That Thursday morning, a long shadow fell across the floor. It couldn’t be that late already, thought Carmen, looking up from where she was practicing her wrapping, which was still terrible. It was just an idea, in an idle moment, that they could offer gift wrapping. Unfortunately, if it took ten thousand hours to become an expert, she thought, she had probably done it already with gift wrapping, but she still wasn’t very good at it, even though—crucially—she was wrapping only flat square things. She was slightly regretting her suggested innovation.

One of the tallest men Carmen had ever seen slouched through the door. He looked at her, bemused.

“Hello?” said Carmen.

“Um. Hello. Where’s young Mr. McCredie?”

“He’s busy . . . reading.”

The very tall man frowned. “Well, yes.”

Carmen expected the man to start browsing, but instead he folded his arms and just stood there, leading Carmen to the ridiculous but inescapable conclusion that he wouldn’t buy a book from a woman. He wasn’t an older man either, although in his cords, tweed shirt, worn muddy-colored jumper, cap, and waxed jacket, he certainly looked like one.

“Can I get him for you?”

He looked at her. “You’re allowed in the stacks?”

Carmen beamed. “Apparently so.”

“Goodness. What next, the metric system?”

He glanced out at the street where he had left a Land Rover with its hazards on, a call known to attract the most implacable enemy of all Edinburgh drivers: the traffic warden. He peered down the road, enjoying a clear line of sight. Nothing yet, but they had the habit of popping up stealthily out of nowhere.

Mr. McCredie appeared from the stacks eventually, brushing crumbs from his jumper and feeling for his spectacles.

“Ramsay!” he said joyfully. He peered out the window. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, won’t you just pay for parking?”

Ramsay sniffed. “Never! Those robdogs.”

“Well, we’d better be quick. How’s the family?”

“Good, good.”

“How many is it now?”

“Five . . . Well, it’s going to be six actually.” Ramsay went rather pink with pride.

Carmen couldn’t help it. “You have six children?”

“Well . . . five and a bit.”

Carmen blinked. “Doesn’t your wife mind?”

“Well, she isn’t my wife yet and it’s mostly her idea so . . .” Ramsay’s voice trailed off, but there was a twitch in the corner of his mouth, as there always was when he thought of Zoe.

“Cor,” said Carmen. “I hope you have a big house.”

Mr. McCredie laughed. “Oh, there’s plenty of room up Ramsay’s way.”

“So you have a huge house but not enough cash to pay for parking?”

“It’s not the money!” said Ramsay. “It’s the sport.”

“What have you got for me?” said Mr. McCredie.

“Hang on, you’re a sales rep?” said Carmen.