The Last Light in the Bookshop

At closing time, Mara found a man waiting under the bookshop awning. He held a green hardback inside his coat as carefully as if it were a sleeping bird.

‘I owe you a fine,’ he said.

The stamp inside the cover belonged to her father. Twenty years had passed since he had lent books from a shelf behind the counter, and five since Mara had taken over the shop. She recognized the handwriting before she recognized the man.

Daniel had once lived above the bakery. Now there was silver at his temples and a small repair shop across the square. He said he had seen her light and finally found the courage to return the book.

Rain washed the windows while they talked about the town they remembered and the people they had become. Mara made tea in the chipped blue pot. Daniel repaired the loose hinge on the door without being asked.

Between the final pages she found a pressed yellow flower. Neither of them claimed to remember putting it there. Both of them smiled.

When the rain stopped, Daniel asked what the fine would be.

‘Coffee,’ Mara said. ‘Somewhere I don’t have to close afterward.’

He looked back from the doorway. ‘Tomorrow?’

She left the last light on until he reached the other side of the square.