It would be good to be all together again. They were—for the most part—as dear to her as family. Since opening the bookshop, Nory felt more comfortable in her own skin. She had found her calling, and that brought with it the inner peace that she had so craved in her twenties. And even though she still wasn’t sure she was adulting at full capacity (Would that come with age? Children? A mortgage? Fat chance.) she no longer felt like she was being left behind.

Three

Fancy a nightcap?” Ameerah asked as they reached the point when they would have to part ways to get home. They’d just left Andrew’s sister’s secondhand boutique, having scored a couple of reasonably priced evening dresses for Nory.

“Sure.” All that was waiting for Nory was a grumpy feline (she’d already nipped back after work to feed him) and packing decisions; what did one wear to a castle in the middle of winter?

They ended up in O’Malley’s, an ancient, crooked little pub near Kensington Gardens they’d discovered when they first moved to London, and which had become their favorite hideaway ever since. They sat up at the bar, sharing a tub of peanuts and taking bets on what song the drunks hogging the jukebox would choose next.

“ ‘Piano Man,’ ” said Ameerah.

“No way. They’ve got ‘Fairytale of New York’ written all over them.”

They waited. Sure enough, after a moment the sounds of violins filled the dimly lit pub, and the drunks began dancing and singing a terrible tribute to Kirsty MacColl and Shane MacGowan. Ameerah shook her head laughing. “All right, you win. What’ll it be?”

“I’ll have a small glass of Chateauneuf, please.”

“A small?”

“It’s only Wednesday!”

“Lightweight.”

“Alcoholic.”

“Celibate.”

“Ooh,” Nory cried. “Low blow!”

“You need to stop holding out for Mr. Perfect and loosen up a bit. Have some fun. Have a one-night stand.”

“If you remember, my last one-night stand didn’t exactly end well.”

“Guy doesn’t count. A one-nighter should be anonymous.”

“I don’t want anonymous. I want . . . well, I don’t know what I want.” The barman rested her wine down on a coaster, and Nory took a sip.

“Don’t take it all so seriously. Look at me. I’m not going to fall in love with the man-Barbies; they’re simply a delightful way to pass the time.”

“What happened to man-Barbie Allan?”

“He was a flat-earther.”

“Really?”

“I mean, I know I’m not with them for their cerebral faculties, but if they must occasionally speak, I require them not to spout bullshit.”

“Fair enough. Have you checked man-Barbie Dev’s opinions on the whole flat-earth thing?”

“Yes. He’s firmly in the spherical camp.”