Meet Me Under the Mistletoe - Softcover

Bayliss, Jenny

 
9780593422229: Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0593422228 ISBN 13: 9780593422229
Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2022

Inhaltsangabe

A school reunion in the English countryside leads to a second chance at love in this cozy holiday romance

Elinor Noel--Nory for short--is quite content running her secondhand bookshop in London. Forever torn between her working-class upbringing and her classmates' extravagant lifestyles at the posh private school she attended on scholarship, Nory has finally figured out how to keep both at equal distance. So when two of her oldest friends invite their whole gang to spend the time leading up to their wedding together at the castle near their old school, Nory must prepare herself for an emotionally complicated few days.

The reunion brings back fond memories, but also requires Nory to dodge an ill-advised former fling. When she falls quite literally into the arms of Isaac, the castle's head gardener, who has nothing but contempt for the "snobby prep school kids," the attraction between them is undeniable. And as Nory spends more time with Isaac during the wedding festivities, she finds herself falling hard for the boy she used to consider an enemy. Nory and Isaac explore their common ground, but pressures mount on all sides, and Nory must decide what kind of life she wants to live and what sort of love is worth the risk . . .

Die Inhaltsangabe kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

A former professional cake baker, Jenny Bayliss lives in a small seaside town in the UK with her husband, their children having left home for big adventures. She is also the author of The Twelve Dates of Christmas and A Season for Second Chances.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

One

Shepherd Market is old London. Two small squares of ye olde quaint shop fronts and pubs, some dating back to the 1700s, nestle unconcerned among the steel and glass monoliths of their descendants. A peculiar vibe of village camaraderie and tourism pulses through the tiny neighborhood; doors open with tinkling bells into welcomingly dark shops, and people mingle in the street, strangers and friends passing the time. And it is here, sandwiched between a tailor and a bistro, that Elinor Noel-Nory to those who know her best-runs her secondhand bookshop, Serendipitous Seconds, with her right-hand man, Andrew.

The woman in the long blue floral coat with curly gray hair flowing to her waist had been leafing through a book of prints by the Dutch Old Masters for nearly twenty minutes, and Nory was beginning to twitch. One of the only downsides, so far as Nory could see, to spending your life surrounded by beautiful books was that people kept wanting to buy your favorites.

Andrew pushed a mug of coffee into her hand.

"Stop staring," he hissed. "You'll put her off the sale."

Nory narrowed her eyes and stared harder. "That is one of the most comprehensive books we have on the Old Masters, still lifes," she whispered. "The quality of the prints is exquisite. They don't print books on that kind of paper anymore."

"Which is reflected in the price tag, which is why we need this sale. Now stop intimidating our only customer and help me decipher this inventory."

She allowed herself to be led away to the large mahogany desk at the back of the shop. Andrew was on an eternal quest to try to keep track of the vast and eclectic jumble of books for which they had long since run out of shelf and stacking space. Nory didn't feel that the alchemy of bringing books together with readers could be contained in a spreadsheet.

Face-to-face sales may not have been her strong suit, but Nory had a gift for finding rare and beautiful books and matching them with owners who would treasure them forever. It was like she could feel the books calling to her. She could sift through a box of dime-a-dozen titles and find the hidden gem. Not only that, but she would instantly know who the book was destined for. Andrew called her the book whisperer. And it was this talent that kept people coming back for more. In her desk drawer, she had a small leatherbound book with the names of all her repeat customers and the books they had purchased. When a fresh consignment of titles arrived at the shop, she would reach for the book of names, fingers tingling with the promise of matches to be made; book love was a magical thing.

Matilda murmured in her papoose, which was attached to Andrew's front. Matilda was four months old now and Nory wondered how long Andrew could continue to carry her around for hours at a time without developing a stoop. Matilda spent two days in the shop with Andrew and three days at home with his husband, Seb, who worked in graphic design. In January, Matilda would start at nursery and Andrew was already fretting.

The woman in the floral coat began to walk toward the desk, zigzagging slightly as she negotiated the piles of books on tables and footstools, organized in an order known only to Nory, and Nory felt herself tense. Andrew rested a steadying hand on her shoulder.

It wasn't that she was against selling books-this was, after all, her chosen profession-it was that she felt a particular affinity with anything botanical, in particular botanical art, and she had collected some rather fabulous books on the subject, which she was loath to part with. She guessed that's what you got for growing up in a family-run nursery business; her whole family was plant obsessed.

The woman placed the tome-a collection of the works of Rachel Ruysch-with due reverence on the desk, and Nory thawed slightly; perhaps she was the right owner for this book after all.

"Can you do anything on the price?" she asked.

Nory made a face like she was thinking about it. "It's a very rare reproduction. I think it's priced more than fairly."

You did not, in Nory opinion, haggle where the Old Masters were concerned. The woman eyed her.

Andrew, with Matilda snuffling contentedly into his chest, leaned over and asked, "I wonder if this book could be the first in our ten percent discount Christmas offer?" in a terribly polite voice that only Nory knew actually meant Make the goddamned sale!

The woman's eyes widened briefly, and she raised one eyebrow expectantly at Nory. Nory smiled.

"Of course, how silly of me to forget the Christmas discount! Let's round it down to three hundred and twenty-five pounds exactly."

"Wonderful!" exclaimed the woman. She began immediately to rummage around in her handbag, while Andrew whisked the book-which Nory had been wistfully stroking-out of Nory's reach to wrap it.

Andrew handed the book, enveloped in thick brown parchment paper and secured with string, to Nory, and Nory held it out to the woman. The woman took it, but Nory held on. Suddenly she couldn't seem to make her hands unclench. The woman tugged and Nory resisted. The woman smiled uncertainly and tugged again. Reluctantly Nory let go, and the woman hurried out of the shop, apparently fearing Nory might give chase. In fairness, if Ameerah hadn't ambled in at that moment and flung herself into one of the old chesterfield armchairs in the reading corner, she might have.

Ameerah was wearing a black floor-length military coat, undone to reveal a tailored black skirt suit that nipped in at the waist and a brilliant white shirt with a ruffle down either side of the buttons. Her knee-high, stilettoed black boots squeaked as she crossed her legs elegantly and settled her gaze first on Nory and then Andrew.

"Hello, my darlings. Coffee's on the way." She smiled, her teeth as white as her shirt, standing out against her dark skin.

Where Ameerah was tall and Marlene Dietrich sleek, Nory was five foot five at a pinch with decidedly Rubenesque proportions. Nory had a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones, emphasized by almost permanently rosy cheeks; if she were an actress she would surely be typecast as a buxom wench. Her shoulder-length hair, like her eyes, was a mixture of browns, golds, and ambers that caught the light. Her friend Jenna had once said that Nory had the coloring of a tortoiseshell cat. Nory had decided there were far worse animals to be likened to.

Nory checked her watch. "Shouldn't you be in court, defending the defenseless?" she asked.

"The case was adjourned until the morning."

"Lucky us," said Andrew slyly.

"Don't pretend you're not delighted to see me," said Ameerah. "Now, bring my goddaughter over here so that I can coo over her."

"Actually, Ameerah, Matilda is my goddaughter."

"Yes, but we're best friends, so she's my goddaughter by proxy."

Nory couldn't argue with that.

The bell jingled, and Hannah, the owner of Delizioso Coffee, came in bearing three cardboard cups, steaming in the cold air.

"Thank you, Hannah," said Nory, taking the cups. "You didn't need to bring them over, I would have come and got them."

"It's no bother. We're quiet at the moment. The lull before the lunch rush. Lots of people are talking about your window display. It's quite a hit."

Andrew beamed. This year's Christmas window design had been his idea: a three-foot plump and jolly Father Christmas sat in a rocking chair, reading, his half-moon glasses slipped to the end of his nose. Around him were piles of well-loved books and vintage Christmas titles propped up, covers facing outward. This morning they had sold a particularly crusty-looking copy of The Little Match Girl from the display.

"Let's hope it brings the customers in," said Nory.

"If she can...

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Verlag
Penguin Publishing Group
Erscheinungsdatum
2022
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0593422228
ISBN 13 
9780593422229
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
432
Kontakt zum Hersteller
G.P. Putnam's Sons
https://www.penguin.com/putnam/

1745 BROADWAY Attn: Madison Forsander
NEW YORK
NY
10019
USA
Verantwortliche Person
gpsr@libri.de
gpsr@libri.de

Europaallee 1
Bad Hersfeld
36244
Deutschland

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