Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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“Just, throw them to me, I’ll catch,” you said to Anne, balancing high up on a ladder in the store. Anne held a string of Christmas lights in her hands, also high up on a ladder but across the store from you. You held out both hands, steadying yourself with your knees, and Anne was about to throw you a loop of lights, but you were interrupted by repeated knocking on the widow so loud it felt like the whole store rattled.      

It was Joe, looking furious, wagging his finger at the both of you with his brow furrowed as he walked to the door to step inside.    

“Absolutely not, are you insane?! Get down from there!” Joe ordered you as the door swung open harshly, triggering the bell above it. It felt a little like you’d been caught by a schoolteacher doing something naughty in the back of the class, and you suppressed a giggle as you made eye contact with Anne.

Joe had his fingers waving you down towards the floor, making you roll your eyes at him. You’d done much more dangerous things than this and you felt he was definitely overreacting.

“Anne, you should know better than to let her climb up there,” Joe said, keeping his eyes trained on you as you manoeuvred your feet into place to be able to climb down.

“We need to do the Christmas lights,” Anne argued dryly. The plan was to string them along the ceiling throughout the whole store to really up the whimsicality. There really wasn’t enough space for a Christmas tree, and the ornaments you’d put up in the window honestly looked a bit sad on their own.      

“Not at 7 months pregnant, you don’t. Get down,” Joe held onto the ladder you were on as you listened to his demands and started descending per Joe’s stern request.

As soon as Joe could get his hands on you to guide you down safely, he held on until both of your feet were safely back on the floorboards.      

“Hi,” you smiled at his worried expression and leant in for a kiss, which Joe granted you, before bending over and pressing a kiss onto your pregnant stomach.  

“Promise me you’ll keep both feet on the floor for at least the next four to five months,” Joe tilted his head down as he looked at you and raised his eyebrows, exchanging his serious eyes for pleading ones.  

“Four months?! Joe, I–”  

“Ah, ah! Promise me!” Joe interrupted you as he started climbing the ladder you’d just climbed down from, ready to help Anne with the Christmas lights.

“I know what you’re like. You’ll just put on a baby carrier and get back in here as soon as you can, endangering both of your lives, stacking shelves up on these ladders which, I’m telling you, we really have to get tracks for them installed, that would be so much safer.”  

You turned to look at Anne, who was still stood up there, holding the Christmas lights. You hoped she’d back you up, but she gave you a blank stare. When you signalled with your eyes for her to say something, she just said, “He’s right.”, and threw the string of Christmas lights to Joe who skillfully caught them.

“Oh, yes, let’s get wheels into the store now that there’s going to be little fingers around to get caught under them,” your sarcasm went largely ignored by the two of them high up above you. “That sounds like it’s definitely not a disaster waiting to happen.”    

“I’m still waiting for that promise. Four months. No ladders.”    

Four months was entirely too long. It was still just you in the store most days. Anne had more hours and no longer worked just on the weekends, but your store didn’t make enough to pay her full-time. And with shelves needing stacking most days too, it felt wrong to even think about not stepping onto a ladder for four months straight.

You could agree to no more ladders during the pregnancy, but after?

If you’d look at a shelf that needed more books, you knew you’d be quick to put new ones in place, the gnawing urge to fill out all shelves properly could really overwhelm you. It was why you made late hours nearly every day, and why a lot of the time, if Joe was in, he’d be down there helping you out. It was also why your store always looked exactly the way you wanted it to look, which brought you great pleasure and pride because that way, it still looked just like when your granddad had ran it.

Logically, though, you knew that it wouldn’t be the end of the world if the upper shelves didn’t always look the way you wanted them to for a short while.    

“Ugh. Fine. Four months, no ladders.”  

It took Joe and Anne about 30 minutes of swearing at each other to string the Christmas lights all along the ceiling whilst you had made yourself busy doing necessary work by the till, adding the latest delivery of books into the system.

With your pregnancy you’d gotten so many books about having children and child care that you and Anne had ended up creating a full baby display for them. It had made your mother laugh when she’d seen it, saying that the store was really becoming an extension of what life event you were currently going through. You couldn’t help it, and they sold fine, so it was fine.  

“Jesus Chri- Anne! Would be great if you would actually look at me when I throw you something!”  

“Don’t throw them when I’m not looking,”  

“I counted down!”  

“I counted down,” Anne mocked him under her breath in a small high-pitched voice.  

You couldn’t hide how much you enjoyed the two of them bickering as you scanned barcode after barcode, a smile tugging at your cheeks the whole way through until the lights were in place.

“And now for the grand reveal,” Joe stood next to an outlet and was about to flip the switch. For a second you held your breath and silently cursed at yourself for not having checked to see if they worked beforehand and were scared they’d gone through all that work for nothing.    

“Ta dah!” but thank goodness, the lights turned on and illuminated the store in soft light that, with it dark outside and most of the other lights turned off, instantly made everything look so much nicer.

Cosier. 

Christmassier.

You all just looked up at them for a moment, admiring the view.  

“We should have them up all year round,” you spoke softly, almost upset at the fact you’d never done more to dress up the store for Christmas.

It was only early November, and with the clocks turning back an hour a few weeks ago and the days becoming shorter, Anne had asked if she could do a Christmassy book display for the window.

You loved Christmas and were surprised to find that Anne did too – you didn’t think it fit her personality at all. You thought she’d be way more into Halloween. Or Guy Fawkes Night. But when your gaze broke away from looking at the ceiling to scan Anne’s features, you could see the twinkle of the lights in her eyes and the smallest of smiles.

“Hank needs to hurry up so he can see it,” Anne said, checking the clock. Her shift ended about 20 minutes ago and when she noticed, you noticed too, wincing at the fact that you hadn’t stopped her when you should’ve. Anne frequently stayed late, and you’d told her time and time again that she really didn’t need to.  

Her comment made you drop your shoulders and shake your head, laughing through a sigh.

“Hank?” Joe asked, giving you questioning eyes as he joined you behind the counter.

“Anne,” you started, but Anne was quick to interrupt as she slung her arms into her coat.

“If you won’t tell me his name, I’m going to stick with Hank.”

“Mmh… Hank,” Joe said the name, narrowed eyes trailing along the ceiling in thought, as if he was seriously considering the name.  

Ever since you found out you were going to be having a boy, the discussion about baby names between you and Joe seemed endless and was still ongoing. You liked short, simple names, like Max, or Noah, or Luke.

Joe kept saying Joe Junior as a joke, or Joe the Second, and it had been funny, until it wasn’t, because Joe wasn’t making any real suggestions.

He let you do all the work and then just kept shooting your suggestions down, which was very unhelpful.

It had all come ahead a few days ago when you’d suggested the name Archie when cooking dinner together, and he had burst into a full belly laugh. But you hadn’t been joking, and Joe’s reaction was all kinds of wrong, you know, since you were pregnant with a painful body that was surging with hormones.

You’d had to blink away angry tears and tried to calm yourself down, but when Joe kept muttering Archie Joseph Anthony to himself, softly chuckling, you’d thrown the knife you’d been holding to cut vegetables into the sink and had walked out.  

“Babe,” Joe had called after you, still laughing, but immediately backtracking his reaction when he saw that you were crying.

“Archie’s a good name,” he pulled you into a hug which you accepted, but you had kept your arms by your side, not hugging him back.

“Don’t lie to me. Clearly you don’t think that,” you’d muttered into his chest.

“Okay, no, I don’t think that. I’m sorry.” And then you’d just stood there for a moment, letting Joe comfort you by pressing your body against his, until you heard oil splattering in the kitchen, and Joe promised that he’d think of a name he actually liked.  

“No,” you shot down the name Hank immediately. You were not going to name your firstborn son Hank.  

“Hank.” Anne said, nodding at Joe as she did up her coat buttons, completely ignoring you.

“Hank.” Joe shrugged at Anne, trying to hide his smile through pursed lips, now just messing with you.

“Stop! It’s not going to be Hank!” You laughed, making Joe break too. Anne, not so much.  

“It’ll be Hank until it’s something else.” Anne deadpanned, slinging her bag over her shoulder.  

“Oh no, then it’ll probably be Hank for a while,” you groaned, focusing on scanning the last couple of barcodes before you’d be able to shut the system down for the night.

“Joe’s useless when it comes to names,” you placed full blame on him, because it was true.  

“I think I quite like Alfie, though,” Joe then casually said, and it made you gasp, pausing your task at hand to look at him.

You felt hot, thick emotion shoot throughout your full body unexpectedly, your breath high up in your throat as you scrunched your eyebrows at your boyfriend who seemed serious about his suggestion.

“Alfie, like Alfred?” you asked with a shaky voice, tears prickling in your eyes, unsure if Joe was even aware of what he’d just said.

You thought he couldn’t be.

Joe couldn’t know.

You’d never mentioned his name before, but that didn’t mean Joe couldn’t have picked it up somewhere else… he had spoken to your mother on many occasions, and you knew what a menace she could be.  

“Like Alfred,” Joe smiled at you, and you couldn’t help the sob that escaped you, falling into him and letting Joe hug you tightly as he smiled.

Anne scanned the two of you and just watched you hug for a moment. She seemed confused. 

“Who’s Alfred?” the lack of emotion in her voice balanced out the situation perfectly.  

“Her granddad.” Joe simply said, letting you cry into his neck.  

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Alfie's age: 8 months

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Exhausted. Far too tired to start another fight. Yet, here you were, crying and angry and Joe just didn’t get it because he’d forgotten.

The day, the week - the month had left you a shell of a person.

The breakroom was still a huge mess; there were toys strewn across the floor from where Alfie had been playing, and Anne had been too busy watching him to organize the mess that had been left on the table. And you hadn’t even gotten to the state the actual store front was in.

November was tough; with Christmas coming up, people would come in to look for specific books they would need convincing their loved ones would like.

This was something you were good at, but your brain seemed to have stopped working optimally ever since you’d had a child months ago.

It had been a busy Saturday, and lots needed doing still for you to be able to open on time the following Sunday.

For starters, you needed to hoover. With a curious child crawling around freely now, you’d really notice how dirty the place would get by the dark grey patches it’d leave on Alfie’s knees.

Looking around, you knew your evening was going to be filled with tasks down here in the store. You’d just bathed Alfie upstairs and had kissed him goodnight before Joe had disappeared into his room with him to put him to bed.

Sometimes it could take ages, other times he’d do exactly as he was told; there really was no middle ground.

Joe’s dad had laughed at the two of you when you told him how it could sometimes take hours to put Alfie down, and then he had told Joe that he knew karma would find its way back to him for the years of sleepless nights Joe had apparently caused his parents.

“It was just very unfair,” Joe explained to you. “I was the only person in the house who had to sleep in a bed by myself, everyone else got to share,” the only other people in the house at the time being Joe’s mum and dad. “So, I get it, little man,” Joe would coo at Alfie.

It’s why Alfie slept in your bed with the two of you so often – you didn’t always mind, Alfie was adorable, and he loved to snuggle, tiny arms would always find your neck to wrap themselves around.

But sometimes, you did mind. You’d think of Alfie a couple of years older without the capability of sleeping on his own and you’d try your best to convince Joe to let Alfie get used to the routine of being put to bed and sleeping in his own bedroom.

It also really didn’t help that you’d totally underestimated the amount of sleep your body clearly needed to function properly, and for nearly a year, you’d maybe gotten it… twice?

Every night, for months, you’d be disturbed in your sleep and be forced into action.

It was things like Alfie crying, Alfie slapping you awake accidentally, Alfie climbing on top of you in his sleep in a bid to be closer to you, somehow never closer to Joe, it was always you that required midnight climbing upon.

Or they were other things, like Joe waking you up, asking you where you’d left the bottle, which you would always leave in its spot, but Joe had just not registered it there even when he’d looked right at it, because Joe was tired too.

You loved Alfie, and you loved Joe. So much.

But you’d be so very envious of Joe when he got to go on trips for his job. Just, get out of the routine of it all for a few days.

Sure, he’d be so busy, he’d barely have time to himself, but still, you could just feel envy eat away at you when he’d be packing an overnight bag.

Again. You didn’t want to sound like a bad mother, so you’d never admit it to anyone, but you longed for a night away in a hotel, just so you could get 10 consecutive hours of pure blissful sleep.

When you turned off the hoover after getting most of the store front done, you could hear Joe’s footsteps coming down the stairs. You looked around and felt happy enough with the floors, but the displays were messy still, and the counter had so much random shit on it, you didn’t really know where to begin.

You heard the kettle go on in the breakroom, and shortly after, Joe appeared and saw you stood in the middle of the store, both hands pressed against your cheeks and your eyes found each other.

“There’s too much,” you said, clearly overwhelmed, trying to numb yourself enough to be able to deal with all of it.

“There’s three things,” Joe reassured, placing the baby monitor he’d been holding on the counter and coming in to hug you.

“There’s you and me, there’s Alfie, and there’s the bookstore.” Joe tried his best to remind you of his priorities, making the huge mountain of work you couldn’t see around slightly translucent in the moment.

“It’s just three things,” he tucked you under his chin and rested his head on top of yours.

Joe was wrong, though. It was more than three things; there were shelves, displays, the counter, the till that needed doing still, and then also the entirety of the breakroom, and you hadn’t even thought about what else laid in wait for you upstairs, in the apartment.

But you appreciated Joe trying to make it easier for you, even if it didn’t really help.

Your body ached as Joe squeezed you tighter before letting go when he heard the kettle boil, and it only reminded you more of how your body felt like it had aged 10 years over the past 12 months.

Joe jogged on over to the breakroom, to make tea no doubt, and you knew that what you needed to do, was get started on a task.

You looked over at the counter and were interrupted by the baby monitor springing to life. It was just soft mumbling from Alfie’s tiny voice, nothing that needed checking on, but it reminded you only more of the responsibilities and the weight of them on your shoulders.

When Joe walked back in with two steaming mugs of tea, he found you still stood in the same spot, but now on the verge of crying.

“Come on,” Joe nodded his head towards the armchairs in the window. “Let’s sit.”

You obliged, even if it was just because Joe took charge. He could’ve said “Do the till first,” and you would’ve just as easily done that, you thought.

But letting yourself fall back into an armchair and accepting the hot mug of tea Joe held out for you felt much nicer than doing actual work, obviously.

Joe sat down opposite you, took a careful sip of his tea, decided it was too hot to drink, and placed it down on the little side table before reaching for one of your legs.

“Did Alfie go down easily?” you asked, blowing into your mug, letting Joe take off your shoes one by one. 

“Ssh, no baby talk,” Joe shushed you. You used the no-baby-talk-rule very sparingly, only when one of you would realise that all of your recent conversations had exclusively revolved around Alfie. Or, when you’d have friends over that didn’t have children – you never wanted to become the couple that could speak of nothing else but your child, even though there were always so many things to talk about, things to discuss, things to ask each other.

But Joe called it now. 

No baby talk.

You looked at him for a second over your mug.

“He went down fine,” Joe quickly said, smiling, knowing it’d drive you crazy if he’d just let your question dangle in between you without an answer.

When your second shoe was off, you were about to pull your leg back to pull both up onto the chair, but Joe didn’t let you. Instead, he held onto your foot, sat back in his own chair comfortably and started kneading. You frowned and let your head fall to the side, relaxing. That felt nice.

“Don’t,” you started, but you made yourself laugh. “Don’t smell your hands after, my feet can’t smell great after today,” and without even the slightest of hesitations, Joe bent over in the chair slightly to press his nose onto your sock.

“They’re fine,” he lied. You knew they weren’t, but Joe was sweet and Joe didn’t want to say the wrong thing and make you cry, and that in and of itself made your eyebrows pinch together.

“Ew, no, you’re right, they stink,” Joe tried to save the situation, but it was too late, because trying to make you laugh only made you love him more, and you sobbed through a smile.

You felt delirious, laughing and crying at the same time, whilst Joe kept massaging your foot with firm fingers, eyebrows scrunched up as he looked at you a little worried.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” it almost made you feel like you were in therapy.

You shrugged through tears. You thought Joe knew what was wrong.

“Sometimes I don’t think I can do it,”

“So then don’t,”

You scoffed at Joe as you used the backs of your hands to dry your cheeks, quick to erase any sign of them in true mum-fashion.

Obviously, Joe’s suggestion wasn’t an option.

“Don’t open the store tomorrow,” you knew Joe meant well, but it felt like a challenge, and you didn’t appreciate it.

You thought Joe knew what you were thinking, so you refrained from answering. 

“You know financially you don’t have to,”

Of course, you knew that.

If this had been about the money, you’d never ever taken over the store in the first place. It was never about money. It was about the books, and about your family - your granddad.

It was about the accomplishment and about the independence; all of it mattered, and it mattered to your customers too, and so you’d vowed that having Alfie wouldn’t change much.

The fact that Joe was raking in deal after deal was nice, but your store was still your store, with or without Joe’s financial support. 

“And then where will it end? Shutting the whole place down eventually?” you put your mug down too forcefully.

Joe groaned at your doom-thinking, now letting your foot go and leaning over to grab the sides of your armchair, like he’d done so many times before, pulling it forward to close the distance between you. 

“That’s quite the leap,” he said, reaching to cup your face and wiping his thumbs over tear marks you hadn’t yet wiped away yourself.

“I promise you the world won’t end if you don’t open the store tomorrow,” Joe cooed with his head slightly tilted.

It felt impossible to explain how every fibre of your being disagreed with Joe, even though logically you knew he was right, you didn’t feel he was right.

You couldn’t not open tomorrow.

Joe didn’t get it, and you thought he must have forgotten.

You looked around, suddenly feeling the rush of work in your body and feeling the ticking of time in your brain. Your hands itched to tidy a display. But Joe saw, and used his hands on your face to pull you in for a kiss.

You let him, but made sure to keep it quick pecks.

“You cured me, I think I can do it,” you lied, patting Joe on the outside of his thighs and getting up.

Joe reached for your arm to grab, and when you looked at him, at your Joey with his big brown pleading eyes, he made you frown.

“I can do it,” you repeated, only frustrating Joe more.

“You’re going to work yourself into the ground one day,”

It was a comment you could’ve taken as a compliment. It meant you had great work ethic. A passion for your job. A strong character.

But Joe didn’t mean it as a compliment. He meant it as a warning.

“I’m fine,” you said, now busy straightening books, counting the stacks, rearranging as you went.

“All right, you’re fine,” Joe scoffed, obviously not buying it and now getting up himself, leaving the mugs of tea forgotten.

“I’m not going to be walking in on you crying in the store every night, just for you to tell me that you’re fine whilst completely ignoring me,” Joe walked around the counter and started piling everything he knew shouldn’t be on there.

He was annoyed that you’d started working, and that you clearly wanted to open up shop tomorrow, but he’d still help you. Joe wasn’t awful.

“I’m not ignoring you,” you said, rushing over to take over whatever Joe was doing, afraid he’d do something wrong with the potential of you misplacing or losing something important.

Joe only grew more irritated from it.

“There just things to get done.” You explained, realising Joe had done exactly what he needed to do to get you in gear to get the bookstore ready for another day.

But he wasn’t happy about it.

“There’s three things,” Joe said, exhaling a quick breath loudly through his nostrils with eyes closed in annoyance.

“Bookstore’s one of them,” you were quick to argue, eyes going over every single item that you categorized into separate piles on the counter.

Joe hated that your full attention wasn’t with him.

“Exactly. Just one. A third of your time. A third.”

Joe spoke so sternly, it made you stop what you were doing to look at him.

You scanned his face for a hint of soft love, maybe a little left over worry from earlier, but you couldn’t find any.

“Joe, I…” you let your eyes scan the room before they wandered up the shelves and around.

The bookstore was your life. Joe had always understood. He’d made himself part of it. Why was it suddenly a problem?

Why today?

Before either one of you could say anything, the baby monitor in front of you beeped, prompting both of you to look at it, and you heard the quiet cries from Alfie that slowly became louder.

“Another third,” Joe said, barely moving to look at you, his eyes doing the most.

You didn’t know what to say, how to respond to that. Instead, you let your eyes dartle between the baby monitor and the work in your hands, not moving, but also not knowing what to do as Alfie’s cries grew steadily in volume.

“No, that’s okay, I’ll go,” Joe said it in the most passive aggressive manner you’d ever heard him speak to you as he stepped backwards, away from the counter as he looked at you.

Then he brought a finger to his chest, poked it twice and said, “A third.” before turning and leaving to go check on your 10 month old son.

Joe’d left you speechless. And angry. And sad.

You already were so tired, and now he’s just insinuated that you weren’t making enough time for Alfie and for him? For Joe? The guy who went off to film on location for weeks? Who’d travel to three countries in a week for, and you weren’t exaggerating, parties? And now you were the bad guy because you had had a long hard day at work and still had things to do to be ready for opening up the store tomorrow?

The math wasn’t mathing, and you blinked away angry tears, hating that you felt guilty over staying down in the bookstore to do your job.

You sniffed loudly, watery eyes obstructing your vision that you wiped away angrily, annoyed grunts leaving you when you heard Joe walk into Alfie’s room on the monitor.

“Shhh, it’s okay, Alfie,” Joe’s voice sounded crackly through the tiny speakers. It was followed by footsteps, soft rustling, Alfie’s cries dying out, and then soft shushing from Joe. You knew Joe had picked Alfie up and was now swaying him in his arms, pressed tightly against his body.

“Come on, little man,” Joe then whispered, followed by soft kissing sounds, and you heard footsteps leaving Alfie’s bedroom.

You knew Joe was taking Alfie over to your bed, which meant a couple of things.

One, your crying picked up, which you didn’t like.

Two, Joe wouldn’t be coming back down to help out, which would mean it was going to take you longer. Not ideal after the whole “three things” schpiel Joe just gave you.

And three, you’d have Alfie in the bed with you which almost guaranteed you wouldn’t get the good night of sleep that you yearned for so badly.

You knew then that Joe’d forgotten.

Joe would’ve never talked to you the way he had tonight if he hadn’t forgotten.

It was just before midnight when you threw the last few toys into a basket in the corner of the breakroom. You sighed loudly and checked the time.

The breakroom was tidy and clean, and you walked into the front to give that a last look over too.

The armchair that Joe had pulled forward was the one thing still out of place, and when you used your knees to push it back into its original spot, you checked the time again, and saw it was just three more minutes.

So, you sat down in your granddad’s old armchair, and you waited.

For some reason, you needed to be down in the store for it. 

You let your eyes drift up the shelves and saw the one book you’d never sell, still in its spot, right where it belonged. You’d already cried so much tonight, for several reasons and several feelings, but grief hadn’t been one of them yet, so these tears felt different.

You pulled up your knees in a bid to comfort yourself, which worked a little, and snuggled up into the plush chair.

With hot tears in your eyes, you tried to relax as you watched the clock pass midnight.

It was now officially five years ago that your grandfather had passed away.

You let your mind overtake itself with memories, closing your eyes with trembling lips to visualise him as clearly as you could, trying to remember the sound of his voice, his laughter, his proud eyes and the wisdom he’d speak.

You could really use some of his wise words right now. 

With your heart full of ache and nostalgia, you knew that Joe was right. But just for now, it didn’t matter that he was.

Just for now, you allowed the bookstore to be all three of your thirds.

Just for now, it was just you and your granddad down in the store, and you envisioned him telling you to keep the store closed the next day, and you silently promised him through tears that you would.

You let sleep eventually overtake you, and dozed off in the armchair where you, and you didn’t mean for this to happen at all, accidentally got the best night’s sleep you’d had in weeks.

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Alfie's age: nearly 2!

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“Goooood morning!” your voice comically singsonged when you heard the door open.

You swung around playfully with Alfie giggling in your arms, limp like a rag doll, hanging upside down, facing out to greet Anne who had just walked in through the door.

“Good morning, good morning, good morning,” you jiggled Alfie in your arms, hopping towards Anne with every good morning you gave her. You were used to her at least giving somewhat of a friendly face to Alfie, but Anne looked extra bad-tempered this morning. 

“I am meant to talk some sense into you today,” Anne said, revealing she’d ran into Joe on her way in.

Your face dropped immediately and you bent over to let Alfie’s feet touch the ground. You tickled his sides with grabby hands, making him squeal and run, filling the store with joyful screaming.

“Where did you see him?” you tried not to shift the tone of your voice too drastically for Alfie’s sake - he was still in a giddy, excited mood.

“Bakery,” Anne said, holding up a small paper bag to prove it.

“What’s the fight about this time?” Anne walked into the breakroom to hang her coat, Alfie and his bouncing curls hot on her tail. 

“We’re not fighting. He wants…” you squeezed your eyes shut for a second. “He wants us to tag along with him for three, maybe four months, if not longer,” you revealed. 

“Mmmh, Joe sure wants a lot of things,” Anne commented from the back. You agreed, but felt the sting of her words, knowing that it meant you probably revealed a bit too much to her over the past couple of weeks. 

Joe wanted to buy a house and move away from above the bookstore, like your grandparents had done too when they’d had their daughter, your mother, and they felt like they were outgrowing the apartment.

You, however, felt fine up there and felt there was enough room for the three of you, feeling no urge to get out of there any time soon. Joe’d been dropping silent hints for a while, and you’d picked up on them, but had pretended you hadn’t. Joe was away for work a lot, and the moments that he was home, you didn’t want to talk about any of that stuff. You just wanted to enjoy your time together. 

You wanted Joe to walk in with baked goods and for you to kiss behind the counter. You wanted Joe to walk into the apartment just before you’d finished dinner and hug you in the kitchen, complimenting you on how good it all smelled. You wanted Joe to take showers with Alfie with the door open so you could hear them sing silly made up songs about you.

The way Joe had you swooning out in the hallway when he got Alfie to babble along to The Temptations ‘My Girl’, but having switched the lyrics to 'Mama’ was really something else. Alfie’s little voice repeating after Joe as he sang, “What can make me feel this way? Mama, mama, mama… talking about, mama,” had made your heart swell to a new capacity you weren’t aware your chest could really handle.

You wanted Joe to have enough time off to just hang around in the store for hours and then go pick Alfie up from nursery and take the long route home through the park so they could see the ducks. 

You didn’t want Joe to go abroad for months for his job. You didn’t want Joe walking in late, after Alfie had already been put to bed, and he’d sneak into his bedroom just to have a look, often waking him up in the process. You didn’t want Joe to want to leave the apartment above the bookstore, and you also definitely didn’t want to fight over it. 

Last night, Joe’d received his schedule, and as the two of you were talking through it sat at the dinner table, Joe had suddenly said, “Come with me.”

You’d just looked at him funny. 

“I’m serious, come with me. I don’t want to miss you for so long.” Joe’s hands had found your thighs to hold onto. You looked at his hands and then back up at him. 

“Come with me.” he pleaded, and it was almost heartbreaking how much want shone from Joe’s eyes.

And you understood, because you also didn’t want to spend months communicating through texts, phone calls and FaceTime.

You didn’t want to see Joe’s sad eyes when you’d flip the camera to let him see Alfie play.

You didn’t want Alfie to hear his dad tell him good night or good morning through a device. 

There were a lot of things Joe wanted, and there were a lot of things you didn’t want. It had started to become an ongoing issue with the two of you, one you still tried to pretend wasn’t actually there. You were good at ignoring things until they didn’t feel real to you anymore and had put practice into play.

“Joe…” you had started, voice full of hesitation, and Joe’s expression immediately changed. 

“I know, not tonight,” and he’d leant in for a kiss. 

This year, Joe had remembered. He still felt awful about last year and had spent most of that following Sunday trying to make it up to you.

You’d kept your promise and kept the store closed to Joe’s surprise, but when you explained why, he’d felt his heart drop out of his body.

When your mother came to pick up Alfie for the afternoon, you’d spent over an hour sat sideways on the sofa, arms and legs wrapped around each other’s bodies, hugging each other like two puzzle pieces slotted together. There were no more tears left in you then, but you hadn’t been able to stop your emotions from hurting your throat and every time you’d breathed funny, Joe had hugged you tighter and whispered more apologies into your hair.

“You’re my third too,” he had said. “I’m sorry I forgot.”

But what you wanted to tell Joe wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk about it tonight - that wasn’t going to be the next part of your sentence.

You wanted to tell him that you couldn’t come with him. Within a couple of seconds your mind had racked up over a dozen reasons of why you couldn’t leave your home for a prolonged period of time like that.

You could go and visit him, sure. You’d visited Joe on set many times. It was always fun to see him in costume, all up in his element, but also intimidating and frankly, a little boring too.  

“Not tonight,” you smiled when you broke your kiss and followed it with several smaller ones, happy to not delve into something you knew you would disagree on. 

But then the following morning, over breakfast, Joe referenced it again. 

“Maybe your mother could help out,” he said out of the blue. 

“She helps out all the time,” you said, passing another small piece of toast to Alfie who sat in his high chair, happily munching on whatever you and Joe would pass him from the table. 

Your mother took Alfie for two afternoons each week – she wanted to, insisted on it, but the knife cut both ways and it also really helped you out. 

“I meant with the store. It’ll just be for a few weeks if you really think about it.” Joe casually minimized four months into just a couple of weeks and fed himself another bite of scrambled eggs. 

You stared at your own plate with a pained look as you chewed on a small piece of toast meant for Alfie.

You didn’t want to tell Joe no, but you couldn’t tell him yes, so you remained silent which for the time being felt like the safe middle ground.

“Mmh?” Joe encouraged. “Anne wouldn’t mind the extra hours, would she?” 

“Maybe,” was all you could muster. 

Joe let out an annoyed groan, knowing your ‘maybe’ was just a careful way of dismissing his proposal. It made him put his fork down on his plate with a loud clink and sat back in his chair. 

“So, do you want to talk to me?” 

You didn’t. You really didn’t. 

So, you let your eyes do the talking. 

Joe scanned your features a second, then pinched his eyebrows together. 

“Please?” Joe said your name with so much emotion that you could almost feel it scratch at your heart.

But your expression didn’t change. It made Joe grunt with frustration as he picked up his plate to take to the kitchen, indicating that breakfast was over.

You passed Alfie two more small pieces of bread before lifting him from his chair and placing him onto the floor. You then followed Joe and found him leaning on the kitchen counter with his arms out wide, hanging into his shoulders, head dangling down.

You took the moment to hug him from behind, letting your arms snake around his torso and pressing your chest into his back firmly.

“I’m sorry,” you said, because you didn’t know what else to say, and you were sorry.

Joe didn’t move bar his chest heaving as he breathed heavily. 

“I know it’s difficult for you to stray from routine,” Joe started.

He was right, you didn’t do well with change.

“But you’re making it unnecessarily difficult,” you felt Joe move his hands to cover yours. You hoped it would be a sweet moment and that Joe would accept your hug, maybe even spin around to hug you back, but instead he used his hands to remove your arms from his body. 

“I’m telling you I don’t want to leave you, and you’re giving me nothing,” Joe accused and took a step back from you. 

“So then, don’t leave us,” you shrugged, knowing it was empty advice.

Of course Joe was going to go.

It was in his contract, it was his job - one that he loved at that.

It was just that he hadn’t been away from Alfie that long before and Joe was scared that he’d miss out on too much of him. 

Joe knew that you knew that he was going to go away, and that by putting the ball in his court like that, he also knew that if he’d tell you all the reasons why he couldn’t just not go, you’d fire back with all the reasons why you couldn’t just not stay. There was no point in saying things aloud that you both understood, so you both let it linger.

Tiny hands found your calves and you looked down to see Alfie by your feet, gazing up at the two of you with his big round eyes, the same colour as Joe’s. When he reached up his arms and made small whiny noises, you were quick to bend over to pick him up.

“You ready for the day, Alf?” you cooed, but Alfie was quick to reach for his dad, and Joe took him from your arms. It was insane how much Alfie resembled Joe. His features were identical; the curls, the eyes, the nose, the lips… when people would see you with Alfie, they’d always say how much he looked like you, until they’d see Joe. Then suddenly Alfie was fully Joe’s child instead of yours.

Looking at the two of them now, smiling and giggling at each other as Joe tickled Alfie’s neck, guilt washed over you as you witnessed what you’d be depriving both of them of by not simply dropping everything you currently had going and leaving with Joe. 

You hadn’t said another word until Joe had to leave for meetings and you were about to open the store. He’d urged you to at least think about it more, have you reconsider before setting anything in stone, and you had nodded and had accepted his kiss against your forehead that lasted long enough for you to close your eyes to it. 

And then he’d ran into Anne at the bakery where he picked up his lunch to bring over to the offices, and had asked her to talk some sense into you without explaining much more.

Anne walked back into the storefront with Alfie in her arms like she was cradling a baby. Alfie gladly let her; he loved Anne. Something about the way she wouldn’t use a baby voice around him, none of her demeanour adjusted to fit communicating with a small child… it really seemed to work for Alfie.

You could still sometimes see customers think twice about approaching Anne, but not your child. If Anne sat down somewhere, Alfie would be on her within seconds.

“Maybe Joe could also want things for you instead of just for himself,” Anne backed you up, and it made you wince. 

“Joe wants things for us too, don’t you worry,” you said, your voice high-pitched as you pricked fingers into Alfie’s stomach to make him laugh, his giggles were music to your ears.

You didn’t mind Anne openly disliking Joe; it was the charm of their relationship, all they did was make digs at each other. You also honestly thought it was good for Alfie to grow up with people who weren’t impressed with the celebrity of Joe, so you would almost encourage them to bicker.

But pointing fingers at Joe like Anne had done just now felt wrong, the situation a little too fragile to poke fun at. 

“He seemed pretty adamant. Said we’ve got a few weeks to convince you,” 

“We?” 

“Joe and I.” 

Gross. You didn’t like the sound of them teaming up. You knew Joe’s career pushed him to make certain sacrifices, but he didn’t need to make that a part of anyone else’s life, you thought. You audibly sighed and checked the clock. It was time for you to take Alfie over to nursery, leaving Anne to do some in-store tasks on her own before you’d open up at 10. 

“All right.” You sprung into action.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t talk to Joe, and when I get back, we’re not going to talk about this again.” you stated, and Anne nodded before saluting you. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You spent the whole day milling it over in your mind. Pros and cons. More pros. Then more cons. Heavier pros. But then even heavier cons. Every time you concluded in favour of or against Joe’s idea, you’d push yourself away from it, thinking that not settling was going to help. Like it’d be better that way. As if that would keep doors open so that you could have an open conversation about it later with Joe.

Except you were absolutely taking your own bait, because you knew exactly what you wanted. 

You wanted everything to stay how it was, with Joe at home, with you two living above the bookstore, with Alfie’s little giggles beaming joy into his aura, and then past it, making strangers smile by just walking past them. 

It was a selfish wish, but that’s what you wanted.

Joe picked up Alfie from nursery that day, and when you saw them walk past the window from behind the counter, Alfie out of his stroller, just visible from his golden curls peeking over the window ledge, your heartbeat instantly picked up.

You could see Joe talk to Alfie as he sped up past him to reach the door before Alfie did.

“My boys,” you dramatically exclaimed with your hands clutched to your chest when Joe held the door open for Alfie, the empty stroller held behind him blocking half the pavement.

In his little hands Alfie held a hand-picket bouquet of what looked like plain grass that very obviously came from the park. Alfie tried exclaiming, “Flowers!” as he ran over, weeble-wobbling across the store floor, remarkably unstable and over-confident in his physical abilities without a very good idea of when to stop.

You crouched down beside the counter and let Alfie bump into you. You held your hands out for Alfie to inattentively dump all he was holding into your palms, his little squirmy fingers pushing all of it flat, leaving it in a messy pile.

His proud little smile could cure your worst mood any day of the week; it was adorable. 

“For me?” you gasped in surprise at Alfie who took a step back and clasped his little hands together as he bent over a little, the excitement within his little body barely able to keep him still.

“Picked all of it himself,” Joe smiled as he folded the stroller, leaving it upright next to the door before coming over to greet you. 

“Do you want to go see who’s in the back?” you talked to Alfie like you were telling him an exciting secret, knowing he’d be thrilled to see Anne was still in the store. 

“Is that Alfie?” Anne had obviously heard you, and it took Alfie less than a second to scurry off to find her. 

Joe helped you up and grinned at you in a way that made you slightly suspicious before using both hands to push your hair back from your forehead, tilting your head backwards as he did. 

“What’s up with you?” you asked, brows furrowed slightly in confusion, but cheeks tugging your lips into a smile as Joe leant in to kiss you.

A quick kiss, just a second or two, your head still in his hands as he leant back to look at you again, the glint in his eye unwavering.

“What?” you tried again, making Joe chuckle a little before leaning in to kiss you again.

When you tried to pull back, Joe didn’t let you, instead pressing his lips against yours harder. It made you giggle, until you felt Joe work his tongue into your kiss. 

Oh. 

So you were going to just make out in the store for a hot second?

You forgot about the weeds still in your open palms and grabbed onto Joe’s biceps with both hands as you kiss grew in intensity, showering Joe’s jumper in dry greenery.

One of Joe’s hands found your neck and Joe used his fingers to tilt your head upwards more, giving him better access to your mouth as he used his other hand to curl around the small of your back, pressing your bodies together.

You tried to think of the last time you kissed each other like this, noses bumping, hot breaths escaping into each other’s mouths, moans barely able to keep from slipping from your throats.

One of your hands found Joe’s hip and you let two fingers pull at one of his belt loops as you forgot where you were for a second.

“Sometimes, your parents do that, and it’s not okay,” Anne suddenly spoke and you instantly pulled back from each other.

You could see Joe’s flushed lips, shiny and swollen, and you could feel how heat had risen to your cheeks. It was honestly embarrassing.

Anne was stood in the doorway of the breakroom with Alfie in her arms, his little head on her shoulder, but looking at the two of you. 

“It’s just because we’re very happy,” Joe said, wiping left over blades of grass from his outfit and reaching for Alfie to take him from Anne’s hold.

“Why are we happy?” you smiled, eyebrows raised high, still not sure to what you owed that kiss from Joe.

You still felt like you were floating, all giggly, like a 14-year-old who had just learnt her crush liked her back.

Joe raked his fingers through Alfie’s curls as he perched him on his hip and grinned widely. You noticed how tired Alfie looked, his head now on Joe’s shoulder like it had been resting against Anne’s seconds earlier.

“I talked to your mother today,” Joe started, and your smile faltered slightly.

“And guess what?” Joe spoke to Alfie, his voice quickly adjusted to toddler ears.

“Nana’s totally willing to run the store for however long we neeeeed!” Joe softly celebrated, stretching his words and he lifted one of Alfie’s arms, giving cheers, his face beaming with a huge smile.

Anne gulped loudly as she saw the blood drain from your face, your expression instantly falling and all the teenage-joy you’d felt before vanishing into thin air.

Your eyes didn’t leave Joe as they grew cold, and you managed to not let any of the immediate anger burst through, but you felt your fingertips itch, hands ready to break something. 

Anne took a cautious step back, as you managed to furiously utter one word through gritted teeth.

“What?”

...

Alfie's age: 2 years, 8 months

...

“You can never let him know that I’m letting you listen to this,” you said to your mother. You were both sat on your sofa, and she just smiled at you as she sipped her tea.

“No, mum. I’m serious. He’ll actually murder me.” you were serious, but your eyes were comically big and the sight of you gave your mum a hard time not cracking up.

You pressed play on the voicemail Joe had left you about 18 hours earlier, in the middle of the previous night. 

“Hey, it’s me… Joe,” 

It had been 17 hours and 50 minutes since you’d first listened to it. Three o’clock in the morning. For some reason, the ringing of your phone hadn’t awoken you, but the text message you received straight after, alerting you of a new voicemail message, had shocked you from your sleep. 

You saw Joe’d called you, and it took you a second to fully understand the situation. Panic took over; maybe something was wrong with Alfie. 

But, would he not just have called a couple of times if that had been the case? You eyed the time and the date on your phone, and groaned a little. 

Then you received another text. From Joe this time.

“please delete that, sorry x” 

Still in bed, half asleep, head pressed firmly into your pillow, you decided you would listen to the message straight away, ignoring Joe’s request entirely. You loved being pocket-dialed and eavesdropping in on conversations. Receiving a voicemail you were then asked not to listen to? An impossible task.

“Hey, it’s me… Joe,”

The fact that Joe thought he needed to clarify that it was him by mentioning his name felt so stupid, it was almost insulting. 

“I know I’m calling at an awful hour, I thought maybe you’d be awake anyway, but I guess not,” 

Joe’s voice was deep and sleepy, and you could hear that he was trying to stay as quiet as he could. He left long pauses in his speech and dragged out words like he wasn’t really sure of what he was going to say next, and you wondered what had prompted him to call you at three o’clock in the morning. You hadn’t spoken about anything other than the necessary information about Alfie whenever he’d pick him up, or you’d drop him off. You hadn’t talked to each other in ages, especially not since deciding that perhaps, taking a break from each other would be the best thing for you. 

“That’s good,” 

You’d tried. For months, you had really tried. You’d gone to view some houses with Joe, because he really wanted you to move out of the apartment. You’d visited Joe three times on set in the United States, opting not to join him for the full duration of it, but be there at the start, somewhere in the middle, and near the end of filming. In between you had FaceTimed lots, but you’d felt Joe slip away from you. All you’d talk about was Alfie, and your chats became more formal, just exchanging what needed exchanging. You’d decided Mondays the bookstore wouldn’t open, and Sundays, you’d close early. Sometimes you’d even open late on Tuesdays. 

You had tried. You’d really, really tried. 

But you’d been raised on books. Books that always had the time for you. Books that never made you wait for them. Books that would give you quiet time and space away from them for hours if you needed them to, only to be right there, ready and willing when you wanted to pick them up again. Books that wouldn’t assume. Books that didn’t fill blanks themselves, that didn’t go behind your back to fix things, to make things worse in the process. 

Books that you loved so dearly, that had seemingly been the solid foundation of your relationship, but now seemed to have its pages torn - it’s last few chapters ripped out and missing.

“I mean, it’s good that you’re not awake. Dad said that you’d been having trouble sleeping- not that we, we don’t… he doesn’t tell me the things you two talk about. I ask, but… you know what he’s like,” 

There were days where Joe wouldn’t be able to pick Alfie up, and Joe’s dad would stop by to take him off your hands. He’d always make time to ask you how you were; how you were feeling, how you were coping. At first, you’d never reveal much, but as time passed, he’d know how to get small bits of information out of you. He’d commented on how you looked tired the other day, and you’d said you hadn’t been sleeping very well. You knew it was mostly the time of year that got under your skin, and Joe’s dad had suggested for you to maybe talk to Joe about Alfie’s days. Maybe you could arrange for Alfie to be at Joe’s a bit more in these months. “Yea, maybe,” you’d just nodded and smiled, knowing that you couldn’t, but that his dad was only trying to help. You missed Alfie enough as it was when he’d have his days at Joe’s.    

“Today Alfie had a rough day. He kept wanting things and even if I gave them, it just, wouldn’t be right… at one point he just sat in the corner beside the sofa, hidden in the curtains for a while and when I went to check on him after a bit, he was reading! Can you believe that? He had his book, the one with all the animals in, and had it open in his lap like he was actually reading it!” 

Joe just… talked. He talked. You had a hard time coming around to the fact that he had called you, just to talk. On this day. At this time. You imagined him in bed, phone pressed to his ear in the dark, with the urge to just… talk to you, and then just taking the plunge, picking up the phone before he could’ve changed his mind. You felt emotion shoot up your throat as Joe recounted his day with Alfie. 

“Of course, I didn’t disturb him… I know the rules,” 

You could hear Joe’s smile through the phone and you chuckled through a loud sob that surprised you, hot tears sinking into your pillow. Joe was silent for a bit, and you wished you could’ve seen his face to guess his train of thought. 

“I just… God, I was really hoping to catch you. I don’t know what it is… maybe it’s the time of year? But I can’t seem to get you out of my mind, none of it is getting any easier… I miss you. My friends said it would get easier, but I still miss you,” 

Joe missed you. You knew in that moment that you’d be listening to this message again a million more times, just to hear him say that over and over again. He missed you. And you missed Joe too, but you couldn’t help but only miss a very specific version of him. One that he didn’t seem to have any of left within him now.

“ Remember when we found out we were having Alfie? I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life, I just… I couldn’t stop thinking of all the things that could go wrong, you know? But the way you… you just…” 

You allowed yourself to reminisce along with him. Joe had made offhand comments about having children someday a couple of times, so you knew that he’d definitely wanted them at some point. You just hadn’t expected for it to happen so soon. You’d been on antibiotics for a bladder infection and had forgotten that sometimes, antibiotics render contraception useless. At least, that’s what you heard could happen, so that’s what you thought must have happened. The two of you’d had to make quick decisions. Were you going to do this? Yes, you both wanted to. Even with Joe’s career? Yes, you’d figure it out, you’d been so sure of it. Would Joe move into the apartment above the store with you? Yes, he already practically lived there anyway. Joe’s flatmate could easily rack up the rent for the flat himself and was happy he’d get more space in return. Joe’s old bedroom had been converted into an office, and the small office they’d shared before, had become storage. 

Joe’d been lucky that his flatmate had immediately opened his doors for him when he asked if he could move back in. Joe’d said it would probably be temporary, but now, the office had become his full bedroom again, and the storage room was now Alfie’s. 

“You’re one of the strongest people I know. I don’t think I realised it then… witnessing you giving birth, however, Jesus… I don’t- have I ever told you this? It took so long, but the way you powered through the whole thing, one of the nurses afterwards told me how impressed she was because she’d seen other ladies give up having not gone through half of what you had to deal with, and you looked like you could’ve easily gone eight more hours if you had to. You were… I don’t know, chipper? Just, so animated, they all loved you. You were cracking jokes all the way up until you fell asleep afterwards… I couldn’t laugh at a single one of them, I was so sick with nerves…” 

You honestly didn’t remember much from your labour, just that it took ages. You didn’t remember the things your mother kept telling you for encouragement. You didn’t remember Joe’s terrified, worried, ashen complexion. Apparently he’d been clammy the whole time, wiping sweat from your face just as much as from his own. You didn’t remember the nurses laughing at jokes you were making, and you didn’t remember much of the pain either.

You did remember the first sounds Alfie made. And you did remember Joe’s proud tears as he looked at you with Alfie pressed against your chest. You also remembered how you had felt after giving birth - the euphoria of that moment was something you wish you could’ve bottled up for future use, because oh my God, that had been different from anything else you’d ever experienced before. You honestly thought another pregnancy would be worth considering just for that feeling.  

“I’m sorry, I don’t know where this is coming from… I should probably hang up, I’ll see you tomorrow when I drop off Alfie after nursery,” 

Joe seemed suddenly embarrassed. Like he all of the sudden had realised what he was doing. You wondered if maybe he’d been drinking and was now slowly sobering up. But he didn’t hang up the phone. He let another silence linger and you wondered how much longer until voicemail would cut him off. 

“Do you know how much I love you? I know I’m probably not meant to say, but I… I love you. A lot. I just need you to know that.”  

Hearing Joe say those words made you think back to the last time he’d said them to you. It was during the saddest fight you’d ever had with him. It’s when ultimately you’d said that you thought maybe you couldn’t do this with Joe. That maybe being with Joe Quinn wasn’t written in the stars for you, because you found it more and more difficult as Joe’s fame grew. Joe’d sarcastically agreed, furiously so, shouting things like, “Of course you can’t fucking do this with me, what, with all the trouble it’s giving you,”, insinuating that whatever issues you were having with it weren’t real. Like the thing you’d been scared of from the start wasn’t still looming over you so threateningly. Joe had tried to make being with him sound all sorts of simple, and you knew even then that it wouldn’t be, so you’d pretend. You’d pretend it was simple, until you couldn’t anymore. When you had proposed to take an actual break from each other for a little while, Joe had broken down completely. His anger had immediately shifted into sad desperation, and you didn’t remember how long you’d held Joe as he’d violently sobbed and kept repeating that he loved you. 

“I miss you… I can’t look at Alfie without missing you. He gave me a look today that was just- it was exactly your face. The nose scrunch you do, the eye roll. He rolled his eyes at me! This kid, I swear to God… Although, he might’ve g otten the eye roll from Anne, I’m not sure…”

You laughed through your tears as you listened.

“I hope you have an alright day, don’t let this message ruin it. I’m sorry if it does.” 

It sounded like Joe was rounding of his phone call for the second time, but once again, he let a silence fall before carrying on.

“Can I… just, I need to… do you miss me? I’m never sure if… like, do I move on now? I’m not sure how I could, but is that… is that what’s happening right now? Are we just postponing breaking up for real? Because I don’t know how much longer I can be on this break,” 

You swung legs over the edge of your bed, and looked around the dark room, focussing on what you thought might be clothing items you could quickly grab to put on. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that… shit, what am I doing? Sorry, you’re better off deleting this message all together. I… I’ll text you to delete it, sorry, I’ll see you tomorrow,”  

You didn’t waste any time. You hadn’t even fully registered the last couple of things Joe’d said because you were busy, jumping into a pair of jeans and scanning the room to see if you left your shoes in there somewhere. With your shoelaces still undone, you grabbed your coat from its hook, found your keys on the side and scurried your way down the stairs.

You didn’t want to ring Joe’s doorbell, knowing the godawful sound it would echo throughout the apartment. You didn’t need to wake up Alfie, you just needed to see Joe. But it was raining, and you were cold, and Joe wasn’t answering his phone, so you had no other choice. When the door buzzed open, you raced inside, giving for the stairs, taking two at a time, leaving a wet trail from the front door of the building all the way to the front door of Joe’s flat. 

When you rounded the corner, you could see Joe waiting for you in his doorway, squinty eyes, confused and frowning as you pulled into his focus. You were rushing, and when you opened your arms in your last few steps, Joe braced for impact and caught you. You lips crashed onto his as you legs curled around his back. Joe had no other choice but to kiss you back. You hadn’t kissed each other in weeks and you were desperate for his mouth. And from the way Joe so readily accepted all of your bodyweight as you’d practically jumped him, drenched from the rain, you knew he must have felt the same.

“Do I miss you?” your tone was accusing as you spoke into his mouth, grasping onto his shoulders tighter. “Are you fucking serious?” the cold rain had left you freezing. You really felt how cold you were when held up and pressed tightly against Joe’s warm body, and you shivered into your kiss. 

“You listened to the voicemail,” Joe took a few steps into the flat with you in his arms and turned to use his hip to shut the door behind you, lips only leaving yours to whisper.

“Of course I did, you idiot,” you whisper yelled at him, very aware that you were in a flat with two sleeping people and you leant back from your kiss to look at his face. 

“You’re soaked,” Joe whispered, scanning you over like he hadn’t seen or felt it yet. Joe looked like the Joe you’d fallen in love with years ago. Hair fluffy, face scruffy, his T-shirt loosely hung on his frame. You, on the other hand, looked like you’d taken a cold shower with your clothes on. 

“It’s raining,” you let your feet find the floor, but Joe was quick to pull you back into another kiss, his hands on your cheeks, nose nudging around yours slowly and you couldn’t help but melt into it. 

“I shouldn’t have called,” Joe started slowly pushing you backwards, manouvering you to his bedroom, his tongue finding yours to play with.

“You shouldn’t have called,” you lied, and let Joe guide you down the hallway until he closed his bedroom door behind the two of you. 

“And then what?” your mother asked, and if she hadn’t been holding a hot mug of tea, you’d have smacked her with one of your sofa cushions. Like you were going to go into detail with her - absolutely not.

“What do you mean, and then what?” your reddened cheeks surely gave away what had happened next, and your mother knew, but that didn’t mean she didn’t get to make fun of it a little. 

“Well, why isn’t he here?” your mother gestured around the apartment.

“Because… I don’t know, we’re still on a break?” you shrugged. It didn’t make sense, but you guessed that you kind of were, still. One night together hadn’t effectively fixed anything, but it had opened a door you thought maybe you wouldn’t be able to open anymore. 

The next morning you’d showered at Joe’s flat, had a very awkward interaction with Joe’s flatmate before taking a very surprised Alfie over to nursery with Joe. You’d strolled hand in hand for a minute, the sleeves of your coat still wet and cold to the touch, but Joe hadn’t let go until he had to because you’d arrived. You’d then parted ways, and as you’d turned around, Joe’d squeezed your bum and he’d given you a naughty smile when you’d silently scolded him for doing so in public. Then, you’d walked back to the store, and found Anne there, getting the store ready to open at 10. 

At 11, the door to the store had opened and to your surprise, Joe had wandered in. You’d been up high on a ladder when you saw him enter, and your heart stopped for a second when you saw Anne look at him from behind the counter. You half expected him to be there to talk. But then, Joe had politely said hi to Anne and had given her a tight lipped smile, like he wasn’t Joe, but instead a regular, old, bookstore customer. You watched him from above as he let his eyes wander some shelves before picking up a book, taking off his coat and sitting down in an armchair. His armchair.

Anne had looked up at you and frowned as if to say, what the fuck is he doing. You frowned back, just as confused as she was, shaking your head a little as if to say, I don’t fucking know, but you couldn’t help having to hide a smile, pursing your lips in a poor attempt.

“He came into the store to read,” you said to your mother, as if that explained anything at all. “Spent over two hours sat in one of the armchairs, like he used to. When I made him a cup of coffee, he said thank you like we were strangers flirting with each other, it was so stupid,” you grinned.

Your mother eyed you for a second before inhaling sharply. “Sometimes I forget how much you resemble him,” she smiled as she leant forward to place her mug on your coffee table. You knew who she was talking about. You grandfather was the reason she’d come over in the first place, because she thought you’d probably have had a rough day. Instead, you’d surprised her with bright eyes and with elated body language when you had let her in. 

“I do?” you were instantly curious.

“Oh God, are you joking? All of the issues you and Joe seem to be having, it’s like I’m 6 and listening to my own parents bicker over the dinner table,” your mother shook her head as she laughed, and you could see her eyes gloss over slightly as she seemed to sink into her memories.

“Did they… were they okay? In the end?” you asked carefully after a short silence, watching your mother’s face as she nodded whilst staring into space. “Oh yea, they figured it out - it was easy, once they did," 

"How did they do it?" 

Your mother then turned to look at you and was met by her daughter, staring at her with big eyes, filled with big emotions. She gave you a reassuring smile. 

"The books. It was always the books." 

...

Alfie's age: almost 4!

...

You were sat on the hardwood floor when you heard Joe’s heavy steps on the stairs as you looked up at the empty shelves in front of you. You were surrounded by cardboard boxes and sat hidden behind stacks you’d spent hours packing over the days prior. You’d taken a moment to just be there, to just sit and look around. Feel the space for a minute and, you concluded after a little while, it felt really nice, actually. Joe’s heavy steps grew louder until he was stood in the doorway with another big brown cardboard box in his hands, and he looked at you.

“Hey, are you all right?” the worry Joe didn’t show in his expression seeped out through his voice.

Joe bent over to put the box down next to you, grunting as he did, whilst you smiled up at him and nodded.

“This might be the best gift you’ve ever given me,” and you meant it.

The small room had been fitted with custom shelving, all the way up to the ceiling, covering every inch of wall it could, but leaving an insert big enough to fit an armchair into so it wouldn’t take up too much floor space. The shelves had been treated with stain to resemble the bookstore as much as they could, and you loved it. Joe’d even placed a ladder against one of the shelves - ridiculous, the ceilings weren’t that high, but lovely none the less. It was the smallest room in the house, but the best one. Joe tapped his finger on the box he’d just put down.

“This is the last one, I think. Careful, though, it holds extra fragile ones. Precious cargo. Handle with care!” Joe upped the dramatics of his voice with every word he spoke.

You furrowed your brow in confusion and tried to hide your smile. “Fragile books?”

Joe didn’t answer your question but instead pursed his lips into a smile before leaning over and giving you a quick kiss, then turning on his heel, probably on his way to move more boxes into their designated areas. Your new entryway was big, but the number of boxes in there made it difficult to pass through. Not ideal when you also had a three-year-old running about, discovering the place. You watched Joe leave before you opened the box.  

Ah. Yes. 

These were fragile books. They were Joe’s books, most of which he’d bought from the store years ago, and he treasured them to a point where you thought that in a fire, Joe would probably be frantically stacking books into his arms before he’d even think of making it out of the building safely. You moved one from the top to see that Joe had packed the ones you’d given him, too, and it made you smile. They were the ones that fixed it. Well, not really. But they were definitely books that had helped; books that had started fixing things. And all because your best friend had berated you after you let her listen to Joe’s voicemail. Part of it, at least.  

It had been the day after you’d let your mother listen to it when your best friend had come into the store on her lunch break. It was like you’d said so many times; we’ll have lunch together, and your best friend always replied, yes but let’s go somewhere. You never did. It was always her standing at the short side of the counter as you stood behind it. You doing work, her having lunch.  

“Bye, have a nice day!” you called after a customer as they let the door fall closed behind them. You immediately fished your phone from your pocket. 

“Listen to this,” you said, dialing your voicemail. You seemed too happy for a random Wednesday afternoon and your friend had been looking at you with suspicious eyes. She didn’t trust it one bit. You very briefly mentioned something about Joe before people had entered the bookstore and you’d put on your best customer service face to help them find what they needed. Having seen your relationship start and then dwindle from up close, she had strong opinions that she would share every time you didn’t ask for it. Seeing you fall back into a pattern she had hated from the start, she needed extra convincing that you were happy for good reason. 

Upon hearing about this voicemail message, your friend had furrowed her brow as she took a huge bite from her sandwich.  

“Never tell Joe that I’ve let you hear this, but it’s so good, I just have to. You’ll see.” 

You placed your phone on the counter, put it on speaker and let Joe’s voice fill the silence of the store. After listening to about half of it, your friend reached over and hung up, cutting off the message. 

“I shouldn’t listen to that, that seems far too private,” she shook her head as she went in for another bite. 

“No, but– he goes on, you’re missing all the good bits now,” you’d picked up your phone and were already dialing to get back to the message, wanting to let her listen to how Joe had said he missed you and that he loved you, because those were the best things you’d heard him say in ages. But your friend used her free hand to push yours down, stopping you.  

“So he said some shit you wanted to hear, and then you went over to fuck him?” her voice was dripping in judgement. You stared at her blankly for a moment, because, yes, that’s essentially what had happened, but she made it sound like it was the worst thing you’d ever done.  

“Well, I–” you started but were quickly cut off by your friend who wasn’t having it. 

“You heard him says some sappy bullshit in the middle of the night through your phone and now it’s all magically okay again? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s fantastic that you got railed,”   

You snorted at her comment. 

“Lord knows you needed it, but, I don’t think that’s how this shit works… So, he grand-gestured you? Now what?”  

She looked at you, eyebrows raised high up on her face, chin tilted down. You didn’t know what to say. You’d been so excited to fill her in on things, on Joe’s grand gesture, on the handholding as you’d pushed Alfie in his stroller, on the reading in the armchair… You weren’t expecting for your friend to think you were an awful human being and to be lectured for it. 

“What do you mean, now what?”

“What is it you want?”   

The worst question. Because you didn’t have an answer ready. What you wanted was something no one could grant you. Truly, what you wanted was go back in time a few years and have Joe be the customer that would come in and use your store as a library before his frequent visits became public knowledge. And it’s like Joe knew, because why else would he have come in to pretend you didn’t know each other? Why else had he let tension build as he’d given you quick glances and little smirks as you very openly stared at him from behind the counter with heart-shaped pupils and a shit-eating grin? If anyone could point you in the direction of a time machine, you’d choose that. That’s what you wanted. 

“Do you want to form an actual family with him?” 

You thought for two seconds, then gave a tiny nod. Yes, you did want that. The alternative was something you definitely didn’t want, so this was an easy question.  

“It won’t be easy,” your friend warned you, giving you a look you thought maybe your mother should’ve given you the day before instead of her. You didn’t know if you should have felt offended by it or not, but you decided to take her words at face value, knowing they were coming from a friend who cared. When you stayed silent, your friend tutted at you.  

“That’s the whole thing, isn’t it? You thought this would be simple…”  

No, you didn’t. Not exactly. You had known from the start that it wouldn’t be, and that was exactly what you had been afraid of. Because you wanted it to be simple. And Joe had made it sound simple. He had promised you simplicity when you had expressed that you’d been scared. Had you just been dumb enough to accept that as a truth, and were now blaming him for things not being as simple as either of you had imagined? That felt a little unfair, to you and to Joe.  

“I don’t know how to explain to you that relationships are always going to be hard work, regardless of career choices, or children, or… I don’t know, public opinion, business ventures, travel – it’s always going to be difficult, and it’s always going to be pushing you out of all of your comfort zones.” 

“You’re always going to be compromising,” you almost whispered it as you realised there wasn’t going to be a place that you’d arrive at one day, where everything would just be perfect, and you felt awful that this wasn’t something you’d actually realised sooner. There wasn’t going to be a day where you’d be walking outside with Joe and no one would stop you to ask Joe for a picture. There wasn’t going to be a day where girls would stop coming into the store and ogle at Alfie if he was in, telling you how much he looked like his father. There wasn’t going to be a time where your distant family members would stop inviting you to parties you’d never have been invited to before, but you were now, all the time, and you assumed it was only because they’d hope you’d bring Joe. This was a reality with no end in sight, no final station for you to get off the fame-train and live in happily-ever-after-anonymity. It was something you’d known all along, somewhere in the back of your mind, but you’d never really felt it in your bones like you did now.

“You’re always going to be compromising.” she confirmed, echoing your words back at you. 

You thought for a second, then looked at your friend. 

“But our relationship’s simple,” you countered, talking about your friendship with her. You’d been friends forever and still had the same dynamics you’d had for well over 15 years at this point. Your comment made her pout at you condescendingly. “Sweetheart, that’s only because I get to not speak to you for a week if I don’t want to put up with your shit for a little while,”  

“Oh…”  

“Look at where we are now. Do I not always say we need to go somewhere for lunch for once? And you always agree, saying that we should. Yet, here I am again, having another meal deal chicken club sandwich in your shop.” she gestured at what was left of her lunch.

Shit. She was right, and your face flushed with embarrassment. 

You took another minute to think to yourself, glad no customers had come in yet to disturb the conversation. Even though most of the words weren’t things you wanted to hear, so far it had been an incredibly helpful and insightful chat. One you probably should’ve had way sooner, except you probably wouldn’t have accepted it then. 

You shifted on your feet and turned your body to fully face your friend. Time to be vulnerable and ask her for help. Something you definitely had needed to do way sooner. 

“What do I do?”  

Your best friend was surprised by the sudden shift in you. She put the last bit of her sandwich into her mouth, wiped her hands clean and chewed for a second.

“Go for drinks with me, I still have about half an hour and I could down a few gin tonics if I put some effort in,” she spoke with her mouth still full of food.

“About Joe,” you clarified, taking a mental note of needing to go for drinks with your friend soon. Today, if possible. 

“Grand-gesture him back and then commit,” your friend said it so fast, like it was the obvious thing to do. Like it made perfect sense.

“Commit…” you said it slowly as you let the word sink into your mind. “Commit to…?” you questioningly narrowed your eyes at your friend for a second, and she absolutely wasn’t having it.  

“Oh my God, you’re such a stupid bitch. To Joe! To your family! To your life together, as a unit! Like, actually communicate! Talk! Share your feelings! Stop sticking your nose into a book every time you dare to fucking feel something!”   

She made you laugh. Okay, you gathered as much and understood her loud and clear. You let your eyes wander around the store, going up and down shelves until eventually they landed on what used to be Joe’s ledge. His little ledge where he’d keep books that he wasn’t finished reading yet before you’d started dating and he used to use the store as his own personal library. Now, it was just a ledge. A place where Anne would sometimes leave her phone or mug of coffee that she’d forget about and let grow cold.  

How could you pull a grand gesture like Joe had done? Leave him a voicemail message in the middle of the night? No. Joe would answer his phone, and it wouldn’t bear the same weight. 

“Joe came in to read yesterday…” you said, your brain going full speed, trying to come up with something.  

“Great, so you’re back in primary school?” your friend was just as annoyed, if not more so now, with the two of you as she had been when that’s what all you guys were; a guy reading in a bookstore, and its owner. 

Suddenly: an idea. 

You stepped around the counter and took a ladder to place at a shelf you needed something from. It took you no time to find it, and you were quick to climb down and place the book you’d grabbed on the ledge.   

Stuff you should know, by Josh Clark. 

You thought for a second, let your eye fall on one of the display tables and were quick to find the next book you were after. 

I love you to the moon and back, from Little Tiger Press. 

Your best friend watched you dart around the store for a good five minutes as the pile on the ledge grew. Halfway through, she saw what you were doing and rolled her eyes.  

“What the fuck are you doing?” she asked, searching for confirmation as you were crouched down in a corner, head cocked to the side to be able to read the spines. 

“It’s the books!” you explained erratically, like you’d figured life out itself. 

“It’s always the fucking books.” your friend replied, shaking her head at you with a smile. 

Tell me Three Things, by Julie Buxbaum.  

Me You Us, by Lisa Currie 

In Case You Missed It, by Lindsey Kelk

You’re The One That I Want, by Giovanna Fletcher

Take Me With You When You Go, by David Levithan 

With You Forever, by Chloe Liese 

Under One Roof, by Ali Hazelwood 

PS I Love You, by Cecelia Ahern  

They were all books Joe would never read. But he didn’t need to. He’d have to read the titles, and that would be enough. When you thought the assortment of books was big enough, and the titles said all that needed saying, you rushed into the breakroom and came back out slinging your arms into your coat.

“Come on,” you said to your friend as you reached for your keys in your pocket and turned the sign on the back of the door to read closed.

“Where are we going?” she asked, but followed your example. 

“I’m going to see how much gin you can neck before you have to be back in the office.”

Your friend stared at you for a second, entirely caught off guard. It was the middle of the day. You didn’t have Anne in, so you’d actually have to close the store for a bit - something you always said you couldn’t do, especially not at lunch time, because it’s when most customers would stop by. Your friend was waiting for the moment for you to tell her you were joking. But you weren’t.

“Come on, let’s go,” you beckoned, already out the door, holding it open for your friend to follow you.

“Yea, all right,” she snapped out of it, smiled, hurriedly grabbed all her things and followed you out the store. 

When Joe had found the books on the ledge, you’d been stood up on a ladder and got to see his reaction from above. It took him a little while to figure it out. When he did, he turned to look up at you, and held up Take Me With You When You Go, by David Levithan with questioning eyes. You just smiled and nodded. Then he turned back, picked up Under One Roof, by Ali Hazelwood and showed you that one too. You could help but laugh, and had nodded at him again. Joe’d turned back to the books again, and had carefully eyed all of them, placing them back in the order he found them, and then moved to pick up a ladder that he placed down next to you. Then he’d climbed up to meet you up near the ceiling and you shared the most dangerous, exhilarating kiss you’d ever shared before.

Joe’s books were the first books that found a new home on the new shelves in the new room in the new house. Joe kept calling it your library, but you kept switching between study, reading room and just ‘the shelves’. But to Alfie you’d already referenced to it as a library, so you were sure that was going to be the name to stick. 

“Babe?” you heard Joe call for you from downstairs. “Remind me what time we need to leave again?”

You checked the time and found it was much later than you’d realised.

“Oh, shit, um… now?” you grimaced as you called back down. 

“Come on, Alf, shoes on!” you heard Joe call out to Alfie, followed by his little feet pitter-pattering across the floorboards. You took a last look around the shelves before you left the room. There was so much work still to do, so many boxes still to unpack, but your heart was full and you felt content. 

You’d cried for a full day when you’d moved out of the apartment, and you had felt so stupid for it too. But when Joe’d found you cursing at yourself in the kitchen, away from the movers and everyone else helping for a second, with a folded piece of kitchen roll pressed to your undereyes, he’d taken a minute to hug you. 

“It’s so stupid, they are just… rooms,” you’d said, annoyed that material things seemed to have such an immense impact on you. 

“They’re not just rooms, you know they’re not.” Joe’d comforted you, and you’d immediately accepted that he was right and they weren’t just rooms. They were the rooms that your grandfather had let you fix up all by yourself at 19. They were the rooms that you’d then lived in for years when your grandfather still owned the store, and you’d just needed to wander down the stairs to hang out with him if you wanted. They were the rooms in which your grandfather had officially passed the store onto you, and it had made your mother cry and your granddad had called her a silly cow for it.

So you sniffled into Joe’s shirt in the kitchen, and tried to pull yourself together. When you thought you were ready and wanted to pull back from your hug, Joe wouldn’t let you. “Little longer,” he’d whispered, and then you’d embraced each other tightly, strong limbs around tensed backs, until a mover had a question about some furniture pieces. 

Moving had been an emotionally draining process, and you’d held on to all the upsides for dear life. You’d be moving into a gorgeous town house, not even that far from the store. You’d have so much more space and, to be honest, it was probably healthy for you to not live at your job. Being there 24/7 had turned you into a person you honestly didn’t even really like yourself anymore. And moving out didn’t mean that the apartment would turn back into the useless storage space it had been before. 

Because as you’d been moving your boxes of stuff out of the place, Anne had been moving her boxes of stuff in to the place.

And tonight, she’d invited all of you over for dinner. To set the move in stone. To invite you into her apartment with all of her things in. To really make it real. Scary? Yes. Needed and necessary? Absolutely.

When you made your way out of your new house, you realised it was the first time you were going to walk from there over to the bookstore as a family together. It was maybe a 15 minute walk if you were slow, and you had Alfie with you, so you knew you would be. Alfie was sat in his stroller, but kept asking to walk, and so when you passed the bakery, Joe stopped and opened the straps for Alfie to get onto his feet. It was nearing the end of the day, and the bakery seemed empty and you were sure it was just about to close.

“Joe, we’re already late,” you slumped your shoulders when you saw Joe step towards the bakery’s door, holding it open for Alfie to enter.

“We’ll just be a second,” Joe smiled and you sighed, but didn’t stop them. From outside on the pavement, you saw Joe pick up Alfie so he could see better before talking to one of the counter staff. 

After a few minutes they stepped back out and Joe was holding a croissant. Just one, singular croissant. 

“Do you want a little bite?” Joe held the pastry out to Alfie, but Alfie shook his head, already on his way down the pavement on his own, happy for the independence he’d been granted before you’d strap him back into his stroller again. Then Joe took a big bite from it himself before giving the rest of it to you. 

“We’re literally just about to have dinner,” you said, giving him a look, but Joe had you giggling and swooning when he grabbed your face for croissant-flavoured kisses.

“Do we ring the doorbell now?” you weren’t sure.

“We literally have the key,” Joe laughed.

“Yea but, the store’s closed, and we're visitors now…" 

It was very strange to not be sure how you would enter your own store. When you rounded the corner, you could see the illumination coming from the windows and before you could properly see it, you knew Anne had left on the Christmas lights that you’d put up earlier that day. When you got closer, you could see Anne was sat in one of the armchairs, waiting for you. But then, when Alfie was already trying to open the door, you could see someone else in the store too, sat in the armchair opposite Anne. 

When you walked in, you were met with two girls in their early twenties, looking very relaxed and happy to say hi to Alfie. One of them you knew so very well. Anne, your employee, the unapproachable girl who’d never smile if she didn’t need to, with death-stares that could honestly murder someone if they stared at them long enough. The other girl was all smiles, colourful clothes with a sunny upbeat disposition and the friendliest face you’d ever seen.

"Hi,” Joe said, sticking out his hand for her to to shake, which she instantly did, her smile beaming at the both of you. “I’m Joe," 

"Daisy,” she felt like the human equivalent of a golden retriever puppy. 

You also introduced yourself, and then looked at Anne who now had Alfie in her lap, but her face still as expressionless as ever; the human equivalent of a distant angry cat. 

“My girlfriend,” Anne almost seemed grumpy at having to explain who Daisy was to her, and it made Daisy giggle. 

Joe and you shared a look, trying to hide your big, shocked eyes as to not be rude. This was a surprise to say the least. 

“Are you hungry Alfie? Anne made us all dinner,” Daisy cooed, and Alfie quickly nodded, climbing off of Anne’s lap and leaping forward to grab Daisy’s hand who was about to lead him up the stairs. Joe gave you funny eyes and a scrunch of his nose before following them.

Away from Daisy’s eyes and ears, you shot Anne a confused and shocked look.

“Excuse me, you have a girlfriend?” you hissed. “Why did I not know about this?”

Anne frowned at you. “You’ve met her three times.”

You stopped Anne who was about to follow Joe into the breakroom.

“No I haven’t," 

"You were there when we met. You’ve literally sold her books before,”

You scanned Anne’s face to see the slightest hint of humour, but even when Anne was in a good mood, humour was hard to detect. Anne was being serious. Had Anne been having her own bookstore romance under your nose and had you been too thick to even have noticed it? Too busy with your own life to have even caught a glimpse of what had been happening right in front of you?

Apparently so. 

Dinner was lovely. Anne was a lovely cook. Daisy was lovely. Anne had lovely taste in that department too. The way they complimented each other came as a huge surprise to you; from the look of them, you’d have never paired them up. Also because you weren’t aware of Anne’s sexuality; not that you needed to have been, of course. 

When Joe had complimented Daisy on her colourful outfit, Daisy had smiled at Anne and said that she’d put it on because it was Anne’s favourite, because Anne liked it a lot when she matched her scrunchies with her dress. This prompted all of you to look at Anne, whose cheeks immediately flushed as she gave you a very defensive, “What? Does she not look nice?”. You’d all quickly agreed, because, yes, Daisy did look lovely. 

When after dinner Alfie started twirling his curls with his little fingers as he laid out on Anne’s sofa, you knew he was growing tired and it’d soon be time to leave and head home. But then Daisy made a comment about your nail polish, and the conversation took a turn; you were now talking about girly things, and Joe listened for half a minute as you spoke about the best nail salons and hair dressers in the neighbourhood before excusing himself.

“I’ll see you girls later, Daisy, lovely to meet you. Anne, dinner was gorgeous. I’ll take Alfie downstairs, see you in a minute?” Joe kissed you on the top of the head before grabbing Alfie and making his way down into the store. The store, which was your territory still. Not like up in the apartment, where you truly felt like guests in someone else’s home now, even though just a week ago, this space had still felt the most ’you’ a space had ever felt to you before. 

You spent 15, maybe 20 more minutes chatting, before you also thanked Anne for dinner and said goodbye to Daisy. Closing the door behind you, now stood on the dark landing above the stairs, you took a deep breath.

Everything was different now. And honestly? It was fine. More than fine, actually. It was good. 

When you stepped into the breakroom, you could hear Joe’s voice. From the rhythm of his speech, you could hear that he was reading to Alfie. There was a full display of children’s books, so it didn’t surprise you one bit that he had taken the opportunity to read Alfie a bedtime story, especially since you’d taken quite a long time to follow him down. But when you stepped into the store, your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of them, and you froze. You just stood there for a second and stared at the perfect picture in front of you. If Joe had noticed you, he hadn’t shown it, as he had calmly kept reading to Alfie. 

Joe was sat in his armchair with Alfie on his lap. Alfie was quite literally about to fall asleep, eyes nearly closed, soft rosy cheeks, fingers all twirled up in his curls and completely relaxed against his father’s chest. On Alfie’s lap, Joe held a big, brown, leather bound book that he was reading from.

The one book you’d never sell. 

You realised you’d never read it to Alfie ever before. It had just been up there, on the shelf, in its spot, where you’d always kept it and where it was supposed to be. You’d never thought to take it down, and you silently wondered why. Was it something too painful? Too precious to you? That book held so much of your childhood that you could practically feel the weight of it just by looking at it up high on the shelf. Maybe that was why you’d not touched it in years? When you let Joe’s words register, tears sprung into your eyes as you realised which specific story he was reading Alfie. 

The Moon Ribbon. 

You were a puddle of a person, leaning against the wall, watching your baby slowly drift into sweet dreams to the words of the story your grandfather would read you all the time. You had tears streaming down your face and tried to silent your sobs as much as you could, barely breathing as you did. Joe spotted you, smiled softly, and then kept reading. Joe knew Alfie was falling asleep on him and his voice lowered in volume because of it, but he kept reading, because he knew now that you were listening too. 

It had been literal seconds ago that, at the top of the stairs, you’d thought to yourself that everything had changed and was different now. But looking at Joe in the bookstore, sat in the armchair that used to be your grandfather’s but had over the years really turned into his armchair, illuminated by the soft yellow light from the Christmas lights strung up high all across the ceiling, you realised that actually, nothing had changed and nothing was different now.

Joe was still Joe. Your bookstore was still your bookstore. And there Joe still was, sat in the spot where you had always wanted him the most, reading the most valuable book your store’s shelves harboured, to the sweetest little boy you knew. 

Joe finished the story and slowly closed the book. He looked down to see Alfie fast asleep, and carefully carried him over to his stroller. Then he turned to you, and before Joe could even say anything, you croaked “Two things.” and held up two fingers, in case your voice faltered too much for Joe to understand. 

“Two things?” Joe asked, his eyebrows scrunching together as he stepped closer and got a better look at your tear-stained cheeks.

“There’s only two things,” you spoke on an exhale, which helped you get the words out and Joe’s hands found your waist. 

“Yea?” Joe smiled down at you, chin tucked into his neck.

“It’s Alfie, and you,” you said, poking a finger into his chest before you let him lean in and kiss you on the temple. “S'just two things,” you said, pushing your forehead into the side of Joe’s face as he hugged you close. 

“Two things,” Joe repeated before leaning back a little to be able to press sweet soft kisses to your mouth. And it was like your mother had said; once they figured it out, it was easy.

“Two things.”