Page 89
Cradling the bouquet of pink hydrangeas Oliver had given her, she waved ahead. “So, it’s just up here. In a former life, it used to be a massive bowling alley. Takes up almost the entire block.”
Turning west off Yonge, Oliver couldn’t miss the two-storey, box-shaped monolith of red and white hogging the north side of Edward Street. A white sign spanning the upper half of the building announced their destination in enormous red letters: World’s Biggest Bookstore.
Georgie led the way, cutting diagonally across the street. “Check this out.” A puff of warm breath left her lips as she gestured at the red exterior wall and three round circles carved into its façade. “They’re bowling balls with motion lines behind them. Pretty cool, eh? Most people are oblivious and walk right by.”
“Missing a hint of history hiding in plain sight.” Oliver adjusted the royal blue Fjällräven backpack hanging on his right shoulder. “That’s a shame.”
“If I had free time, I’d organize walking tours and show people all the neat things dotted around Toronto.”
“You’d be great at that.” Oliver’s focus dipped sidelong, sweeping down Georgie’s long purple coat and stocking-covered legs, her skirt (or dress) hidden from view. He smiled, ignoring the first date butterflies taunting his stomach. She looks gorgeous—as always. Feeling the heat of her gaze, he glanced upward, catching her eye. “Sign me up!”
Georgie laughed and pointed at the wall again. “Now, I know the outside isn’t much to look at.” A succession of rectangular yellow panels featuring colourful book spines and the words ‘poetry, science fiction, humour, photography, sports, music’ led the way to a stretch of glass doors under a marquee of flickering lights. “And to be honest, the inside isn’t either, but wait till you see what awaits on the shelves! All twenty kilometres of them!”
Tugging open a door, she darted inside the vestibule and promptly pushed a button (one of many) connected to what looked like an interactive wall map. Sure enough, a floorplan lit up, illuminating the path to the genre she’d chosen—history, of course. She glanced over her shoulder. “Nerd alert. I do this every visit.”
“Well, in that case…” Grinning, Oliver pressed ‘travel’, and the lights raced in a different direction. “This is genius!”
“I know! If they ever rip it out, I’ll cry buckets.” She yanked open a second set of doors and Oliver followed, clicking through a turnstile.
First impression…Georgie wasn’t exaggerating about the store’s uninspiring decor. Brightly lit (and painfully so if you were hung over), it boasted pale yellow and bright orange walls and shelves as far as the eye could see, but its plain appearance set the spotlight on what really mattered: the books. There were tens of thousands of them. Every shelf and table were overloaded, some offering deep discounts. Oliver gasped at the possibilities.
Georgie carefully placed the small wrapped bouquet in her tote. “I’m gonna grab my book and a few other things.” She glanced at her watch then squeezed his arm. “Go wander. Have fun. I’ll meet you in magazines in thirty!”
Turns out, an hour wouldn’t have been sufficient, but Oliver did his best. He browsed books on mathematics and health, sociology and art, as well as science and nature and the odd cookbook for good measure. He also gawked at the robust selection of thrillers and biographies as well as an entire section devoted to the British royal family.
By the time Georgie reunited with him, he was sat on a bottom shelf in the magazine section flicking through his favourite British music publication. A New York City travel guide, a coffee table book on European film, and two discounted books about Toronto’s history kept him company.
“How’s it going?” Her bemused smile growing, Georgie clutched a Paddington Bear 1993 calendar and several books against her chest.
“Very well. Too well, actually.” Glancing up, Oliver flipped the magazine closed and added it to his haul. “I’d buy more, but my bank balance would have a meltdown.”
“Yeah, this place is dangerous.” Georgie’s gaze roamed the shelves of magazines. “I’ve spent many a rainy afternoon here. It’s impossible to leave without something following you home.”
Collecting his shopping and backpack, Oliver rose to his feet. “Hatchards in London is like that. I could spend hours in there.”
“Sounds fancy and old.”
“It’s both. Opened in 1797 and has that lovely old book smell.”
“Like the Strand in New York City. The entire place smells of stories,” said Georgie. “It’s not posh like Hatchards, but still worth checking out.”
“I’ll add it to my list.” Smiling, Oliver shuffled through several Toronto postcards featuring Sam the Record Man and Maple Leaf Gardens as they made their way out of the magazine maze.
“Those for Rafferty?” asked Georgie.
“Yes. As pathetic as it sounds, these postcards will be the first I’ve sent showing places I’ve actually been to.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” said Georgie. “You deserve credit for sending them, period. Most people don’t bother anymore, which is a shame. Who doesn’t like getting something fun in the mail?”
Oliver glanced at the books in Georgie’s arms. “Did you find everything you were looking for?”
“I did.” She tilted the calendar and art book on Egypt and showed him paperback copies of Charlotte’s Web and Matilda. “Birthday presents for my friend Eden’s twin girls.”
“Is the Paddington calendar for you or them?” Oliver raised his brows teasingly.
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, I was tempted, but they visited England last year and came back besotted. I figured he’d be happier living with them than me.” She pulled out a hardback sandwiched beneath the two children’s books and the calendar. “I’m also getting this.” She flipped it around, showing Oliver the front cover—a novel called McNally’s Secret.
His smile stiffened.
