As they rode up the metal stairs, it was all too easy to recall another time when she and Viv were at Farringdon Station together. When they’d left their home in Drayton, before the war had begun and they’d never dreamed they’d be surrounded by bombs or manning an anti-aircraft gun. Before Grace had ever found a love for books.

It was surreal to think such a bland, colorless life had been lived by either of them.

Grace had reached out to her uncle Horace in the days following the war’s end, to confirm their safety and offer her love. Once upon a time, she might have felt doing so was turning the other cheek. Now she knew it to be compassion.

And he had replied, his manner still gruff, as he assured her that they were well and offering an invitation for her to visit should she fancy a jaunt in the country. In truth, it was more than she’d ever expected from him.

She owed the fragile repair of that relationship to Mr. Evans. Well, that and so, so much more.

Grace and Viv chatted on their way toward Mrs. Weatherford’s townhouse, where Viv was staying in the room she and Grace had once shared. Grace now lived in the flat above Evans and Bennett, which was far too small to accommodate two beds comfortably. As they neared Britton Street, Viv clasped Grace’s hand and her smile resumed its sparkle.

They rounded the corner and both broke into a run, like children, rushing up the steps to the green door with the brass knocker. Viv pushed inside and was met with a cheer of excitement from Mrs. Weatherford and Sarah, who made quite the welcoming committee with streamers of painted newspaper and a cake Mrs. Weatherford had been setting aside sugar and flour to make.

In the weeks that followed, Grace and Viv picked up where their friendship had left off, filling their newfound free time without the ATS and ARP with cinemas and cafés and nights out at the theater and, of course, jazz clubs and dancing.

Through it all, there was the bookshop for Grace. As children returned from the country and soldiers from war, the familiar faces who had become friends now began to show up with their loved ones. She met husbands and wives and children.

Jimmy enjoyed reading aloud as well and took it upon himself to do a children’s book hour every Saturday afternoon. On one particular afternoon, Mrs. Kittering arrived with her daughter, a pretty brown-haired girl with proper manners and wide doe eyes like her mother. Never had Grace seen Mrs. Kittering smile as much as she did with her daughter, doting on her every move and word with the eternal love of a mother. And eagerly awaiting her husband, who would undoubtedly be released from his service soon.