Indicates that long-awaited desires will be met through devotion and patience.
When Beatrix stepped into the bookshop the next morning, something made her pause at the threshold. It wasn’t the sensation of icy fingers skittering across her spine or the knot in her chest that seemed to tighten every time she thought of the deadline.
No, the instant she turned away from the wind that lashed down the alleyway and toward the earthy aroma of old books, Beatrix felt like the weight that had become a familiar presence against her shoulders was starting to lift.
It had been so long since the tension in her neck had loosened that it took Beatrix a moment to recognize the feeling of being at ease. She paused, her hand still wrapped around the doorknob, and braced herself for the tightness in her chest to return, but when she drew in a shaky breath, the fragrance of the bookshop grew stronger and more complex, pulling her attention awayfrom her fear of the future and toward the rich memories of the past quicker than she could have snapped her fingers.
Before she could think to stop herself, her body remembered the sensations that always accompanied an afternoon of reading—the way it felt to run a thumb along a book’s spine in anticipation of turning the next page, how a twist of the plot could cause her heart to stop and then race forward, the tingles that skittered along the sides of her neck when it became clear how all the threads of the story would weave themselves together in the end. And in that moment, it seemed that her worst worries would remain behind in the street, like a pair of snowy boots that were too damp to be brought into the house.
As Beatrix’s attention shifted from her inner world to the shelves, she wondered if some of the changes that she felt were starting to cast a rosier hue across the shop as well.
Though she hadn’t touched the windows, the glass seemed clearer, as if someone had come along in the night and wiped away the layers of dust and grime that had stretched the dark shadows from the corners of the room. Now the snow falling from the other side of the pane seemed softer and full of wonder instead of something to turn away from with a shiver. It made Beatrix want to stand by the glass and slip quietly into a daydream laced with the magic of winter, just as she used to do as a young girl when their mother said it was too cold to wander out of the house.
And the chill that had made Beatrix turn up the collar of her coat when she’d stepped into the shop before had faded away as well, replaced by a sense of warmth that tempted her to remove her heavy woolen cloak and sit down in the worn wingback chair until the feeling returned to her thawing toes and fingers.
She thought about the book that Jennings had given her. It was waiting there as well. After she’d finished the fairytale collection, her hands had instinctively reached for another story,and she’d found the novel resting within her grasp on the floor next to the chair.
Now its open covers were draped across the arm to mark her spot, though Beatrix could have sworn that she’d left it on the shelf for safekeeping when she finally pulled herself away from its pages the night before. The sight of it caused Beatrix’s fingers to twitch and made her want to settle into the velvet embrace of the chair and lose herself in the story once more.
As Beatrix lifted her hands to do just that, she caught the scent of bergamot and citrus drifting from the back office, where it mixed with the musty sweetness of old books.
Curious, Beatrix followed the familiar fragrance until she was standing in threshold of the back office, where she saw a kettle resting atop the small woodstove with a chipped cup waiting on the end table just beside it.
A smile tugged at Beatrix’s lips as she realized that Brigit must have tidied things up in the shop that morning and left her a cup of tea.
But how had she known this blend was Beatrix’s favorite, the one she reached for on the shelf in the kitchen of the Crescent Moon whenever the weight of the day had been too heavy?
Before Beatrix could dwell on that thought, though, she heard a soft tapping that was quickly followed by the sound of the door to the alleyway creaking open.
“Hello?” she heard Jennings call out.
His voice chased away the lingering numbness in Beatrix’s toes and made her heart beat just a bit faster.
“Jennings?” Beatrix replied as she moved away from the back office and into the shop, where her visitor stood in the middle of the room, surveying the explosion of books across the floor as if he was unsure where to step without staining the yellow pages with the heel of his boot. “What are you doing here?”
“Another request from Mr. Stuart, I’m afraid,” he said, patting the leather satchel strapped across his chest, where piles of papers were no doubt waiting for her careful consideration. “You haven’t signed the paperwork approving the final version of your last manuscript, and he wants it today so that we can start the printing process.”
“Of course,” Beatrix said, pulling nervously at the chain of her spectacles. “I don’t suppose anything has changed since I last looked at it?”
The initial rush of excitement of hearing Jennings’ voice was giving way to something else as she thought of their last encounter and worried about what he must think of her. Beatrix’s shoulders stiffened, bracing for the hint of frostiness that would lace his tone as he remembered the way she’d thrown him out into the worst of winter.
But, to her surprise, the only hints of coldness in Jennings’ appearance were the snowflakes that fell from the brim of his hat as he lifted it from his head and began to pull a pile of papers from his satchel.
“Not a single comma,” Jennings assured her as he flipped through the pages to find the place where Beatrix would need to add her signature. “I made sure of it.”
Beatrix heard the protectiveness in Jennings’ voice, a smile pulling at her lips as she took the pen from his outstretched hand and moved to the counter, where he’d set the papers for her to look through.
She turned her gaze toward the lines of the document, but her attention remained fixed on the sound of Jennings’ footsteps as he wandered between the shelves.
“I haven’t gotten the chance to fix things up yet,” Beatrix said, embarrassed now that she hadn’t taken the time to pick the poor books up from the floor.
“No, it looks like you’ve been doing something far more important,” Jennings replied, his tone laced with kind amusement.
Beatrix looked up then and saw him bending over the worn wingback chair to grab the novel perched along the arm.
For the barest instant, Beatrix felt her pulse race with embarrassment and shame, but then she saw the excitement dancing in Jennings’ eyes, and the tight breath that she’d been holding on to slipped from her lips, carrying away the heaviest of her worries.
“I had hoped that you’d start this,” Jennings said as he turned the cover over and let his fingers run against the roughcut pages. “How are you liking it so far?”
