The Little Bookshop at Herring Cove

by Kellie Hailes

  Sophie made her way to the front, clapped her hands and waited for the audience to settle down.

  ‘Thank you all for coming this evening.’ She gripped her hands, pressed her knees together and hoped the audience couldn’t see how much she was shaking. ‘No one was more surprised than I when Lucille Devine replied to my email enquiring about giving an author talk. The Queen of Romance here in Herring Cove? It seemed too good to be true.’ She sought out Alexander and found him leaning against the counter. One leg crossed in front of the other, arms loosely folded, totally at ease.

  He met her eyes. ‘You’re amazing,’ he mouthed.

  His belief in her eased her case of the wobbles. ‘Though if there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that it’s full of surprises. And sometimes when something seems too good to be true, that’s because it’s as simple as that. It’s good. And it is true. There’s no ulterior motive, just a desire to see others happy. Much like the romances our guest tonight writes. Honest, beautiful, heartfelt books that make you believe in love.’

  Her words were directed at Lucille’s fans, but meant for Alexander. He was good. He was true. And nothing would ever or could ever make Sophie regret falling for him.

  ‘Now, put down your glasses and put your hands together in a warm welcome for the one, the only, Lucille Devine.’

  Applause bounced off the walls as Lucille made her way from out of the storeroom where she’d been stashed away with a bottle of champagne and a stack of sausage rolls and club sandwiches. Both of which she’d been enjoying if the brightness in her eyes and the crumbs on either side of her cheeks were anything to go by.

  Sophie caught her eye and surreptitiously wiped at her uncrumbed mouth. Lucille nodded and mid-wave swiped away the pastry with a nod of thanks.

  ‘Thank you, thank you so much. It’s so lovely to receive such a kind welcome from such a wonderful crowd.’ She settled herself on the couch and rubbed her hands together. ‘So, do tell, who has read one of my books?’

  Most of the crowd raised their hands.

  ‘Who has read two?’

  No hands dropped.

  ‘Three or more?’

  A few hands fell down, but the majority remained.

  ‘Brilliant.’ The gold bracelets on Lucille’s arm jangled as she clapped her hands in joy. ‘That’s what I like to see. It means I’m surrounded by people who believe in hope. Because that’s what a romance is at its core. A story about hope. And I do love hope.’ She took a sip from the glass of champagne they’d placed on a side table for her. ‘Almost as much as I love champagne.’ She downed half the glass. ‘Joking. Although I hope there’s more champagne on the way. This is moreish. Almost as moreish as that moment in a romance when people figure out what it is that they really want and then put aside their fears to go get it.’

  Sophie sidled her way around the edge of the audience until she was at Alexander’s side, then stood on tiptoe so her lips were millimetres away from his ear. ‘It feels like she’s talking to me. I didn’t know what I wanted until I met you.’

  No sooner were the words out did she realise what she’d said. How it sounded. Like she had fallen in love with him and couldn’t imagine her life without him.

  ‘I mean, I wanted the store to survive more than anything. I just didn’t realise how much.’ She ducked her head as heat raced over her face and flowed down her neck.

  ‘Sure that’s what you meant.’ The words tickled her ears, teasing and light.

  Sophie glanced up to see Alexander grinning down at her, a knowing smirk on his face.

  ‘Shush,’ she mouthed and pointed at Lucille for emphasis, before turning her attention back to the makeshift stage.

  ‘Another reason I love writing romance is that it shows something I dearly believe – that there’s someone out there for every person. Someone who shares our interests. Who has our best interests at heart. Who’ll be there when the tough gets going, and will – when required – challenge us and practice a little tough love. I believe everyone deserves to find love. To experience it. People dismiss romance books as being a pile of fluff to help you while away a few hours. I’d bet my next book’s royalties that those who say this have never read one, because if they had, they’d know – as you wonderful, smart, gorgeous people do – the magic a romance holds. The hope that no matter what our past holds, it won’t impact on our chances of experiencing our own happy ever after in the future.’

  The crowd broke out into spontaneous applause, and Lucille took a deep bow.

  ‘You’re all too kind. Too kind. Now, are there questions from the floor? And can I get my glass refilled?’

  Sophie raced to the backroom for a fresh bottle, grateful to get away from Alexander for a chance to think.

  Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind dizzy with thoughts, feelings and an awakening self-awareness that could only be called agonising.

  Was she letting go of Alexander too easily? Was some part of her past holding her back from her future? Could she convince Alexander to stay? Or would she have to make the ultimate sacrifice to be with him? To sell up and move to London. To start afresh in a city where she knew no one and would no doubt spend most of her time alone because her future-CEO boyfriend would be busy working day in, day out?

  Sophie pulled the bottle of champagne out of the mini-fridge, unscrewed the label, popped the cork with a gentle hiss, then made her way back into the shop and discreetly topped up Lucille’s glass as she waxed on about her writing process, which seemed to involve copious amounts of tea and people-watching at her local café.

  Alexander caught her eye, his eyebrows rose in a questioning manner. ‘Are you okay?’ he mouthed.

  Sophie nodded. She must look as sick and confused as she felt. ‘Fine,’ she mouthed back. ‘Tired.’ She brought her hands to her face, angled her head and closed her eyes, to emphasise the point.

  If she was serious about her feelings about Alexander, if she didn’t want to let the best thing to ever happen to her slip away, something had to change. Or someone. And she suspected that someone had to be her.

  ***

  ‘Thank you for coming. I hope to see you soon.’ Sophie ushered out the last of her guests and turned to face Lucille, who was draped on the couch finishing off the last of the champagne straight from the bottle.

  Sophie sunk into the seat to the side of Lucille. ‘Miss Devine?’

  ‘Call me Lucille.’

  ‘Okay, Lucille. I just wanted to thank you so much for coming tonight. I hope you had a good time…’

  ‘Marvellous time, my dear. Brilliant. A massive congratulations to you. You’ve been the best host. Far better than the bookshop a few towns over. They didn’t supply the good stuff.’ She waggled the bottle in the air. ‘And their sausage rolls were nowhere near as good. If you ever want me back, I’m yours. I’ll be sure to have my assistant plug your store on my pages. There’s a few hundred thousand people who need to know about this little gem.’

  Sophie flushed at the kind words and tried not to think that they were fuelled solely by the bubbles.

  ‘Well, it’s time for me to bid you adieu. One needs her beauty sleep.’ Lucille pushed herself up off the couch and ambled towards the front door.

  Sophie quickened her pace so she could open the door for her guest. ‘Thank you again for coming, Ms Devine – er, I mean, Lucille. You being kind enough to be here tonight has really changed things round for me. In many ways.’

  Lucille placed her hand on Sophie’s shoulder and gave it a rub. ‘I’m glad, my dear. And I mean it when I say I’d love to come back. All you have to do is ask.’ A quick waggle of fingers and she was off into the night, ever so slightly weaving her way down the street towards the village B&B.

  Sophie shut the door and pressed her forehead onto the cool pane of glass.

  Three quick footsteps met her ears, followed by strong arms that encircled her waist and pulled her back towards the couch. ‘Finally. I was getting impatient.’
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  Hot lips nuzzled her neck as she nestled onto Alexander’s lap. ‘You should’ve stayed out here. I could’ve introduced you. You helped make tonight happen. You deserve an equal amount of congratulations.’

  A lazy smile spread on Alexander’s face. ‘Oh, I intend on getting my congratulations.’ He raised his lips to meet hers. Brushed them against her sensitive skin.

  A trail of delicious need burned its way down her spine, rippling out over and through her body.

  She wasn’t going to let this go. Couldn’t let Alexander go. She wasn’t sure how, but she was going to find a way to make this work.

  The door chimes tinkled as the shop door opened. Beneath Sophie Alexander’s body stiffened, and before she knew what was happening, she found herself seated at the other end of the couch, with a tall, besuited man looking at her like she was something smelly you’d found on the bottom of your shoe.

  ‘Busy smoothing things over with the locals? Busy doing something with the locals. Really, Alexander? Is this why you’ve not bothered returning to the office?’

  Sophie abandoned her plan to find a weapon with which to defend herself. This was no maniac, this was someone who knew Alexander.

  Who even looked a little like him.

  Navy suit. On a Sunday. Perfectly pressed. Tie knotted round his neck so tight she was surprised his eyes weren’t bulging out of their sockets. Black shoes, leather, shiny enough she’d bet you could see your face in them. A square jawline. Straight nose. Lips that were full, but harsh-edged, just like…

  ‘Dad.’ Colour drained from Alexander’s face, emphasising the guilt that filled it. ‘What are you doing here? You were meant to be coming down tomorrow.’

  ‘I wanted to get a head start. The sooner I get this sorted, the sooner I leave.’ He brushed an invisible speck of dirt from his sleeve, his nose wrinkling in distaste as he turned his attention to Sophie. ‘Alexander has explained you’d rather not sell. I’m here to tell you that would be a grave mistake.’

  Sophie drew herself up as tall as she could. ‘Well then, I’m going to make a grave mistake, because I’m not selling.’

  ‘You’d be a fool not to.’ Frank raised one groomed eyebrow. ‘I have it on good authority, Miss Jones, that you’ve financial issues. Overdue power bills. Late on your water charges. And there’s a little matter of the council rates…’

  The churning in Sophie’s stomach intensified with each statement. There was only one person who knew how bad things were. He’d seen the email. Knew her situation. But she’d never thought he’d use that information against her.

  She spun around to face Alexander, her hands balled into fists. ‘You. You did this? You knew I was in trouble. Saw exactly how much I was in trouble. And what? You set up a plan with your father? Decided to lure me in with affection because you could see just how sad and lonely poor little Orphan Sophie was? Then what? You had your father swoop in right when I began to think we could be more? That I could sell this place in order to be with you?’ She blinked as the pain in her heart threatened to mute her.

  This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Falling for a person, trusting someone, who only wanted to take what she had? Would she ever learn?

  ‘Sophie, I didn’t do this. I didn’t say anything.’ Alexander’s gaze darted between Sophie and his father, unable, or incapable, of settling on one of them. ‘I mean, I did. When we first met. Before I got to know you. Before we became…’

  ‘Intimate.’ Frank’s tone was flat. Unimpressed. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card. ‘I can see now’s not a good time, Miss Jones, so I’ll leave my card on the counter and you can call me to discuss the sale.’

  ‘I’m. Not. Selling.’ Sophie gritted each word out, astounded at Alexander’s father’s thick skin.

  A no is the beginning of the negotiation. It’s the first step towards getting a yes.

  The words Alexander had said on the day they met came to mind. Of course Frank wasn’t taking no for answer. He didn’t believe in no’s. It’s where his son had got that belief from.

  She retightened her balled fists. Well, both the Fletcher men were about to learn what a firm, unshakeable no sounded like.

  ‘Leave your card, but don’t hold your breath for a phone call.’

  Frank smiled mildly, then turned and left without a word of goodbye to either herself or his son.

  ‘As for you.’ She took a step away from Alexander. ‘You can get out. I never want to see you again. Perhaps you didn’t think twice about telling your father the miserable state of my finances because we didn’t know each other, but they weren’t your finances to discuss. They were on my private laptop. They were for my eyes only. My problem. Not yours. Especially not yours to use against me just to get your own way. Just to get a yes out of a no.’

  Alexander made to step towards her. Stopped as she took another step back, holding up her hand to ward him off.

  ‘I’ve really stuffed this up. I’m so sorry, Sophie. I want to make this up to you. Tell me how I can make this up to you. I can’t leave you like this. Leave us like this.’

  Us? He thought they were an us? So much for the apple falling far, far away from the tree. Alexander was every bit as thick-skinned as his father.

  ‘There is no us. There never could be. Even before I discovered how untrustworthy you are, we knew that. You live in London. Your life is there. My life is here. In my bookshop. In Herring Cove.’ Her throat constricted as a maelstrom of anger, heartache and hopelessness threatened to overwhelm her.

  ‘Just go, Alexander.’ She spun on her heel, marched to the door, held it as he shuffled from the shop, shoulders hunched, head hanging.

  The moment he’d disappeared into the darkness she shut it firmly, then slid down until she was huddled in a ball. Her knees became damp with frustrated tears.

  She was an idiot. Falling for a pretty face and a charming demeanour. Thinking Alexander was different from Phillip. That he could be trusted. That, despite his agenda in Herring Cove, he had her best interests at heart.

  She was a fool to have hoped, to have trusted.

  Never again.

  Soft fur brushed against her shins. She lifted her head to see Puddles looking up at her. His eyes shining with affection.

  ‘Puddles, I guess the only man I can trust is you.’ She scooped the cat up, cuddled him to her chest and dropped a kiss on his furry head. ‘Time for bed, hey? Maybe if I go to sleep I’ll wake up tomorrow to find this was all just a really bad dream.’

  Puddles nuzzled into Sophie’s chest as they climbed the stairs. His rumbling purrs did nothing to soothe the nausea churning in her stomach. The self-recriminations that marched through her mind.

  The realisation that she was, once more, alone. Again.

  As always.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Alexander stood outside his parents’ home, the place in which he’d grown up, and tried to ignore the knot in his gut that tightened with every passing minute. He took in the imposing white, stucco house and wondered when it had begun to feel alien to him. All manicured gardens on the outside and an elegant mix of modernisation that blended seamlessly with the home’s Regency features on the inside. A property designed to impress, while understatedly displaying their family’s status.

  There was no personality within those walls. No splashes of colour or age-bobbled throws draped over sofas. No musky scent of books. No random wads of moulting cat fur to be picked off rugs. Or hints of violet perfume.

  There was no Sophie.

  Two days he’d been home. Two nights. And during that time he’d been unable to think of little else but her. Was she okay? How much did she hate him? Had his father bulldozed her into selling by playing on her past, on her financial troubles, on any and every little piece of weakness he could find?

  Sophie had survived so much. Her parents’ passing. The betrayal of a lover. Nearly losing her shop. Despite all that she held an inner strength, a positivity, an attitude that
nothing could get her down for long – but could that attitude withstand Frank Fletcher?

  He drew in a deep breath. He’d soon find out. His mother had informed him their father would be joining them for dinner. She gave no hint as to his father’s mood. Neither had she let on that she knew what had happened in Herring Cove.

  His mother, as always, was loyal to the Fletcher name. Loyal to her husband.

  Rather than go through the front door, he made his way around to the back garden where he knew his mother, Veronika, would be sitting on the patio enjoying a pre-dinner Pimms.

  ‘Alexander darling, it’s so good to see you. I missed you at dinner last week.’

  He bent over and kissed her cheek as was their customary greeting, then took a seat opposite her, relieved that her welcome was warm. That, unlike his father, she was not going to drag him across the coals for straying from the Fletcher way.

  ‘I missed you too, Mum. It’s good to be home.’

  Veronika raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

  She knew. Everything. Of course she did. Veronika and Frank were a team. Always had been. And their game plan was to raise a son who would take over the business and carry it on in the same way his grandfather had started it and his father had expanded it.

  ‘You know what happened down there.’ No point in niceties; he knew what was to come. Gentle disapproval from his mother, followed by a firm talking to by his father.

  Veronika waved a bejewelled hand. ‘Your father filled me in. I was surprised to hear you’d taken up with a local girl. If you’re lonely, Alexander, I can set you up with any number of appropriate women. Mary’s daughter’s doing very well for herself. Works in marketing. She understands business, is very well presented, has what it takes to charm people into doing what she wants.’

  Alexander didn’t bother hiding his shudder. She sounded awful. ‘I don’t want a manipulative woman at my side, Mother.’

  ‘You make it sound so tawdry, Alexander. Charm is just a different way of getting what you want. I use charm, your father uses information. You, my dear, use a mix of both. Would you call yourself manipulative?’