Page 64 of The Sugar and Spice Bookshop Bakery

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Luisa. But it’s good you’re home. You’re making a fresh start now. The bookshop bakery is going to be wonderful.’

‘Yes, thanks to you.’ She looks up at the first set of empty shelves, already installed in the front of the shop. ‘Although I’m not quite sure how the customers are going to reach the books on the top shelf.’

‘You can put the books for tall people up there. So how does it feel, the dream becoming a reality?’

‘It feels good. Scary, but good. When I was a child, Mum used to talk about how I’d take over this place one day. But I just wanted to be a writer.’

‘I didn’t know you wanted to be a writer!’

‘Well, I did. But Miss Anderson was my English teacher. Have you met her? She comes into the bakery, and complains that the scones are dry.’

‘Your scones? Dry? Never!’

‘So, you can imagine what she used to say about my stories. She wasn’t exactly encouraging. Convinced me that I didn’t have what it takes to be a writer. And she was right – I don’t. But I didn’t need to hear that at thirteen. Everyone should have their dreams, right?’

‘So cruel,’ Jack says.

‘Maddie calls her and her cronies the GMGs. Geriatric Mean Girls.’

‘I love that! I was lucky at school. I had teachers who encouraged me to go for it. I was good at drawing, great with construction toys – you know, Lego and that kind of thing – from a very early age. I could spend hours building things. Still can, actually.’ He looks down at the floor, then back at Louise. ‘There was one teacher in particular who encouraged me to go for my dream. I’ve never forgotten him. “You only have one life, Jack,” he used to say. “You’ve got to do what you really love. But then, stupidly, I listened to my father and wasted years and years of my life studying for a career I didn’t want.’

‘Oh, Jack.’ Louise wants to give him a hug, but instead she reaches forwards and pats his arm.

‘Do you ever wish you’d tried to be a writer?’

‘Not really. I decided I wanted to run a bookshop instead. Or work in a library. I used to fantasise about being in one of those double height libraries, up on a tall ladder – you know the kind, the ones that are on wheels, reaching up for books on the top shelf, knowing where every single book could be found. A kind of walking index system with unprecedented knowledge of the Dewey Decimal System. Historical biographies? That’d be 525.64.’

‘Would it really?’

‘No, I just made that up.’

Jack laughs. ‘I love hearing about your fantasies.’ He pauses. ‘I know, let’s enact it. Imagine these shelves are full of books and I’m your first customer.’

‘I have the perfect book for you, sir. It happens to be on these bookshelves right here, top shelf.’

‘Would you mind?’ Jack grabs his stepladder and moves it into place.

She feels a bit silly – acting was never her thing – but it’s fun, so she obligingly climbs up the ladder, wishing she was wearing a skirt as it might be quite sexy.

She pretends to look along the shelf, then pulls out an imaginary book. ‘Ah, here it is.’

With the pretend book in one hand, she takes a step down and the rung of the ladder gives way. Louise grabs the ladder with both hands to steady herself.

‘Ouch! You dropped it on my toe!’ Jack hops about, grimacing as if he’s in pain.

Louise laughs. ‘It’s a paperback.’

Jack stops hopping. ‘It still hurt though. Well, a tiny bit.’

She looks nervously at the now broken rung. ‘You know, despite my fantasy, I’ve never really liked ladders. Especially not dodgy ones.’

He takes the hint and composes himself, putting a foot on the bottom rung to keep the ladder steady, and reaching up towards her. She turns towards him, so he can swing her down. She feels like a feather in his strong arms even though she knows she isn’t.

They don’t release each other instantly, but stand by the stepladder, looking into each other’s eyes. This is a whole new fantasy. Never mind being a librarian reaching books off top shelves – being lifted off a ladder with a broken rung by a handsome Italian is far better.

‘Jack,’ she whispers.

‘The book,’ he says.