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After Gran wanders away, I head outside and check the dogs have plenty of water in their bowls. They laze under the shade of a row of cypress trees, their bellies full from breakfast, their energy depleted by the sunshine and their long morning walks.

A woman wearing yoga attire wanders in, water bottle in hand. ‘Hi,’ she says, with a British accent. ‘I’ve come to rent a dog and read a guidebook.’

‘Wonderful. May I ask how you heard about the Rent-A-Dog initiative?’ It’ll be helpful to know going forward what’s working for Gran in terms of building clientele and spreading the word that the bookshop exists. It’s not a place they’d stumble on naturally being on the top of the cliff.

‘I had a cocktail at the beach bar last evening and saw a flyer about it. I love the idea, especially that the funds help care for them and the other dogs at the rescue centre. I’m a dog lover; people eh, not so much.’ Gran’s been handing out flyers on her morning walks and they seem to be doing the trick.

‘I can relate.’ The British customer pays a few euros to rent Houdini. The issue with that being Houdini will ghost her before she can blink. The tourist is demure, quiet, and I recognise the signs of another like-minded introvert who just wants to snuggle with a dog and read in peace.

I check she has everything she needs, including offering her the shade of a beach umbrella, which she accepts. Sure enough Houdini is long gone as soon as she’s fed him his treats. Luckily Sir Spud is around and runs to his new buddy. The cuddly fluffball soon has the woman playing fetch with a rope toy, which he only relinquishes when she relaxes back into the sun lounger. He plays dead and that gets a laugh from her. Once again, he’s charmed the socks off his latest fan.

I doubt she’s going to get much of the guidebook read but she seems to delight in Sir Spud, so I leave them to it and head back into the cool of the bookshop to find a couple of people perusing the book tables.

While sales aren’t exactly record-breaking, we are getting a lot more foot traffic from social media posts and word of mouth.

Guitar Guy comes in and asks for Helena. I could set my watch by him: two o’clock on the dot. Instead of telling him I haven’t seen Helena, I ask him what she looks like and motion for him to sit down. His English is almost non-existent and I kick myself I haven’t learned even the most basic of the Greek language yet. I pull up my translation app but he shakes his head no and haltingly he says, ‘What youmean, what she look like?’

Why does everyone prefer charades around here? ‘Does she have brown hair, brown eyes? A dimple in her cheek, that sort of thing.’ I point to my own hair, eyes and cheeks but he stares back at me like I’ve lost my marbles.

‘I come back.’

Is he offended I asked what her physical attributes were? Is that not the done thing here? But how else will I know if it’s Helena visiting the bookshop if I have no clue what she looks like? It’s a riddle for another day. I get back to work.

Keeping the colour order is time-intensive. While it looks great, customers don’t seem to place them back where they got them from so I’m constantly switching them to their rightful place.

I dust the tops of the books and sweep the floor. Once I’ve caught up, I brainstorm new ways we can advertise the upcoming launch. Just how will we spread the news far and wide, and more importantly get members to pay a joining fee? Perhaps we need a guest speaker, an author of repute that would be a major drawcard for members. I think of all the literary connections I didn’t maintain – but I bet Georgios has a whole bunch up his sleeve.

To be frank, I’m enjoying spending time with Georgios. He doesn’t seem to mind if we’re doing activities, plotting the launch or loafing about in Bibliotherapy. Part of me wants to accept that he’s just a good guy and genuinely interested in me, but the broken part of me that enjoys a bit of self-sabotage questions it. Can he really be trusted? There’s times he just appears a bit too good to be true. I can’t confide in Gran. She’ll march me outside, stick a martini in my hand and tell me to stop doubting myself. But still, that niggle is always just below the surface. And worse is, what if he is as good as he makes out? I’m fooling the guy. And he will hate me for it. The guilt I feel about the whole sorry scenario is real.

Chapter 14

Roxy sashays in and brings her buzzy energy into the bookshop. ‘Hello, you,’ she says. ‘Any potentials on the horizon?’

I’m in the middle of unpacking a stack of new books. For someone with money problems Gran sure seems to get a lot of deliveries. I assume lengthy freight delays are the issue, what with being on an island, so they’re arriving later than intended.

‘I take it you mean future husbands?’

‘You can read me like a book. A valuable asset in a bookseller.’

I laugh. There’s something so fun about Roxy. She’s easy-going and energetic and I’ve leaned into friendship with her, which has come so naturally, it feels almost like it’s been orchestrated. It’s nice to have a friend like her who I can reach out to by text when I’m at a loose end. ‘Sadly, I haven’t seen any future-husband material, but we are having a launch party soon for the night-time library, and I’d love to invite you. There could be any number of singletons just ripe for the plucking.’

‘Singletons, yes please. And what is this night-time library you speak of?’ Her eyes light up and she leans forward as if I’m about to tell her the secrets of the universe.

I share our plans and explain we’re still in the midst of organising the event itself. ‘Ooh, I have to become a member!’

I take the sign-up form from under the desk and hand it over. ‘There’s a membership fee and for that you have exclusive use to everything in there. But for you, we shall waive said fee because you’re always helping out here.’

‘No! I’m not helping out, I’m hanging out! It’s a bargain price too if I meet Mr Right. I’m practically related to everyone on this island, so the dating pool is more of a pond really. I’m stuck here now, so I need to make the best of it and find that veritable needle in a haystack shaped like a buff, bronzed bookworm of a man. Pen?’

I go to my book box and take a pen out for Roxy. She fills in the form and hands it over.

‘Help me with the new display on Santorini,’ I say. A huge percentage of our customers are tourists who often stop by for books about local attractions and activities. A display table by the entrance full of guidebooks and travelogues with covers featuring the ubiquitous Santorini backdrop is sure to draw them in.

‘Sure,’ she says.

‘Where were you before you came back home?’ I take an armful of books to the display table and plonk them down before heading to the local travel section to select some more. Roxy holds out her arms to cradle the books I select.

‘That one about Santorini wine tours is good,’ she says. I read the blurb – it’s exactly the kind of guide tourists are searching for, complete with a maps highlighting the winery trail and sights to stop and visit along the way. I pop a couple of copies into the pile Roxy holds. ‘I was in Athens, doing PR and marketing for a major fashion brand. My mom got sick, so I came back to Santorini to help care for her.’