The Rainy Day Bookshop – Part 1: Shelter

The rain came down like a bucket of nails, and Fionn took cover in the first open door.

It was a bookshop, narrow and warm, with a bell on the door and shelves climbing to the ceiling. The air smelled of paper, tea and wet wool. Behind the counter, a woman looked up from a crossword.

"Close the door," she said. "You're letting the weather in."

"Sorry."

"And dripping on the poetry."

He looked down. A small lake was forming round his boots, a few inches from a shelf marked Heaney. He stepped back with comic haste, apologising, and she laughed, a low surprised laugh.

She was twenty-eight, small, with a mop of dark curls, an enormous green cardigan and a pen behind her ear. Saoirse, according to the sign over the door. The shop was her late aunt's. She had come back from Dublin eight months ago to keep it from closing.

"There's a towel on the radiator," she said. "And a kettle. And a rule."

"What's the rule?"

"You can't leave without buying a book."

"I'll buy anything."

"Careful," said Saoirse, with a grin. "That's how I got the cat."

A large ginger cat stalked out from beneath the counter, regarded Fionn with contempt, and climbed into his lap. He sat down on a stool, stunned. Saoirse brought him tea in a chipped blue mug.

He was thirty-two, tall and slightly rumpled, a surveyor visiting from Cork, in a damp raincoat and a woolly hat. He told her about his work. She told him about her aunt. The rain drummed on the window, steady and warm. An hour passed, then another.

"Can I ask you something?" said Fionn.

"Yes."

"Will you choose my book?"

"That's very dangerous."

"Green?" he said, shyly, a word from a book spine.

"Green," said Saoirse, flushing. "Very green. I think I have the one."

Continue the story: Part 2 – The Book She Chose.