Page 1 of Charlie Sunshine (Close Proximity #2)

ONE

CHARLIE

I stare over the library counter at the small bespectacled man who is grinning at me, and I sigh. Heavily.

“Mr Flint, we’ve had this conversation before.

You cannot keep putting your name and telephone number in the back of the Mills and Boon large-print books.

” His grin widens, and I shake my head. “The Mills and Boon publishing house was created to bring affordable romance to women all over the world, but I don’t think they ever imagined it would be in this way.

” I attempt to look stern. “If it happens again, I’m going to have to fine you. No more defacing of the library stock.”

He nods at me and winks before taking his library card back and trotting through the library in the direction of the large-print romance section.

Bethany, my senior library assistant, comes to lean against the counter next to me. “He’s like the world’s oldest and smallest sex pest,” she says in a marvelling voice.

I lean my elbows on the counter and stare after him. “He’s not going to take any notice, is he? ”

She laughs. “Nope. You’re too nice for your own good, Charlie.”

I stretch and look at my tiny best friend, whose hair is coloured green this week. We’ve known each other since we were lowly library assistants together. “It’s not my fault that you’re fiercer than a tiger.”

She laughs again and nudges me. “You’re far too nice. They sense that you’re a bloody pushover.”

“I am not,” I say indignantly. “Last week I totally told that bloke off for jamming the photocopier and losing his temper about it.”

“And what happened?”

I sink slightly. “I did all his photocopying for him.”

Her laughter would be too loud for a university library, but this is an old public library in Southwark, so no one turns a hair.

I cast a quick look around to make sure everything is okay and smile.

There might be water stains on the ceiling and a strange smell in the children’s library, but this is my little kingdom, and I love every inch of it passionately.

I need to because it’s an old Carnegie building and, along with the gifts of the beautiful exterior and the parquet flooring throughout, comes a list of DIY jobs as long as my arm and a council that seems determined to only spend a tenner on its upkeep.

I think of the teetering pile of paperwork on my desk upstairs and groan.

When I became a librarian, I had dizzy visions of inspiring readers and working amongst books all day long, my fingers touching authors’ words and handing them down to generations.

I also had a very rosy view of the old Browne book-issue system, picturing myself flicking quickly through the cards and staring over the top of my glasses at people.

The reality is that I don’t wear glasses, the library card system was thankfully replaced with an online version, and I spend so long on paperwork that the only reading inspiration I provide is when I recommend a book to someone on the Tube.

However, I love the job passionately, and I could never do anything else.

I ease back from my thoughts, and a quick check of the clock tells me that it’s break time. “Sue, you’re up,” I call.

“Ooh thanks, Charlie,” the older lady says. “My feet are bloody killing me.”

“Were you out dancing last night? ”

“We certainly were.” She laughs. “The bruises on my feet from my husband will stay with me for the rest of the week. The jive doesn’t make allowances for his size twelves.”

“Was he always a bad dancer?” Bethany asks.

Sue smiles. “Oh yes, but he was gifted with talented moves in other and much better areas. The man’s hips are poetry in motion.”

“I will never look at him the same way again,” I say faintly, and she giggles and moves off towards the back of the library and the door to the staff areas.

I lean more heavily against the counter, enjoying the peace that usually descends at this time of the morning.

The first rush is over, and now the library has an air of quiet bustle.

We’ll pick up again as it gets closer to lunch and people come in to use the computers.

I can feel tiredness tugging at my body, but I refuse to give in and straighten up instead.

“Why didn’t you take the first break?” Bethany asks chidingly.

“Why would I do that?” I pull the stack of books towards me that the little sex pest left behind and grab the Tipp-Ex from the drawer.

“Charlie.” Something in her voice makes me look up. “You look knackered,” she says quietly.

“I’m fine,” I say automatically. “Just a few late nights.”

“Oh really? You would need to have lived the life of Mel Gibson to earn the massive circles under those pretty eyes.” I smile but don’t answer, and she sighs.

“You’re on break next,” she says firmly.

“And you’re going to stay up there. I’m sure you’ve got stuff to do in your office.

Like sleep on the sofa or pass out on the floor. ”

A deep voice comes from the side of us. “That sounds like my day. You didn’t tell me that you’d gone into banking, Charlie.”

I look up and can’t stop the wide grin creeping over my face at the sight of my best and oldest friend. “You’re one letter off.”

He laughs. The happy and unrestrained sound doesn’t fit his appearance. He’s clad in a black pinstriped suit that cost more than I earn in a month. With his tanned face, dark wavy hair, and big white grin, he looks expensive and entirely out of place in here.

He jumps as an old lady pokes him in the back. “You waiting or just taking up space?” she asks querulously .

I bite my lip to hide a smile. “He’s taking up space, Mrs Bishop,” I say in a loud voice as her hearing aid squeals.

“What’s wrong with his face?” she immediately asks in her overloud voice.

“We haven’t got enough time to list that.” I smile at her and gesture at her pile of books. “Those all coming back?”

“They are.” She leans close. “And I have to say there was a name and telephone number in the back of one of the books.”

“Oh, yes?” I say warily.

She nods. “I had such a lovely chat with the bloke.” She pauses. “Although he kept asking to see my zits. I’m not sure what all that was about.” She sniffs disapprovingly. “I’m a little too mature for acne.”

I manage to repress the huge laugh, but Bethany isn’t so lucky, and I nudge her to send her over to log a customer onto a computer.

Mrs Bishop moves away, and I look at Misha. “Lovely as this surprise visit is, haven’t you got millionaires’ accounts to juggle and the world’s financial markets to conquer?”

He shakes his head. “You have a very exotic view of my job.”

“Humour me.”

He shrugs. “Every minute of every day.”

Bethany laughs, and Misha grins at her.

“You moving after work?” she asks me. “Going to your swanky new riverside apartment?”

My friend Jesse moved out of our old flat last month, and I couldn’t afford to stay there on my own. I’d started to put out feelers about getting a new person to share, but Misha promptly asked me to move in with him, saying his old flatmate had moved out and he’d got a spare bedroom.

I sigh. “I am. However, I’m deeply regretting the impulse that made me allow Misha to share it with me.”

Misha shakes his head, and Bethany grins at me. “You management-level people make all the money.”

“We certainly do, young lady,” I say pompously. “And, if you apply yourself, you too can reach the dizzy heights of library management and the two-figure pension package.”

Misha laughs. “Why are you here?” I ask him. “We cleared most of my place last night, and I can pick up the last few bits myself after work.”

“I’ll help you with that stuff.” His tone is uncompromising, and I don’t bother arguing. He carries on speaking. “I popped in because you forgot something.”

I frown, trying to think what it is, but my head feels fizzy with tiredness. I shrug and grab the returns trolley, determined to beat this lethargy. “Walk and talk,” I instruct him and ignore his sarcastic salute.

We make our way towards the non-fiction shelves, and I start to group the books together by subject. “What did I forget?” I ask.

He holds out his hand. On his palm is a shiny silver key on my old Union Jack keychain. “Your new house key.”

I grin at him as I pocket the key. “You sure you want me moving in with you into that bastion of tidiness that you call your flat?”

Misha shakes his head disapprovingly. “Only you would make tidiness sound like one of the seven deadly sins. Anyway, it’s a bit late to change my mind now, seeing as you dumped most of your crap in the middle of my lounge last night.”

He holds out his arms for the pile of books. After depositing them, I take a book off the top of the stack and shelve it.

“It’s not crap,” I say automatically. “It’s highly useful stuff.”

“Like the beanbag which has already shed most of its beans in the hallway? I can’t tell you how happy I was with that when I stepped on them barefoot this morning.”

I laugh and shelve some more books. “And you popped in just to give me a key? That’s a bit out of your way.

” Misha has a very high-powered banking job in the city, and the library is way out of his normal commuting distance and time.

He’s usually at his desk before I’ve even raised my head off my pillow and greeted the day.

He follows me round the stacks as I take books from his arms and shelve them. “You forgot your medi bracelet too,” he says in a foreboding tone.

I look down at my wrist, only now noticing its bareness. “Oops,” I say lightly. “The catch is loose.”

“I know,” he says grimly. “Actually, it’s not so much loose as threadbare. ”

“It’s fine.” My tone is dismissive, and thunderclouds instantly gather on his face.

“It isn’t fine,” he says steadily. “It’s very far from fine. With the amount of turns you’ve been having lately, you should be wearing it.”

I wince. He puts the books down and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a leather box the size of an envelope.

“What’s that?” I ask.