She nodded at Grace with the same kind of silent encouragement Mr. Evans once offered.

“I appreciate what all of you have helped Primrose Hill Books become,” Grace continued. “Books are what have brought us together. A love of the stories within, the adventures they take us on, their glorious distraction in a time of strife. And a reminder that we always have hope.”

Thunder grumbled once more in the distance. Louder this time.

Several people glanced up with concern showing on their faces. With part of the roof missing, the upper floor would only block out the water for so long.

Jack, the rough looking man who had been there from her first reading, turned his head and spoke to two others beside him. They glanced up at the ceiling with a frown, clearly of a similar mind.

“Even if we don’t have Primrose Hill Books...” Grace cradled Jane Eyre to her chest. “Remember that we will always have books, and therefore we will always have courage and optimism.”

The faces looking back at her were solemn as mourners at a funeral. A woman nearby pulled a handkerchief from her handbag and dabbed at her eyes.

No doubt they suspected the shop could not continue.

And they were probably right.

Jack and the two men with him quietly left the shop as another crash of thunder echoed overhead.

“I’ll continue our readings until Jane Eyre is finished.” She indicated the book where the scrap of paper she’d tucked between the pages, a place marker, closer to the back cover than the front. “And after that—”

“Please don’t stop your readings,” someone called from the back.

“You’re the last bookshop in London,” another youthful voice cried out.

Jimmy.

Mrs. Weatherford put a hand on his shoulder and pressed her lips together, appearing very near tears.

Grace shook her head. “I’m certainly not the last.” After all, she imagined Foyles would undoubtedly be around forever. Its owner was rumored to have lined his roof with copies of Mein Kampf in an effort to keep all six stories of discounted books safe from the Germans. It worked, although Foyles did have a near miss at one point that left a massive crater in front of the bookshop that they continued to operate around.

They all made do in such times.

“Though certainly there will never be another bookshop like ours.” The sentiment clogged in her throat and she opened the book to remove the scrap of paper. If she didn’t start reading soon, she might lose her courage. “And we still have a few more chapters yet.”

Before she knew it, she lost herself to Jane’s story, feeling the character’s suffering, but reveling in her strength and bravery. All at once, the two chapters Grace had meant to read became three and she knew she must stop.