The Flatshare

by Beth O'Leary

“Look,” he says, “have you ever looked forward to reading a book so much you can’t actually start it?” “Oh, totally. All the time—if I had a grain of self-restraint I never would’ve been able to read the last Harry Potter book. The anticipation was painful. You know, like, what if it doesn’t live up to the last ones? What if it’s not what I hope it’ll be?” “Right, well.” He waves a hand at me. “I think it might have been … like that.”

I have a feeling Tiffy becomes “our girl” easily—she’s the sort of person distant relatives and absent neighbors still like to claim some credit for.