She couldn’t resist picking up an Austen. It was a copy of Pride and Prejudice with a floral cover she had never seen before. She held it lovingly. There was something about seeing an old friend in a place where she had thought she knew no one. It sent a little happy ringing through her body.

While she waited for Sam, her eyes rested on the satisfying order of the books stacked on the shelves. In each book was a possibility of joy: a magical place to visit, a hero or heroine to meet, or a new friend to make. With grief, books allowed a chance to revisit a story you once shared with the person you had lost.

Lucy wandered back into the bookshop. She longed to grab a book from the shelves, settle into the armchair, and just read the day away.

The comfort she had felt in the pages of books had become so important in the past few years that she liked to have books around her. She had become a permanent resident of several mythical towns in the many mystery series she liked to read.

The sun shone through the window and painted a stripe of sunlight onto the armchair just inside. She could almost smell the special scent of fresh new books and anticipate the feeling of the smooth covers in her hands.