She knew what she’d been doing when she recommended the book to Mr. Stokes. No doubt George also had known what he was doing when he gave her his old copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. A sudden yearning to have another conversation with him struck her. How she longed to share how impactful his gift had been. If nothing else, she wished she had his address, to write her appreciation for the book.

“You were right about the story occupying a good portion of my time.” Mr. Stokes rubbed at the back of his neck. “It was far longer than others and equally as riveting.” He sighed. “The lad I was working with was conscripted so I’ve been carrying the load of two men in his absence. Do you happen to know of anyone who would be interested in joining the ARP as a warden?”

“Grace has been considering it,” Mr. Evans offered from somewhere in the history section.

Now that the store had been properly organized, it was easier to see the types of books that drew the shop owner’s attention. History and philosophy. A majority of Mr. Evans’s days were spent poring through his own stock, ensuring there were no printing inaccuracies, as he put it.

Grace grimaced at having been volunteered and busied herself at the counter, organizing the neat surface with such unnecessary effort, she reminded herself briefly of Mrs. Weatherford. Regardless, it was better than looking directly at Mr. Stokes and encouraging his entreaty that she join up.

After all, her attempt to help with the WVS had felt pointless. Worse than pointless, it made her feel awkward and socially inept. Would being an ARP Warden be any better? Air raids still came on occasion, all resulting in nothing more than a few hours in windowless, stuffy places until the all clear sounded. People seldom even bothered to seek shelter anymore.

She’d eventually received two letters from Viv in the time her friend had been gone. With Viv being stationed in England, they came with more frequency than those from Colin, who was stationed abroad. Though given the backed up postal service, that wasn’t saying much. At least the correspondence had let Grace know Viv appeared to be happily adjusting to her new tasks. Certainly with more ease than Grace had with the Women’s Volunteer Service.

“Miss Bennett, is that true you wish to join on as an ARP warden?” Mr. Stokes asked.

Grace straightened a copy of Bobby Bear’s Annual where the children’s book was on display by the register to attract housewives for one last impulsive purchase. “I’ve considered it.”

Mr. Stokes’s mustache twitched. “But you’re a woman.”

Grace stiffened, affronted by the blatancy of his demeaning implication.