Page 4 of The Little Porto Book Club

‘Only three?’ I say and frown. ‘You really must find a copy of book four. You can buy it direct from the author’s website. She’s just started selling signed copies. I’m wildly jealous, because I already have the entire collection and it doesn’t make financial sense to buy them again. Did you know the author is Portuguese?’ I ask. ‘Writes under a pseudonym.’ It’s terrifically out of my wheelhouse to chat merrily away like this, but when Detective Amber Quill is the topic, I find myself strangely verbose.

‘Oh? I didn’t know either of those things. Incredible, I’ll look up the author’s website when I get home. Mind if I join you? Actually, I’ll order another pastry first; don’t worry, I’ll ask for one sans almonds.’ He lets out a cackle. ‘Be right back.’

‘Oh no, thank you, I’d prefer …’

Too late. He’s at the counter, pointing and gesticulating, making the elderly woman wearing a flour-dusted apron laugh. The waitress brings my coffee and pastry, glances Tiago’s way and then gives me a wink. A wink? What’s that about? If she is implying there’s something between me and Tiago, I’d like to assure her there is not, but she’s already flounced away. I can see the appeal with the warmth of his gaze, the small dimples that appear when he smiles. He looks like the kind of guy who wouldn’t break your heart, not intentionally anyway, but that matters not. I’m only here for cake.

Tiago returns with pastel de nata and a cup of coffee, and puts his feet under the table, as if we’re old friends. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?’

‘Viviane.’

‘It suits you.’

I frown. ‘How so?’

‘You look like a Viviane with your perfect black bobbed hair and warm smile.’

Warm smile? That’s a first. I’m not sure what to make of this guy and his strange compliments so I waggle my book. ‘Unfortunately, this won’t read itself.’

His grin widens. ‘It’s great to meet another rato de biblioteca! I’m a library rat too. And you’re a huge fan of whodunnits, as am I. I can’t help but be delighted we’ve crossed paths.’

I brighten at the mention of whodunnits, even if he is a touch whimsical. ‘Who is your favourite detective of all time?’ This is a key question as not all detectives are built the same and if he chooses the cliché toxic masculinity type, well, this budding bookship is over before it has truly begun.

‘That one, right there!’ He points to my book.

I laugh, and it catches me unawares. I can’t remember the last time I properly laughed, not faux laughed because the situation called for it. Faux laughs always seem to get the wrong kind of attention because my acting skills are severely lacking. Mother says it’s because I’m contorting my mouth in such an unnatural way, resulting in my lips getting stuck on my gums, and that it can come across rather sinister. I can never take her seriously though because she acts it out to show me and it’s so comical we both end up in hysterics.

‘Actually,’ Tiago says, taking a forkful of pastry into his mouth without checking it for almonds. I’d better keep a close eye on his airways. ‘Why don’t we meet here again? We can bond over the detective’s exploits?’

Detective Amber Quill is my kryptonite and makes the offer to meet again a tempting prospect. Mum did insist on me finding friends in Porto. Could this be the answer to that problem? Tiago is not offensive in any way. Yes, sure, he’s a little excitable and talks far too much, but that’s probably fixable with some gentle boundary setting, even though the thought of having to do that makes my nerves flutter and self-doubt set in.

Do I really want the hassle of endless chitchat even if Amber Quill is the topic? He must sense my hesitation, because he says, ‘We could read and eat our body weight in cake.’ It’s not the worst proposition in the world. Mum will be delighted. She may even stop throwing those worried glances my way. Stop strangling tea towels.

‘Although, I won’t be ordering pastel de nata again,’ he says wrinkling his nose, making his constellation of freckles dance. ‘I always forget I find it too … eggy, or something.’

He does? Still, I hesitate.

Cue the puppy-dog eyes. Honestly, I could get lost in the reflection of the great pools of warmth, framed by his thick dark lashes. It’s oddly mesmerising. I usually avoid eye contact and here I am trying not to stare. He gives me a dazzling smile, the whites of his teeth on display. It’s the kind of smile that takes him from affable to heart stopping. I remind myself to tread carefully because men are off the menu.

‘We can read in utter silence.’

It’s this offer that convinces me. That, and knowing it’ll get Mum off my back. ‘Fine. I’ll meet you here next Wednesday at precisely 4 p.m., as long as you promise we’ll read in total peace.’

‘You have my word. So, what do you do for fun?’

‘I read in total silence.’ And with that, I pick up my book and settle back in my chair.

Chapter Three

There I am, returning home and attempting to slip upstairs undetected, without the usual inquisition, when my hopes are once again dashed. ‘Querida! You’ve been gone hours. Tell me everything. Which café did you choose? What bairro is it in? Did you meet anyone?’

I double blink, trying to process the questions that shoot at me like gunfire. ‘One: Pastelaria História. Two: Ribeira district. Three: A guy named Tiago, but before you get too excited, he’s not long for this world.’

She gasps, stops strangling the tea towel. ‘What, why? What’s wrong with him?’

‘Allergic to almonds.’

Her posture relaxes. ‘That doesn’t mean he’s going to die from it, Viviane.’ She does that squeaky little laugh that implies I’m the silly one.