He was hit by a vivid image of those long summer afternoons manning the Aber Waterstones with Annie. That was back before their manager realised that, combined, they were trouble and started scheduling them apart on the rota.
She’d say, ‘Top three books about… snow?’, or whatever it was she had in mind that day, and they’d deliberate and debate until they’d whittled down their lists.
‘You must have read it for it to make the list,’ she’d insist when Harri came up with niche titles or intimidatingly long works of European literature, and they’d bicker and laugh during stolen snatches of conversation while they crossed paths shelving and selling, tidying and stickering.
Annie had been a hit with the customers, of course. She was chatty and friendly, talking them into taking home all kinds of books they’d had zero intention of buying when they stepped inside. He’d be behind the till, keeping an eye on stock, signing people up for the loyalty card, and while both had worn the regulation black polos, Annie would style hers until it wasn’t recognisable as uniform at all.
She’d singlehandedly increased the branch’s sales by thirteen percent, purely because people dropped in to see her, hoping she’d be in, and she’d bewilder them into buying the absolute must-read of the month. She’d been in earnest too. Her enthusiasm for the latest books (combined with her sparkling eyes and American smile) set off a fervour in her customers. No staff get-together was complete without Annie being presented with yet another ‘employee of the month’ or sales target award.
Harri awoke from the memory with a start. If Annie Luna was really on her way, this place shouldn’t be silent and lifeless when she turned up. He’d better get a move on.
Having never lit a coal fire, he wasn’t confident he was doing it right (his miner great-uncles and theTaidwho’d died before he’d formed any memories of him, would not have been impressed), but after making his way through half a box of matches and two firelighters he finally got a good, crackling blaze going in the grate.
Then he’d hooked up his phone to the shop’s laptop and speakers, scrolling his Spotify playlists for something new that wouldn’t leave Annie thinking his music tastes hadn’t moved on in nine years (they hadn’t, but she didn’t need to know that; not when she’d been full of her Burning Man and Coachella exploits with her best girlfriend Cassidy, who went everywhere with her).
He’d gone for someone else’s ‘chilled bookshop’ public playlist and its soft jazziness put him in the mood for wine, so he’d rummaged in his bag for the bottle of Côtes du Rhône he’d bought at the general store up at the top of Clove Lore village.
After locating two glasses in the little cafe kitchen just off the shop floor, he stood by the bookshop fire, unscrewing the cap, telling himself he’d only have the one glass to settle his nerves, which were crackling harder than the flames in the grate.
No sooner had the ruby liquid hit the bottom of his glass with a satisfying glug, the shop door burst open and there on the step stood a windblown Annie Luna, his Annwyl, in a long blanket coat and a ludicrously large felted hat, under which strands of her long hair hung wildly.
‘I was gonna apologise for being late,’ she said with a grin. ‘But it looks like I got here right on time.’
Chapter Two
Old Friends
Harri could have sworn he was talking, welcoming her inside, being friendly and relaxed, but it was just possible that he was standing staring with his jaw hanging loose.
‘You okay?’ Annie was saying, making a cautious approach, dropping bags to the warped floorboards as she went, pulling off her hat and casting it aside onto the cash desk.
I’m okay now, Harri thought to himself, still not functioning well enough to say it out loud.
Annie was only an arm’s length away from him now, stripping her long coat off her long body. The lamp lights caught her dangly copper earrings, making them shimmer.
In real life, as opposed to on his phone screen, her eyes really were that unusual Southern Comfort colour he’d half forgotten, half thought he must have imagined. Her mouth was just as beautiful as always, while something soft and life-worn had touched her at the corners of her eyes and between her brows.
He felt her hugging arms around him and found himself forgetting how to hug back. It had been so long since he’d held anyone, and he didn’t want to squeeze her too hard or too limply with his one free arm – the other still shakily gripping the wine glass.
Annie smelled good, though not at all the same as he remembered. There was something sweet and almondy in her skin, a haze of sunshine and red sand in her hair, even here in damp, frosty England. Her presence felt miraculous.
‘Is that for me?’ she asked when she pulled back.
‘Oh,’ he said with a blink, realising she was reaching for the wine, which he surrendered with some relief. ‘Hi,’ he said at last, laughing at his own awkwardness, his hand reflexively lifting to the back of his head.
‘There he is!’ Annie joked. ‘You’re with me now.’
‘God, sorry, I… it’s been a long journey.’
That voice of hers was still vibrating through him, waking up a million old memories. His blood was flowing faster and he hadn’t even taken a sip of wine. This is what it felt like to be standing next to Annie Luna. Now he remembered.
‘Tell me about it,’ she was saying, pouring him a drink like she’d already made herself at home, the metal bangles on her wrists jangling, their sound awakening him further.
He laughed, abashed, tapping his glass to hers. ‘Sorry,’ he said again. ‘It’s… amazing to see you.’
She didn’t say anything, letting him settle down while they both took a drink. She kept her eyes fixed on him over the rim.
Harri remembered now that Mr Luna was something of a wine connoisseur. What would Annie think of this eight quid bottle from the convenience store? He hadn’t even looked at the label, only scanning the price tags for the cheapest one.
