
“Is it truly that complicated?” She laughed.
“I’ll try.” He tilted his head and his gaze focused in the distance as he considered his response with apparent care. “Reading is…” His brows knit together and then his forehead smoothed as the right words appeared to dawn on him. “It’s going somewhere without ever taking a train or ship, an unveiling of new, incredible worlds. It’s living a life you weren’t born into and a chance to see everything colored by someone else’s perspective. It’s learning without having to face consequences of failures, and how best to succeed.” He hesitated. “I think within all of us, there is a void, a gap waiting to be filled by something. For me, that something is books and all their proffered experiences.”
Grace’s heart went soft at the poetic affection with which he spoke, finding herself both envious of the books as well as the fulfillment he found in them. Nothing in all of her years had ever inspired such passion.
“I see what you mean by trying to describe all the colors in a spinning kaleidoscope,” she said. “That was beautiful.”
He met her eyes once more and gave a sheepish smile. “Well, I don’t know that it will help you with advertising.” He cleared his throat.
“It absolutely does.” Grace paused as she assembled the racing thoughts in her head. “Perhaps something about lighting a blackout with the enjoyment of reading or using it as a means of taking oneself away from the war with a new adventure.”
He opened his hands as if presenting her as a masterpiece. “Those are perfect. You’ll do a stellar job of this.”
“Thank you.” Heat flushed through Grace’s cheeks and chest.
He glanced at his watch. “Forgive me, but I have an appointment I must run to. I should like to continue our discussion on how I might assist you in your efforts. Would you perhaps like to meet for tea some time?”
Her cheeks were so hot now that she was sorely tempted to press her cold hands to them for a bit of relief. She nodded. “I’d like that very much.”
“Perhaps next Wednesday at noon?” he asked.
Grace was working that day, but Mr. Evans would give her the time off for tea if she asked. Or, at least, she hoped. “That would be lovely.”
“Would the café around the corner suit you, P&V’s?”
She nodded. “I’ve been wanting to try it.”
He grinned. “I look forward to it.” He gave her a little bow. “Good day, Miss Bennett.”
Giddy excitement tickled up through her, but she tamped it down long enough to see him out of the shop properly. Only when he was gone did she allow herself to press her hands first to her chest to calm her frantic heartbeat, then to her cheeks to cool their blaze.
“You can go on Wednesday,” Mr. Evans called from somewhere in the bookshop.