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between the stacks


I am not easily distracted, but what a furtive little look you just gave me! Pursed lips suppressing a smile, eyes meeting mine only to glance quickly away and look at what? You do not return to your novel – something fantastical and epic – but instead stare down the rows of books and perhaps even out the window to where there is the merest suggestion of sunshine. You look back at me and perhaps because I too am now being furtive, this time your smile will not be suppressed. I raise my book so that it covers, even if not convincingly, my reddening face. I am relieved that today I have chosen a book that is not glossy with images of heels and handbags, and with a title like “Desperate and Dateless”. But, of course, as my cheeks burn and your smile turns to a smirk, it strikes me that this is implicit anyway. Could it be that you are the protagonist in my story? Or do you, with the cocky angle of your rugged face and the way you assume so much, prefer the term hero?

Find out more about this Hello Sunday excursion.

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