‘Was it lonely? Growing up in your family?’ She stared at the wall straight ahead. Embarrassed to have asked such a personal question, but desperate to know. To discover if Alexander understood loneliness in the same way she did.
‘Unbelievably so. I didn’t have cousins. Mum and Dad are both only children. Friendships were engineered based on social standing, so I never had a best friend. Never had a Ginny or a Natalie.’
Sophie inched closer to Alexander. Wanted to be there for him.
‘God, I sound like a poor little rich boy. Woe is me with all the toys I could want, top-notch education, a guaranteed path in life, and not a worry in the world.’
‘Liar.’ Sophie whispered the word, not unkindly. ‘You do worry. I see you worrying. See you upset. You were earlier after that phone call from your father. It can’t be easy having so much expectation shoved upon you. Doubly so if you can’t share those worries with anyone else.’
Sophie heard Puddles scratching at the door. The last of the sun’s rays were hitting the wall opposite. Poor Puddles must have been starving.
She released Alexander’s hand, stood and opened the door to let Puddles in. He gave her a distinctly unimpressed ‘hurry up’ meow.
She followed him into the kitchenette, indicating for Alexander to follow her. ‘As lucky as I was to have Natalie and Ginny there growing up, it wasn’t always enough. I’d come home and feel… very alone. I didn’t know how to talk about my feelings. That I was sad, that I felt guilty at surviving when my parents didn’t. I blamed myself for the crash, you know? For a very long time. They’d been arguing before the crash and I’d gotten upset, begged them to stop. Believed my crying had somehow distracted them, caused the accident.’ She opened a cupboard and pulled out Puddles’ cat biscuits, grabbed a small bowl and shook them in. ‘The more I kept everything in, the lonelier I felt.’
Sophie bent down and ran her hand along Puddles’ sleek back. The action soothing her, centring her.
‘I guess what I’m trying to say, Alexander, is that if you’re lonely, I’m here.’ Sophie squeezed her eyes shut and clapped her palm over them as a tsunami of heat raced through every cell in her body. Could she have sounded any more like she was hitting on him? ‘Sorry, that sounded way less invitational in my head. I meant I’m here and you can talk to me. And whatever you say, I’ll keep it to myself.’
Rich, rumbly laughter filled the kitchenette. ‘I know what you mean. And thank you. I appreciate it.’
She peeled open one eye and split her fingers. Alexander had gone as red as she felt. Relief surged as she realised she wasn’t alone in her embarrassment. Wasn’t alone. Wasn’t lonely. Which meant somehow, at some point over the week, Alexander had made a small home in her heart.
A home she’d have to evict him from because he wasn’t going to stick around. He couldn’t.
His life was in London, not in Herring Cove. And if she let that Alexander-shaped space in her heart grow, she’d only end up hurt. Left alone. Again.
Not going to happen.
She placed Puddles’ food back in the cupboard and went to the door. Her footsteps as fast as the beat of her heart. She had to put a stop to whatever craziness was happening between them.
Sooner rather than later. Sooner being now.
‘Right, well, now that I’ve offered myself up to you it’s time for you to go. I really do have a lot of work to do. The books won’t load themselves.’ She opened the door and turned to see Alexander’s eyes flashing with confusion.
‘Are you sure? I mean, we didn’t finish our beers and we were having a nice time …’
She met his gaze. Tried to ignore the hurt she saw in his eyes, and the hint of panic that quivered her core. ‘I’m sure. Goodnight, Alexander.’
His mouth opened, then shut. And with a small shake of his head, like he didn’t understand what was happening or why, he left.
Sophie shut the door behind him. Didn’t watch him take the stairs. Pretended not to see his hunched back make its way down the street towards the cliffs as she stared out the window. Refused to let herself think about Alexander at all.
Her heart had to be in her business. In her home. She wasn’t going to place it in his hands.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Bubbles frothed up the inside of the champagne glass as Ginny poured fizz into it.
‘Woah, that’ll do. There’s still work to be done.’ Sophie made to move the glass but not before Ginny managed to fill it to the top.
‘Piffle. Life’s short. We should celebrate everything, and you, my dear, are about to pull off Herring Cove’s first market in years. Everyone’s into it, even the people who are pro-Fletcher. I’ve seen buzz on neighbouring villages’ social pages too. I think we’re in for quite a crowd.’
Ginny half filled her own glass, then raised it in silent cheers. They clinked glasses and took a sip.
Tiny needles of nervousness prickled down Sophie’s back. ‘Do we have enough food stalls, do you think? The farmer’s wife behind me has made huge pots of summer stews with couscous, and quiches and fruit pies. Sherry and Rob have ordered in extra. I’ve found a mobile pasty truck and they’ve said they’ll come… And what if nobody comes and the stallholders sell nothing? They’ll hate me.’
‘Sophie. Breathe before you pass out from unnecessary worry.’ Ginny placed her hands on her shoulders and frog-marched her to the front window. ‘Look. What do you see?’
Trestle table after trestle table lined the street with vendors arranging their wares. Dotted around them were volunteers who were hanging bunting in all the colours of the rainbow from lamppost to lamppost. Unfamiliar faces wandered the streets, laughing, smiling and chatting.
‘The market’s hours away and already we’re seeing people we’ve never seen before. The shop owner’s worried he’s going to run out of ice cream before the extra he ordered arrives. Sherry and Rob have had to ask locals to let them borrow their dining-room tables and chairs to fit all the people who’re already here. The market’s not even started and it’s a success.’
Happiness soared in Sophie’s heart. Ginny was right. The market was going to be fine. And she’d made her first online sale that day to a very grateful man who’d spent years looking for a book that had been sitting gathering dust on her shelves for years.
‘It’s going to be great,’ she said as much to herself as to Ginny. ‘Which reminds me, I need to set up my stall. Need to decorate it too if I’m going to turn any heads or compete with that stall over there.’ She pointed out a glitter-encrusted table on which brightly coloured garden statues – gnomes and fairies, pixies and elves – were displayed.
An image of a box filled with sparkly party decorations that her mother had bought for her came to mind: pink and purple bunting, strings of faux silver and gold pearls. Glam enough to attract attention without being overly garish.
The doorbell jangled and, despite not being in direct sight of the door, Sophie knew immediately who it was.
Lemony-fresh scent and a vibrant energy that caressed her, despite its owner being a metre away.
‘Bubbles, Alex?’ Ginny rushed to the counter, grabbed an empty mug and began to pour without waiting for an answer. ‘Sorry about the vessel, but it goes down the same.’ She shoved it in his hands, then turned her attention back to Sophie.
‘What are you waiting for, Soph? Go get yourself sorted. I can hang here and grab you if any customers come in.’
‘What needs to be sorted?’ Alexander took a sip and set the mug down.
‘Nothing, really. I just have to get my stall ready, but first I need to get up in the loft and grab some decorations.’ She picked up the bottle of champagne and offered it to Ginny.
‘No more for me.’ Ginny tapped her belly. ‘Mike and I have made a bit of a big decision. We’ve decided to start trying. Two needs to become three. Our wee family is ready to become not-so-wee.’
Sophie’s gut knotted up. More change. Natalie was going to move away with the kid
s. Ginny was going to become a mum. And what was she going to do? Sit in a falling-apart bookstore gathering dust like the books around her?
She sucked in a quiet breath, held it for three, then released. Blowing away the panic, the sadness. The loneliness that crept up, threatening to strangle the excitement of the event she’d created to bring the town together, the joy of making her first online sale; one of many, hopefully.
She wasn’t being left behind. Her life was transforming every bit as much as Ginny’s and Natalie’s. But instead of moving on to a new village or creating a baby, she was experiencing a rebirth of her bookshop. Sure, it didn’t hold her at night and whisper sweet words, or fly into her arms telling her every little thing that was running through their mind like Natalie’s kids did, but her bookstore gave her the stability she needed. Gave her purpose. And, unlike a person, it wasn’t going anywhere.
Not if she could help it.
She pulled Ginny in for a hug. ‘I’m so happy for you, Gin. And excited. I can’t wait to be Aunsof to a mini-you. You’re going to be an amazing mum.’
Ginny squeezed her tight. ‘And my future kiddiewinks are going to be lucky to call you Aunty. Love you, Soph.’
Sophie kissed Ginny on the cheek, released her and raised her glass. ‘To the future sound of little feet pattering through All Booked Up.’
Ginny touched her glass to Sophie’s. ‘And to you for seeing opportunities in our darkest hour and running with them. For standing up to “the man”.’
‘Um, “the man” is standing right here, remember?’ Alexander’s brows raised in good humour. ‘And I’d like to think “the man” has been a bit helpful. That I still might be.’
Ginny set her glass down and backed away. ‘You know what would be helpful, Alex? Doing a one-eighty on this project of yours and just letting the town be. And with that said, I do believe that’s my cue to leave.’
Sophie went to tell Alexander to ignore Ginny, but found the words halted on the tip of her tongue. Ginny said what she was thinking. What half the village were thinking. They didn’t want their town changed, not in the way Alexander and his family were proposing.
‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance what Ginny asked for could happen?’
Alexander shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his head. ‘I don’t see how, and that’s the truth. Once my father decides something, it’s as good as done.’
There was a dolefulness in Alexander’s tone that Sophie had not heard before. Was he beginning to regret his part in the so-called reinvigoration of Herring Cove? Was there a chance it could be saved from corporate hands?
Hope bubbled in her blood, sent her heart into overdrive.
Maybe if the evening went really well, if enough money was made, if others saw what Herring Cove had to offer and invested in it, maybe that would change enough of the villager’s minds that they could stage a full-on revolt. People lying in front of tractors and bulldozers. Marches down the lane. Articles in newspapers nationwide. Anything and everything to send the message loud and clear to the Fletcher Group that they were not welcome in Herring Cove.
Or maybe it was a case of the man standing in front of her seeing what she saw in her home, and using his sway to convince the Fletcher Group to leave it be. Could Alexander take that stand though? Her hope settled to a dull simmer. Not likely. It would be even more unlikely that his father would pay attention to him if he did take a stand and say something.
‘You were saying something about some decorations?’ Alexander tucked one arm behind his back and half bowed. ‘Because if it’s help you need, I’m at your service, my lady.’
‘In that case…’ Sophie crooked her finger. ‘Come. I’m going to need your muscles.’
‘Ah, it’s always the way. Women only want me for my brute strength.’ Alexander’s brows furrowed as his bottom lip protruded in a pout that was somehow cute and sexy at the same time.
‘Well I can’t speak for the others, but that’s what this woman wants you for.’ She reached over and patted his bicep. An innocent act, yet she couldn’t help but notice the bulge in his arm was taut with muscle. Not a flabby bit to be felt.
‘Are you going to give me back my arm anytime soon?’ Alexander winked.
Sophie snatched her hand back like it had been burnt. ‘Sorry. I guess it’s been a long time since I felt anything that… hard.’ Hard? Really? Couldn’t have chosen a less loaded word there, Sophie? ‘Er, that came out wrong. What I meant to say is that it’s not often I touch anything hard. At all. Man-wise.’
She tore her gaze away from Alexander’s bemused lips, which had twitched to the side and were trembling with silent laughter.
‘Shall I find you a spade to dig a larger hole?’
A thigh-to-hip nudge followed, and Sophie became acutely aware that it wasn’t just his bicep that was pure muscle. The length of thigh that teased her had no give whatsoever.
‘Oh shush. You know what I mean. Now you can either continue teasing me or you can help me… Your choice.’ She turned and made her way up the stairs, past her lounge to her bedroom door. ‘Don’t get any ideas.’ She waggled her finger and opened the door to her bedroom.
He hovered at the threshold. ‘I feel like I should close my eyes or ask for a blindfold or something.’
Sophie glanced around the room and mentally said thanks to her early-morning self for making her bed and tossing the previous day’s clothing – including a pair of unsightly greying underwear – into the laundry basket. ‘No blindfold needed, there’s nothing to see here, but how do you feel about tight spaces?’
Sophie squeezed her eyes shut and mentally slapped her forehead as she jerked her thumb towards the loft hatch. Why were all her sentences sounding like some sort of invitation?
‘For the record, just so you know, that’s not some double entendre. I’m not trying to… I don’t know… seduce you or anything mad like that.’
Slow, steady footsteps across the wooden floor followed, punctuated by that heady Alex-aroma.
Sophie turned around to see Alexander looking up at her, his head tilted to the side, amusement flickering across his face ‘I know. Though I’m a touch disappointed. I feel like a Sophie seduction would be… interesting. Also, tight spaces are fine.’
‘Great.’ She forced the word out through gritted teeth. She had to ignore the heat that had made its way from her cheeks to somewhere far lower, and far more likely to get her in trouble. Her body may well be wanting to take a risk on Alexander, but her heart knew better. ‘I’ll just grab the step ladder.’
She rushed out to the kitchenette where she kept the step ladder tucked behind the door – grateful for the few seconds away from Alexander and all his… almost irresistible hotness.
Get it together, girl. He’s just a man. Nothing special.
Even the voice of reason sounded doubtful. Still, it wasn’t called “the voice of reason for nothing”, so it was best to listen to it.
She squared her shoulders in an attempt to adopt a businesslike posture, picked up the step ladder and carried it to the space under the hatch. ‘You go first, that way you can pull me up if need be.’
Alexander climbed the steps, moved the cover aside, poked his head through the hole, and made no further attempt to haul himself up.
‘You right there? Not afraid of the dark, are you? Changed your mind about tight spaces?’
‘Very funny.’
A dragging sound met her ears, followed by a plume of dust as Alexander ducked back down with a box in his hands. ‘There’s only a few boxes up there, all close enough for me to grab. So I thought it might be easier if we pull them down, check them out, then I can return whatever you don’t need?’
She reached up for the box.
‘Careful, it’s heavy.’ Alexander gently laid it in her hands.
She staggered under the wait. ‘Ooph, you weren’t kidding. What’s in here?’ She peered at a word written in black marker. ‘Books’.
Not just
any books. Her father’s collection. His pride and joy. Something she’d not thought of, let alone touched, ever. Preferring to enjoy the comfort of simply knowing that something he loved was metres above where she slept.
‘There’s more where that came from.’
Two boxes later and Alexander had found the decorations. ‘Closest to me, but on my left not my right.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Typical. Could’ve saved myself an arm workout. Although, since you seem to quite like my arm muscles, maybe that bit of exercise wasn’t a bad thing.’
He jumped off the step ladder, decorations in arms and strode through to the lounge. ‘What’s in the heavy boxes anyway?’
Sophie sank to the ground, grabbed a pen from the coffee table, used its nib to rip through the tape, then peeled back the flaps. The scent of aged paper wafted up as she gently took the first book out. She stroked the cover, navy with embellished gold script citing the title and author’s name. ‘Here’s what’s in them.’
‘Books? Really? Shouldn’t they be in the shop rather than stashed away?’ His voice held surprise, and intrigue.
‘Not just any books.’ She opened the cover and checked the details. ‘They’re first-edition books.’ She picked up another. The cover was a little tattered, but still in good condition. ‘My father collected them. It was his hobby. They’re not all rare, but I think for my dad it wasn’t about the money he might earn from them one day, it was about treasuring something in its original state.’ She opened the book up and breathed in. ‘Musky and musty.’ She set the book down next to the other. ‘I’ll never stop loving that smell. It’s the scent of home. He used to let me sit on his lap as he read passages out loud to me from these books. It was our bedtime ritual for as long as I could remember.’
Alexander settled into a cross-legged position beside her, picked up the book she’d set down, pulled out his phone and began to swipe and type. ‘Have you seen how much this one’s worth?’ He flipped his mobile around to face her.
The Little Bookshop at Herring Cove Page 12