Rose did not wait for the toast to conclude. She leaped from their sweetheart table, skirting chairs and raised glasses, and flung herself into the arms of Landon’s dearest friend. “What a gift,” she said. “How can I ever thank you?”
Conor squeezed her tight, then released her. “You’re the gift,” he said, “the two of you.” He nodded toward Landon, who’d just risen from their table and was making his way over. “You give me hope.”
Landon clapped his friend on the back and pulled him into a hug. “Couldn’t resist bringing up that failed photography gambit, huh?”
“You’re lucky you only gave me five minutes, otherwise I would have found a way to weave in that impossible mission you dragged me on, in search of a tie that might be able to say ‘I love you’ without the words actually coming out of your mouth.”
“I still maintain there’s a tie out there with those exact magical properties, and that the fabric could sense you were a nonbeliever.”
Then Poppy was there, materializing behind Rose and circling both arms around her waist. “I couldn’t help but notice my name wasn’t mentioned a single time in that speech, Conor,” she said, playfully as Poppy knew how.
“Again,” Conor said, “they only gave me five minutes. Otherwise, I would have allotted a healthy chunk of time to junior yearspring break, when you and Rose fell asleep in the back of the car on the eighteen-hour drive from Vermont to Florida—andonlywoke up to critique our driving.”
“I don’t think that would have been thematically relevant.”
“I would have found a way.”
Rose was positively sparkling, from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. She wanted the dancing to start up again so she had somewhere to release this precious joy, to have some outlet for it that wasn’t just the inadequate words that came out of her mouth. “This is the best night of my life,” she said.
Landon leaped forward and dipped her, deep and low. Glasses clinked and they kissed, her loose curls sweeping the ground. “This is the best night of your lifeso far,” he said. “I’ll make sure the best keeps getting better.”
“You are so cheesy,” she said, still suspended in the air.
“And you’re stuck with me,” he said, with the goofiest, freest expression Rose had ever seen him wear.
“Till the end,” she added. “Until the very end.”
Chapter Seventeen
It was so early that most of the shops on the Royal Mile were still closed. Landon’s feet ached, but his toes had at least thawed on the walk up the street from Holyrood Palace. “The whole city is going to spill across these cobblestones in a few hours,” Rose said. “It’s electric.” Landon knew what she meant. He’d seen the street performers playing bagpipes and mass of tourists weaving in and out of stores and bars. But Landon hadn’t found the scene “electric.” Never one for crowds, he’d found the street overwhelming and the shop goods tacky. Not even the whisky tastings could have tempted him.
“You find a way to make everything an adventure, don’t you?”
“We’ve been given a second chance,” she said. “Why not?”
Why not, indeed. “Electric or not, it seems like everyone’s still sleeping. What’s our plan?”
“It’s just a little farther.”
“The castle?” Landon guessed, pointing straight ahead. The Royal Mile was aptly named, a steep mile of road between Holyrood Palace at the bottom and Edinburgh Castle at the top—an old war relic featured on every postcard, calendar, and coffee mug for sale in the city.
Rose scrunched her nose. “That castle is not going to help you fall in love with this place. It’s cold, musty, and overpriced.”
“A woman after my own heart.” If it was too flirty, she didn’t let on.
“Through here,” she said, and she looped his arm through the crook of hers with the same ease as she’d bridged the physical distance between them on Arthur’s Seat. It was staggering, really, her effect on him. Without eyes to see or ears to hear, his body would know hers anywhere.
Rose led him down a narrow side street, one of Edinburgh’s many closes—those alleyways that once allowed residents to slip in and out of main streets. Though he knew they were a feature of the city, something about the way she swept through felt like a secret the two of them now shared. The shop was marked by a wooden sign above the doorway.
“Mnemosyne,” Landon finally spelled out, though he had not a clue what it meant.
“Neh-mow-zeen,” Rose said. “She’s the Greek goddess of memory.”
Landon looked through the transom window at the top of the door. A single warm ceiling light glowed, but the store was otherwise dark. “Is this place open?”
“Almost always,” Rose said with a sly smile, pulling a key from her pocket and turning it in the lock. The door creaked as she pulled it open and lights fluttered on, one by one, like a flock of little fairies. A wave of dust collided directly with his nose, and Landon sneezed into his sleeve. “The sign was so on the nose that I knew I wanted a job regardless of what they sold, but when I found out it was books, it felt like fate. This place holds all the memories I don’t.”
The space seemed infinite, shelves stretching from floor to ceiling, sagging under the weight of hundreds of books crammed so tightly Landon was sure even a single new edition would be the tipping point. Books were piled on every surface—on armchairs, on windowsills, on the counter beside an old register that did not look like it belonged in the same century they did. Landon immediately lost his footing on the uneven wooden floor, sliding into one of the shelves and catching himself before he could set off a domino effect. He squinted at the label on the bookshelf, drawn on a piece of white tape in blue Sharpie. “Dull books,” he read. “Is this really a section for dull books?”
