‘This site makes it easy. And look …’ I save the menu project before clicking out of it and going back to the home page ‘… we can make bookmarks, posters, flyers, all sorts of marketing material. Literary coasters for the cocktails, membership cards all with the same aesthetic.’
‘Clever.’
‘That I am.’
I jot notes about projects to complete on the site when a lanky bow-legged teenager walks in box in hand. ‘Evie?’ he asks.
‘That’s me.’
‘Delivery from Georgios.’
The tanned teenager hands over the box and lopes back outside. Teenagers lope; Greek gods do not. I’ll have to educate Georgios on this fact when I see him next. From the scent alone, I already know what is secreted inside the pretty box. What a glorious man Georgios is, righting his very big wrong. Food – it’s my love language. There’s a note that reads:I’m looking forward to Friday. Can’t wait to get to know you better. Love Georgios.
Love? What is he playing at? Could be just a figure of speech, but the more I contemplate the whole Georgios scenario the more it bamboozles me. I’m probably overthinking it.
My work email signature says:Lukewarm regardsbecause I want to set the tone for my professional life. So for Georgios to sign off with ‘love’ is quite presumptive, but that might just be the introvert in me who tends to take words on their literary merit.
Gran flips the box open. ‘Ooh, loukoumades. His grandmother is famous for them.’
‘Well, these areredemptionloukoumades.’ I explain his visit and how the evil beast took them back with him.
She surveys my face. ‘And he’s learned the error of his ways …interesting.’
‘Is it? Or does he simply understand I’m ruled by my stomach?’
‘Hmm, could the man be enchanted by our Evie?’ She waggles her brow excessively in case I haven’t picked up what’s she’s getting at.
I scoff. ‘Oh please.’ Gran lives in fantasyland when it comes to me and men.
‘You know what they say, darling, Greek food is the best in the world. And Greek men, well they have the biggest …’
‘Bookshelves?’ I slap a hand over her mouth, sensing whatever the words are that finish that sentence are going to be tawdry. ‘Shush. You’ll put me off my loukoumades.’
While we’re eating the syrupy Greek donuts a thirty-something woman wanders in, sunglasses atop her head. She stands out firstly because she’s the first customer we’ve had in hours and secondly because she’s wearing a fitted dress that seems almost formal and business-like compared to the beachwear most customers prefer. There’s an impatient air to her, as she picks up non-fiction books and throws them down with a frustrated sigh. I’m a tad offended on behalf of the hardbacks. I mean, do theyreallyneed to be thrown down like that? Yeah, they might be inanimate and all but still, it’s a respect thing.
‘G-o-d,’ she says disdain heavy in those three little letters.
Gran gives me a nudge. ‘Looks like she needs a hand. Off you go.’
‘She’s a prickly pear and quite clearly going to be rude and dismissive and send me into a tailspin about how I am lacking in some form or another.’
Bad energy rolls off the haughty woman in waves. The worddisgruntledcomes to mind. I really don’t like customer service at the best of times, more so when it’s obvious she’s going to act hostile just because she can. Gah.
‘She’s a prickly pear withmoney,’ Gran whispers. ‘And if she hurts your feelings, she’ll suffer for it – mark my words.’
Yikes. I approach the customer with the knowledge we need any sales we can get.
‘Welcome to Bibliotherapy. Can I help you find anything?’ I try not to scare her with my rigor-mortis smile. When people intimidate me, like she does with all her unsatisfied sighing as if the very tomes themselves have ruined her day, I can’t get my lip muscles to relax into a proper smile, so I appear somewhat crazed. Like I’ve got lockjaw.
She gives me a slow once-over, her subtle grimace implying she finds me lacking in some way. What a shocker. ‘I’m in need of some coffee table books.’
‘We have plenty of pictorials. Were you after English or Greek?’
‘English, obviously.’
‘OK.’ I’m going to come back in the next life as a customer. ‘And what theme were you after? Travel, art, history … fashion?’ I lead her to a display of oversized hardbacks. Her high heels click-clack on the mosaic tiles as she follows behind me.
‘I don’t care what they’re about, they just have to be visually pleasing.’
