Hannah left, and Nory began searching for a book to fill the hole on the shelf left by the one just purchased—an unfilled bookshelf was a sad shelf indeed. She wandered over to a pile of leatherbound tomes sitting on an antique dining chair with a frayed red velvet seat. She knew exactly what she was looking for and gave a little hum of satisfaction when she found it: a book celebrating paintings by Maria Sibylla Merian. Nory carefully extricated it from the stack and stroked the cover. The antique chair creaked in gratitude at having some weight lifted from it. She gently opened the book and began to turn the pages, feeling a sense of deep contentment as her eyes roamed over paintings that were as familiar to her as her own face. Nory had studied literature and art history at university and had written her final dissertation on the forgotten female artists of the golden age; Merian’s work had featured heavily.

“Stop fawning over that tatty old book and drink your coffee,” called Ameerah.

“Don’t listen to her,” Nory comedy-whispered to the book, closing it and slipping it into the space left by the latest sale. Ameerah had very little appreciation for anything that came before the 1990s, and that included her boyfriends. Nory sat down on an old wooden milking stool she’d found in the basement when she’d taken over the shop, and sipped her coffee.

Serendipitous Seconds had more than its fair share of cozy nooks and each was filled with a comfortable old chair of some description. In Nory’s opinion, book buying should never be rushed; she wanted her customers to feel they could sit and get to know a book before they purchased.

“Andrew, I’ve had another email from Jenna to say that Nory is dragging her heels about the house party. We’re supposed to arrive on the twenty-ninth of November—that’s this Sunday! Your employer is being unconscionably difficult. Talk to her.”

“I’ve tried, believe me. She’s being very resistant.”

“I am here, you know! And I’m not being difficult, I’m going to the wedding, and I’ve offered to help with prep in any way I can. I just don’t know if I ought to go to the house party first.”

“But it won’t be the same without you. The whole point is that we have the old gang together again, just us, before all the other guests arrive. When was the last time we were all properly together?”

“You know when,” said Nory.

A familiar pang of sorrow coiled around her ribs, making her chest tighten. They had been such a tight group at school. It had seemed unthinkable they could ever drift apart. But of course they did. Until Tristan’s death had brought them back together in the worst possible way.