"You have a habit of fidgeting when you're nervous, did you know that?"

"And you have a habit of teasing people, did you know that?" I grumbled as I shoved my hands into my sweater's large pockets.

Peter only chuckled.

"Aye, I've been told many times... Don't fret," he told me, his voice suddenly softer. "They'll come."

I worried my bottom lip as I peered out the front window from my seat behind the counter. "I don't know... Matilda wasn't altogether thrilled at the prospect."

Peter scoffed. "And how is a child supposed to foster a love of reading if their mother doesn't—"

"They're here!" I exclaimed standing up suddenly as a sleek black car slowly pulled up in front of the shop.

I leaped from my seat, but Peter gently caught my arm to prevent me from rushing to the door.

"Let them open it," he said with a wink. "Children always love the ring of the bell."

Sure enough, Francis and Lizzie's faces filled with glee as they pushed the door open and the bell hanging above clamored to life. They opened and closed the door several more times until their mother finally shuffled them inside.

"Alright, alright," she told them as she bent over to fuss over their coats.

I went over to help and Francis held his arms out as I worked the zipper. He let it drop to the floor and was about to scurry off when I handed his coat back to him before lifting him by the middle to reach the nearby coat rack.

He giggled and insisted on hanging his sister's as well. When he had, I introduced them to Peter who easily enticed them with a tour of his magic bookshop.

Matilda silently shrugged off her own coat and hung it by her children's. "Sorry we were late. André was supposed to join us but... something came up."

I shook my head but said nothing as I watched her walk further into the entryway, taking in the shop's interior.

"Cozy," she assessed with a nod. She glanced over her shoulder at me. "Is there anything breakable I should—"

"No," I laughed. "The shop may be magical, but it is definitely practical. No antique porcelain heirlooms here. Just lots of stories and comfortable reading nooks," I added with an affable shrug.

Matilda nodded and took a second look around.

"What's your genre of choice?" I asked as I stepped beside her.

"I don't read much," she mumbled, still looking about.

I didn't respond. I'd never really known how to respond when people said they didn't enjoy reading. It'd be like me saying I didn't enjoy breathing.

"You worked here?" She asked by way of making conversation.

I smiled at her effort. "Yes, during uni and a bit after. Peter took good care of me."

She nodded. "Seems like a lovely place to grow up."

"Remind me, you went to university at..."

"Oxford," she finished for me. She hesitated before adding: "That's where I met André."

My brows lifted. "And you've been together ever since?"

Her smile didn't meet her eyes. "Yes. We married shortly after graduation."

Suddenly a ferocious roar sounded from the back of the shop.

"That'll be Peter." I hesitated, listening again before nodding in confirmation. "That's his impression of a tiger. Rather similar to his impression of a lion if you ask me. He must be reading them The Tiger Who Came to Tea. It's a favorite of his."

Matilda looked at me dubiously. "He reads to his customers?"

"Only the well behaved ones," I assured her with a smirk. "Alright and the naughty ones, too."

She laughed warmly and I took it as a sign of acceptance.

"Shall I show you around?" I offered.

Matilda hesitated before nodding. "Show me the way."

I gave her the general tour, and owing to her lack of interest in reading, categorized the shop by anecdotes rather than genre. Ever the socialite, she laughed quietly when appropriate and asked me questions when the conversation seemed to lag.

I told her about my first days working at Flannigan's, about the characters I had met over the years in forms of customers, and my love of all things printed. She, in turn, told me about her love of studying art history in university, her interest in interior design, and her secret relief when Francis and Lizzie both started preschool.

"Suppose that's awful to say—" she started, but I cut her off.

"It isn't," I assured her. I hesitated before adding: "You're allowed to be mummy and whomever else you want to be. You're your own person."

Matilda stared at me for a moment and looked about to say something when the bell suddenly clamored over the door.

"Don't worry," I assured her as I gave her arm a brief squeeze. "I'll see to them."

It was only Mrs. Greenwood looking for a recommendation for her next romance novel. She was glad I was in today, she confided to me at the till. According to her, Peter Flannigan was many things but a connoisseur of well-written erotica was not one of them.

I sent her off with a wink and a list of future recommendations written on the back of her receipt.

When I returned to Matilda, she'd settled in one of the plush armchairs with a magazine splayed across her lap.

"Just one of our regulars," I informed her.

"She sounded like a hoot," she smirked.

I laughed and nodded. "I secretly hope to be like her when I grow up."

"Someone should warn Tommy then," she teased.

"Maybe," I giggled as I held out a soft-cover volume for her. "Here, I picked this up for you. Thought you might be interested in it."

Matilda could only have read halfway through the description on the back before cursing and tossing her magazine to the side.

"Un-bloody-believable!"

My eyes bulged as I looked down at the cover and then frantically back up at Matilda. It was a personal choice, sure, but could she really have been that offended over a book suggestion?

"I-Is something wrong?"

"Of course there is!" She exclaimed before her look of indignation shattered into amusement. "The little bastard cheated!"

"I don't..."

Matilda stood then and looked me squarely in the eyes. "You picked out that book for Gran—the one Tommy gave to her for her birthday—didn't you?"

I hesitated, but seeing the humorous glint in her eyes, decided I was safe.

"Uh yes, I did," I admitted with a short laugh. "That's how Tom and I met, actually. I was being rather nosy... and perhaps a bit bossy."

"We were all competing," she explained. "To see who could get her the perfect present. She's impossible to shop for, you know."

I scrunched my nose in sympathy. "I can't imagine trying to shop for someone who literally has a castle—several castles."

"Exactly," she laughed again before donning an attempted serious expression. "Suppose you'll have to get used to it, though..."

She lifted her eyebrow in question and I flushed crimson but remained resolutely silent.

Charlie had been the first to tease me about Tom's and my apparently impending nuptials, but Cynthia had been quick to join in following my first attendance at the monthly family dinner. By my second appearance, it seemed to be an apparent family-free-for-all.

I had been shocked by their teasing a first, and then shocked again by my reaction to it. After the abysmal failure of my last relationship, I had stopped considering the possibility of my ever walking down the aisle. Following the breakup, even just the idea of marriage brought on immediate feelings of claustrophobia and nausea.

But now, whenever one of Tom's relatives brought it up, my heart secretly did a flip more akin to excitement than terror.

Suddenly, high pitch shrieks of laughter pierced the air followed by a stampede of small feet running down a nearby aisle.

"I pick the next one!" Lizzie exclaimed.

"No, me!" retorted Francis.

Matilda shook her head, but a soft smile played on her lips.

She caught my eye briefly and nodded. "Thank you, Emma, for bringing us here."

I leaned back against the nearby bookshelf and inhaled the smell of Flannigan's, always happy to be home.