The Bookshop at Midnight – Part 2: Closing Time

The shop closed at midnight on Fridays, and by then the last customer had always gone. Alina turned the sign, drew the blinds and sighed, leaning against the door with her eyes closed.

"Long week?" asked Ruth, from the stepladder.

"Long life," said Alina. "But the wine's open, if you're staying."

Ruth was staying. She had been staying all week, in a way that she had not admitted to anyone, not even herself.

They sat on the floor of the poetry section, backs against the shelves, a bottle of cheap red between them and two mismatched glasses. Above their heads a single lamp glowed, and the rest of the shop lay in shadow, row after row of spines.

"What's your favourite line?" Alina asked.

Ruth thought. "You pierce me with the longest needle."

"Oh, that's terrible," said Alina, delighted. "That's from a letter about fishing, isn't it?"

"It's from a letter about you, apparently."

Alina laughed, low and surprised, and the sound echoed among the books.

"Your turn," said Ruth. "Favourite line."

Alina took a long sip of wine and looked at her thoughtfully. "I am not an angel, but I am not a fool."

"That's not a line from a book. You made that up."

"I did," Alina admitted. "Last Tuesday. About you."

The room went very quiet. Ruth set down her glass with great care.

"Alina," she said. "Are you flirting with me in a bookshop?"

"Yes," said Alina. "I've been doing it for a week. The notes were the easy part."

Ruth moved along the floor until their knees touched. Neither of them pulled away.

"Can I ask you something?" Ruth said.

"Yes."

"Do you want me to stay tonight?"

Alina's breath caught, just slightly. She looked at Ruth for a long moment, dark eyes steady, her hand resting flat on the old carpet between them.

"Yes," she said. "And I want to hear you say the words first. Properly. So I know you mean it."

"I want to stay," said Ruth. "I want to kiss you. And I want you to stop me if you change your mind."

"Good," said Alina, very softly. "Kiss me, then."

Ruth did. It was slow at first, a question and an answer, Alina's mouth warm and tasting of cheap red wine. Then Alina's hand came up to rest against Ruth's cheek, and the kiss deepened, and the shop around them seemed to fade away, shelf by shelf, until there was only the lamp, the books and each other.

When they finally drew apart, they were both laughing a little, breathless and slightly dizzy.

"Green?" Alina whispered.

"Entirely green," said Ruth.

They stayed on the floor until the lamp was switched off by its timer, and then they simply lay together in the dark among the poems, talking quietly about every book they had ever left a note in.

On Monday, Ruth found a new note tucked into Persuasion, between pages 84 and 85. It was a single line, in soft pencil, leaning slightly to the left.

Stay for the next chapter.