Surinder frowned. “You know, the last wedding I did, they gave me champagne and everything.”

“Biscuits and sausages,” said Nina. “Basically I’m spoiling you.” She strode toward the barn.

“Hang on!” shouted Surinder behind her. “What on earth is it called?”

Nina turned around. “Oh,” she said. “I hadn’t thought. Can you just put Book Bus?”

“No,” said Surinder. “That sounds like a library.”

“Hmm. Bookshop?”

“That sounds like a delivery van. For books that are going somewhere else.”

“Buy Your Books Here?”

“That’s your name for your shop?”

“Nina’s Book Bus?”

“You’re not a children’s educational television program. Although you do dress like you’re in one.”

Nina sighed.

“What?” said Surinder. “Come on, you’ve obviously dreamed about this for ages. I mean, look at all the crap you stashed away for it. I absolutely don’t believe that someone as obsessed as you with books and words hasn’t thought about a name.”

“Well,” said Nina, looking embarrassed and staring at her feet. She’d never said this out loud to anyone before. Barely even admitted it to herself.

“I knew it,” said Surinder. “I KNEW it! Go on! Tell your auntyji.”

Nina shrugged. “You’ll think it’s stupid . . .”

“You’ve moved an entire country away with a big bunch of books and a van,” said Surinder. “I already think you are totally stupid.”

“Oh yeah,” said Nina. “I suppose.”

She kicked her heels a little.

“Well,” she said. “I always thought if I ever had a little shop—and I only wanted a very little one—I might call it . . . the Little Shop of Happy-Ever-After.”

Surinder stared at her for a moment. Nina felt her face grow very red. There was a long pause.

Surinder stepped forward and peered inside the van. Nina had even managed to fix up a light in the corner; a rug, stuck down with suckers; a table with a comfortable chair beside it, so it made a little reading corner. Surinder smiled and turned around.

“Yeah,” she said. “Yes. I like it. I really like it. I can do that.”

“Really?” said Nina.

“Yes,” said Surinder. “Look at that table and chair. That is just so cute. It’s a cutesy name. But I think it’s all right. I think it’ll be okay.”

She picked up the paint and a brush, and Nina’s face broke into a huge grin.

“Mind you, it does look like you could just sit there all day. What if someone just sits there all day?”

“Then they obviously need to,” said Nina. “But we won’t be staying anywhere all day. We’ll be like the lands above the Magic Faraway Tree, arriving and leaving without notice.”

Surinder smiled. “Well, just don’t crash it,” she said, rolling up her sleeves. “Again.”

“Hmm,” said Nina, who was a little worried she’d overdone the fairy lights. “Right now, I’m most worried about blowing a fuse.”

She fetched a couple of beers, then stood back and watched as Surinder first chalked a rough outline then, with clear, precise strokes, and a lovely handwriting, wrote “The Little Shop of Happy-Ever-After” on the side. Nina thought she’d never been so happy.

Finally Surinder pronounced herself satisfied. They both stood back, and Nina, rather self-consciously, clinked her beer against Surinder’s.

“We should have had a ribbon,” Surinder pointed out. “To cut.”

Nina gazed at the little shop. It was beautiful, far bigger inside than it seemed, with the tidy rows of books, the bean bags, and even a little set of library steps that Nina had liberated when the new head of development had asked what use they could possibly be in the new media center.

They threw the back doors open wide, counted to three, and turned the ignition.

The fairy lights and the big bronze letters lit up as if it was Christmas, the banner flapping in the wind.

“HOORAY!” said Surinder, and clapped despite herself. Nina stared, amazed. It was as if her dream had come to life and was standing in front of her, with the fields behind them, the meadow butterflies flittering among the daisies and an owl hooting somewhere in the distance. She could barely believe it and couldn’t stop smiling.

“Let’s go sell some books!” she said. “Where shall we start?”

At that exact moment, a Land Rover turned in at the gate, honking loudly. Nina glanced at her watch. It was nearly 6 P.M. Still bright daylight, of course. She turned around. Normally people didn’t honk their horns on the farm; it made the chickens crazy. Shading her eyes, she saw a bunch of young men, mostly ruddy and cheery looking.

“LENNOX!” one of them was shouting. They looked surprised to see Nina and Surinder there as they drove in and came to a halt. Nina was shocked to see they were all wearing kilts.

“Whoa!” said Surinder. “Look at you.”

“Look at you,” said one man instantly, in that local musical brogue. “We’re the ones looking stylish. You’re all covered in paint.”

“What’s this?” said another. “It looks cool.”

“It’s our book bus,” said Surinder instantly. The young guy jumped down.

“What’ve you got, like?”

The others laughed and made catcalls.

“Aye, have you got any Noddy for him?”

“Shut up. At least I can read. All you can do is look at pictures of nudie ladies on the Internet, you big fanny.”

“Quite,” said Nina. “Um, do you want to come in?”

There was more catcalling behind them, but the young man jumped up happily and started to browse the shelves, and eventually curiosity drew the others forward to have a look, too.

“It’s nice,” said the one who’d been rude before, shuffling his feet.

Nina was embarrassed to ask them if they were going somewhere special, in case they always dressed like that. Some of them were in black tie from the waist up, though, so surely they were. The kilts looked lovely all together. She knew that the tartans indicated families and clans; she liked the older, worsted ones in faded reds and greens, although the rich purples and blacks were also stylish, together with cream socks on well-shaped calves. All the men had a solid, healthy look about them, and as they spoke more, it was obvious that they were farmers.