Excerpt from This Book Made Me Think of You by Libby Page, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

He pauses for a moment, his finger hovering over the dial button. Because he's worked as a bookseller long enough to know how transformational books can be. But he also knows from personal experience that some people don't want their lives to suddenly change. And he has a feeling that the call he is about to make will turn this customer's life completely upside down.


The dentist's hand looms above Tilly's face, and Tilly tries to focus on the shade of Dr. Jafari's deep aubergine manicure instead of the glimmering silver instrument delving inside her mouth.

"Had a nice Christmas?" the dentist asks as she rummages among Tilly's molars.

Tilly attempts to mumble a noncommittal response.

"Mouth open nice and wide, please."

She opens wider, grateful for the excuse not to have to explain that she spent Christmas Day at home with a tub of Quality Street sweets to herself.

"Of course, Christmas is a terrible time of year for dental care," Dr. Jafari continues brightly. "All that sugar and red wine. It's good that you're getting your checkup in now, because we'll get pretty busy soon. Chipped fillings. Ulcers. Root canals. Abscesses."

The dentist rolls off each malady as cheerfully as if she were listing the names of her grandchildren.

"Everything seems fine for you though," she adds wistfully, withdrawing her hand from Tilly's mouth.

"Well, that's a relief." Tilly swings her legs off the chair, her brown leather boots with the red laces touching down on the shiny floor. She tucks her long ginger hair behind her ears and shrugs on her tweed coat with the mismatched colorful buttons, thinking as she does that it's strange that this woman has just been so close that Tilly noticed her chapped lips and could smell her violet-scented perfume, and yet they likely won't see each other again for at least a year. She doesn't even know Dr. Jafari's first name.

"Excuse me," says Dr. Jafari, "I think your phone is ringing."

She points at Tilly's satchel, which is steadily vibrating.

The number is not one she recognizes, but as she steps out into the waiting room, she answers with a polite "Hello?"

At first there's silence, then a cough followed by a low and unfamiliar male voice.

"Um, hello. Is that Matilda Nightingale?"

"Who is this, please?"

There is a child sitting nearby with her head bowed over the pages of a book, forehead furrowed in concentration and teeth biting down on her bottom lip. It's an expression Tilly knows well, and for a moment the memory of reading like that, totally absorbed, is so all-consuming that when the man on the other end of the phone speaks again, she wonders if she has perhaps imagined the words.

"I'm Alfie Lane, the manager of Book Lane. The bookshop in Primrose Hill. I'm calling as we have an order here for you to collect."

"But I haven't placed an order."

Not only has she not stepped foot inside her local bookshop for a long time, but it has been over a year since Tilly picked up a book, unless you count the manuscripts she edits at work, which she doesn't.

"The order was placed for you by Joe Carter," comes the voice on the other end of the line at the exact moment that the woman ahead of Tilly in the queue steps aside and the receptionist calls, "Next, please."

"Did you say Joe Carter?"

She can feel her chest tightening, and she is suddenly very aware of the smell of mint mouthwash and latex gloves. Despite the concrete-gray day outside, the waiting room feels cloyingly, oppressively hot.

The receptionist drums her nails on the desk. "Can I help you?"

Tilly stumbles forward, holding the phone away from her face as she tells the receptionist her name.

"That will be sixty-five pounds please." Tilly fumbles for her card and hands it wordlessly over as the gravelly voice on the other end of the phone says, "Yes. I have an order here for Matilda Nightingale, placed by Joe Carter."

Excerpted from This Book Made Me Think of You by Libby Page. Copyright © 2026 by Libby Page. Excerpted by permission of Berkley Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.