I reshelve the books as the store’s bells jingle. It’s Eric, the long-suffering boyfriend. Millie heads to the counter to greet him, and I wave, joining Liza at the front of the store, where she’s working on our new botanical endeavors.
“Is that the guy who’s dating Miss Prim from the park?” she whispers.
I nod.
“Is it just me or are they an odd match?”
“Definitely,” I say. But what do I know? I thought Nick and I were a great match, but he left me for a woman who posts Instagram photos of herself in pink bikinis.
“Valentina,” Eric says, smiling, “I just wanted to stop by to tell you that Fiona loved the book. She raved about it, in fact!” He pauses, beaming with gratitude that’s palpable. “I just wanted to say thanks.”
I don’t have the heart to tell him about our recent interaction at the park, where she’d recounted a slightly different story. “Well, that’s…wonderful,” I say, returning his smile. “A new reader is born.”
He nods. “Fingers crossed.”
I glance at the clock. “Wow, it’s already noon. I should probably get going. I have an…appointment.” I told no one about my mission, to visit a professor at Queen Mary University who I hoped would have more information about my copy of The Last Winter. At first, Liza’s suggestion had seemed far-fetched, but when I finally decided to call the university, a woman in the English literature department offered some interesting background. While the book wasn’t being used in any courses at present, a quick computer search revealed that it once was—seventeen years ago, in fact. She gave me the professor’s name, and today I planned to meet him to see if he remembered anything about his former pupil Daniel Davenport.
“I have to run, as well,” Eric says. “Perhaps we could walk together?”
“Oh,” I say, reaching for my bag behind the counter. I feel Liza’s gaze on me, but I don’t make eye contact. “Sure.”
“Nice day,” Eric says outside.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “It sort of reminds me of Seattle on one of our rare sunny days.”
“Your hometown?”
“Well, I was born in Los Angles, but Seattle’s where I ended up. I left recently, after my husband and I split.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say, momentarily surprised by my own confession, and that it hasn’t insinuated the usual wave of pain and self-loathing. Eric is easy to talk to, and although I barely know him, I somehow feel comfortable pulling back a few layers. “We were poorly matched from the beginning, but I was too stubborn to see it.”
It’s hard to tell from his expression if he feels sorry for me, or if my words have resonated on a deeper level.
“Anyway,” I continue, “some things are just not meant to be, and I’m learning to make peace with that, but it’s not easy.”
He smiles. “Well, when you do crack the code, will you please share it with me?”
“Sure,” I say with a laugh.
“What’s Seattle like?”
“It’s not all that different from London,” I continue. “When the sun comes out, people get manic.”
Eric laughs as I continue.
“When I first moved there, the stretch of dark days seemed endless—I mean, compared to California. But when the sun finally comes out, you can literally feel the city’s collective mood swing.” I recall the way my usually reclusive neighbors would venture outdoors on a rare sunny day, triumphantly greeting one another, tending their barbecues, stampeding the local plant nurseries to buy pansies by the truckload. London has a similar vibe today. The sidewalks brim with smiling faces and every corner pub is packed to capacity.
“Where are you heading today?” Eric asks.
“Oh, I just have a few things to…take care of,” I reply vaguely. “And you?”
He glances at his wristwatch. “I’m meeting a contractor at my flat this afternoon, but I have a little time. If you’re not in too much of a rush, maybe we could…grab lunch somewhere? I’m starving.”
“Sure,” I reply, my stomach growling at that very moment. “I actually haven’t eaten anything today.” Café Flora is just ahead, so I suggest we stop there, and he agrees. When we arrive, Jan greets us, and I’m surprised to find that she and Eric know each other.
“Hey, doll,” she says, giving him a hug. “How’s your father doing? I heard he had heart surgery.”
“Yeah, last month,” he replies. “He’s better, but not out of the woods quite yet. It’ll be a long recovery.”
Jan nods. “Well, he’s lucky to have you looking out for him after your mum passed.”
“Thanks,” he says. “I do my best.”
She smiles, glancing toward the kitchen. “Well, I should get back. It’s good to see you, sweetie. You, too, Val.” She winks at me before weaving through the dining room.
I eye the menu and decide on the Cobb salad, which I order when a young waiter stops by our table. Eric selects the same, but with chicken.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” I say a moment later.
“Thanks,” he says. “Something else we have in common, I guess.”
“So you grew up here, in Primrose Hill?”
“Yes,” he replies. “Just around the corner.”
“Wow,” I say, a bit envious of Eric’s seemingly idyllic childhood. “You must have wonderful memories.”
“All of my memories are with Mum,” he says, “which makes it so hard. My dad worked a lot. He was always busy. I think it took Mum’s death to really make him pause and realize what he missed along the way, you know?”
I nod.
“But I suppose that’s the unlikely gift of experiencing a loss, it makes you see things more clearly.”
I don’t tell him that my own mother’s passing seems to have had the opposite effect.
“Well, I’m very sorry for your loss.”
He smiles. “She’s been gone for twelve years now, but it never gets easier, especially here in Primrose Hill, where every single corner brings back a memory. She used to drop me off at your mum’s bookstore before her hair appointments down the block—for read-alouds with Eloise.”
I feel a lump in my throat, but quickly collect myself as he continues.
“Mum was my whole world. She gave me a magical childhood.”
“Mine did, too,” I say, surprised by my admission. “At least, for the time we were together.”
He nods. “I just wish I could have known her better in my adult life, and that she could know me in mine.” He sits up straighter in his chair and runs his hand through his hair with a sigh. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”
“No, not at all,” I say quickly. “In fact, you bring up an excellent point. What you just said—about knowing someone, but not knowing them…it’s so true—especially when it comes to our parents. They lived entire lives before we were born, weathered their own private storms, but as children, we don’t know them that way.”
He nods in agreement.