Chapter Text
The rain had been falling in London since Monday, it was Wednesday. Which made it even worse. It wasn’t a spectacularly intense rain. It was the kind of drizzle that persists through the day and stars to form part of the landscape, like the facades of the houses or the black taxis that go slowly in the wet streets of London.
Emily Charlton hated it.
Then again, Emily hated most things.
With a long sigh, she kept rearranging a display of books near the entrance of her bookshop while mentally composing a list of grievances against humanity, at least to her knowledge.
Tourists.
Influencers.
People who bent book spines.
People who asked for discounts in independent bookshops like hers.
People who called novels “content”.
People who wrote in books. For crying out loud, what kind of criminal would do that?.
The bell above the door chimed cheerfully. Emily didn’t look up, too occupied to care.
—If you’re after Harry Potter, it’s at the back. If you’re after the loo, two streets over, if you’re after directions to somewhere that isn’t my shop, Google exists for a bloody reason.
Silence.
Then:
—I’m actually looking for a book. —The voice. That voice. Stopped her cold.
Emily slowly lifted her head. Then immediately wished she hadn’t.
Standing in the doorway was Andrea Sachs. Not just Andrea Sachs. Andrea bloody Sachs. International movie star. Face of approximately every billboard currently polluting London.
For several seconds Emily simply stared. Andrea stared back, she wasn’t the untouchable figure from the posters; she looked… almost normal, apart from being devastatingly beautiful. Neither said anything. Which was unfortunate, because Emily was allegedly the owner of this establishment and therefore responsible for basic human interaction.
Andrea shifted awkwardly beneath her gaze, a faint flush crept across her cheeks. Emily immediately decided that was information she did not need.
—Hi. —Andrea said, offering a tentative smile. Emily blinked. Then blinked again.
—No.
—No? —Andrea frowned, the perfect symmetry of her face fracturing slightly in confusion.
—No. —Emily pointed directly at her—. You cannot be Andrea Sachs.
—Unfortunately for my privacy, I am. —She shrugged, a small twist of her mouth that was more weary than arrogant.
—You’re having a laugh.
Andrea laughed. Actually laughed at that. Openly. Cheerfully. And for some strange reason that was far more alarming than the actually celebrity itself. Because celebrities weren’t supposed to laugh like that. Not genuinely. Not like normal people in a Wednesday morning of all days. Not the polite little chuckle celebrities gave during interviews. Not the carefully rehearsed laugh people used when they knew cameras were watching and other people too.
A real laugh. Warm. Unexpected. The sound filled the tiny bookshop for a moment before fading away.
Emily stared. That wasn’t supposed to happen at all. Movie stars weren’t meant to seem human. The entire point of being a movie star was existing at a comfortable distance from reality. Or so Emily had always thought.
And yet there she was. Standing in front of the history section of a tiny bookstore in London. Laughing like a normal person. It was deeply suspicious.
Andrea seemed to notice the scrutiny, her laughter dying down but the light remaining in her eyes.
—What? —Andrea asked. Emily narrowed her eyes, carefully.
—Nothing.
—That was definitely not nothing. —Andrea said, her head tilting with an almost childlike curiosity.
—I’m assessing the situation.
—The situation? —Andrea asked.
—Yes.
Andrea folded her arms, brows furrowing slightly.
—And what’s the situation?
—You. —Emily gestured vaguely towards her.
—Oh, I'm a situation now? —Andrea smiled, a wide, genuine expression that Emily mentally pleaded to: Please, please stop smiling.
—You are if you’re Andrea Sachs.
Andrea looked genuinely amused at that.
—That seems a little dramatic to be honest.
—A little dramatic? —Emily repeated—. You’re one of the most photographed people on the entire planet.
—Okay, first of all, that’s not true, like at all. —Andrea countered, a small huff escaping her lips.
—It absolutely is.
—It’s really not.
—Last month I saw your face on three separate buses, in the course of like 20 minutes.—Emily pointed at her.
Andrea laughed again, a smaller, more contained sound.
—There’s no way that’s true.
—There were at least three buses.
—Oh my God. —Andrea shook her head in disbelief.
—And one billboard.
— I —
—And a magazine.
—You are really exaggerating. —Andrea insisted, a slight roll of her eyes that was surprisingly endearing.
—And possibly a taxi.
Andrea was smiling again now. The sort of smile that transformed her entire face. Emily immediately decided she disliked it. Just a little bit at least. Mostly because it was alarmingly effective.
The actress glanced around the shop, her eyes taking in the details. The place was small, narrow aisles, tall shelves. Stacks of books occupying spaces books had no business occupying. A slightly crooked display near front window. A hand-painted sign hanging above the register. Nothing remotely glamorous, nothing that belonged in the life of someone like Andrea Sachs. Yet again she seemed oddly comfortable there, letting her gaze linger on a shelf of classics, then a display of new releases, then the old armchair in the corner—the one customers constantly tried to sit in despite the sign that clearly said DO NOT SIT HERE.
—You own this place? —Andrea asked, her voice soft at the edges, a certain warmth behind the question. Emily nodded.
—Unfortunately.
—It seems nice.
—It leaks.
—What? —Andrea blinked, her expression a mix of surprise and concern.
—The roof. —Emily said with the decision of a woman talking about the weather.
—Seriously? —Andrea asked.
—Every winter to be exact.
—Have you fixed it? —Andrea inquired, her hand tracing the spine of a book nearby, another smile tugging the corners of her mouth.
Emily looked offended.
—Of course not.
—Why not?
—Because then i’d have to pay someone.
Andrea stared at her, really stared, as if seeing something unexpected and delightful. Emily stared back. A beat passed. Then Andrea started laughing again, a light, cascading sound.
—Oh wow.
—What?
—Nothing, you're just funny, that's all. —Andrea was visibly struggling not to laugh now, her face bright. Which only made Emily more annoyed. Or at least that’s what she told herself.
—I’m Emily, Emily Charlton. —She extended her hand across the counter waiting.
—Andrea Sachs. —She said, taking Emily’s hand in a firm, surprisingly warm grip, smiling again.
Unfortunately the truth was Emily found herself watching Andrea far too closely, the little lines at the corner of her eyes when she smiled, the way she pushed loose strands of hair behind her ear, the way she seemed completely uninterested in acting like a celebrity. That should have made things easier, instead it somehow made it worse. Because it would have been much simpler if Andrea Sachs had been arrogant. Or rude. Or insufferable. Emily could deal with insufferable things. She practically specialized in it. What she wasn’t prepared for was someone who seemed… so nice. Genuinely nice. It was unsettling.
Andrea eventually glanced down, breaking the eye contact. A faint flush still lingered across her cheeks.
—Right.
Emily crossed her arms.
—Right.
—I did actually come in for a book. —Andrea said, turning back to the shelves, her fingers lightly tapping a few spines.
—Convenient excuse. —Emily decided a long time ago this visit to her bookstore was some kind of escape plan, from who you may ask, she’s still figuring that out.
—What? It’s not an excuse. —Andrea defended herself, spinning back around with a genuine look of protest.
—You’re Andrea Sachs.
—I am. I thought we already established that.
—Which means you’re either hiding from someone or hiding from something.
—What? —Andrea blinked, her brows furrowing.
—Haven’t worked out which one yet actually.
—It’s really not an excuse. I do need a book. —Andrea insisted, a small puff of exasperation.
—Mhm.
Andrea rolled her eyes, but it was a playful gesture, not malicious.
—I’m serious.
—Sure you are, love.
—I am.
—’Course.
Andrea laughed softly in disbelief, shaking her head. Then held up the novel, which she’d been carrying the whole time without Emily noticing.
—Fine. Recommend something.
Emily blinked.
—What?
—A book.
—No.
—Why not?
—Because if you hate it, you'll blame me for it, and think of this bookstore like it is a scam.
—I really won’t. —Andrea promised, her expression serious.
—You absolutely will.
Andrea tilted her head.
—I thought booksellers liked recommending books. —She lifted her hand, touching the books in the display by the register carefully, almost reverently.
—We do.
—But?
Emily looked her up and down.
—But you’re Andrea Sachs.
—Oh my god, we’re back to this again. —Andrea groaned, dropping her hand from the books.
—We’ve been on it the entire time, love.
For a second they simply looked at one another again, then Andrea smiled. And for a reason Emily couldn’t entirely explain, she found herself smiling back. Which was unfortunate. Very unfortunate.
—Okay, —Andrea said, her smile broadening as she held up a copy of Wuthering Heights she had apparently pulled from the shelf at some point—I’m going to buy this.
—Excellent choice. —Emily smiled despite herself, insufferable.
—Have you read it? —Andrea asked, a curious expression on her face.
—No.
—Then how do you know it is an excellent choice?.
—I just know.
Andrea laughed. There it was again. That bloody laugh.
—I hope I see you again, Emily. —The purchase was over, so it was the moment. Emily opened her mouth to produce something witty. Something charming.
Something that didn’t sound completely ridiculous. Unfortunately all she managed was:
—Right.
—Right. —Andrea smiled, one last genuine expression.
Then she left, the bell chiming overhead. The shop fell quiet again.
Emily stared at the door for several seconds. Then looked down at the counter. Then sighed. —Oh, this is going to be a problem.
Unfortunately, Emily already suspected it was far too late to do anything about it.