‘Cool withwhat?’ Ivy said, feeling the heat in her cheeks flooding down to her neck. One of the (many) problems she had with Fox Bay was the fact that nothing escaped its residents andeveryonetalked. There were no secrets. ‘And no, I wasn’t wondering. Because literally nothing happened. We stood under a tree watching the lights.’
‘Watching each other more like,’ said Erin knowingly.
Josie snorted from the back room. ‘You should see them in the shop together,’ she called.
‘We’re friends,’ wailed Ivy. ‘Acquaintances, I mean. And anyway, he’s gone toLondon.’
‘I heard. Ted told me he dropped him and Brooke at the station this morning.’
‘Of course he did,’ muttered Ivy. ‘Does anything in this town stay private for five minutes?’
Erin frowned thoughtfully. ‘That Brooke girl is mysterious, like an MI6 agent. I spent half an hour last night at the fair trying to find out what she does for a living and I still don’t know. Honestly, maybe she’s secretly working for a global shadow organisation.’ She smoothed her hair. ‘Usually, I can get to the bottom of someone pretty quickly, but she’s a closed book.’
Ivy didn’t have a retort for that. If Erin, with her keen instinct for gossip, suspected something was up with Brooke, she was probably right. And Brookewasmysterious. And, just when Ivy had thought they were becoming friendly, she had whisked Trip away at the speed of light.
Her phone buzzed, and she automatically glanced at the screen. Another text from Trip lit it up:
We’re here! And I think we’ve found the best cinnamon bun in London. Not as good as Fin’s though.
‘Mmm,’ said Erin, craning her neck. ‘A text from Trip by any chance?’
‘He’s just telling me they got to London okay,’ Ivy said, putting her phone in her pocket, away from Erin’s beady eyes.
Erin let out a happy sigh and clasped her hands. ‘Midwinter romance. The best. Our angsty little artist and an all-American tourist. This writes itself.’
‘She’s right, Ivy. I know destiny when I see it,’ said Josie, watching fondly from the door of the stock room. ‘And destiny is right in front of your face in expensive knitwear.’
Ivy rolled her eyes. ‘You’re both being ridiculous,’ she said. ‘I don’t believe in destinyorromance. Now if you don’t mind, I need to get some of these orders sent out.’
But all that day, every time her phone buzzed with another message, she felt a warm glow inside.
Trip texted off and on all the next day. He was having an amazing time – eating Greek food in Primrose Hill, seeing the Impressionists at the National Gallery, cocktails in Soho, watching Shakespeare at the Globe.
You are like the world’s most committed tourist.
My sister is determined I get the full experience. She thinks we might stay an extra day or two. But I really want to make it back for this pagan bonfire.
Ivy closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine it again – her and Trip on the beach, drinking Lou’s hot spiced cider, giggling about the show, looking at pictures of his time in London. And then, maybe their eyes would meet again. Maybe his hand would brush her cheek. Only this time—’
Ivy forced herself to get back to shelving. Honestly, she was as bad as Josie and Erin and all the other Fox Bay gossips, desperate for a whiff of romance. Imagining things that weren’t there. She wouldn’t get ahead of herself. She would just … see what happened.
On Sunday, though, Ivy couldn’t help but notice that Trip’s texts were coming in fewer and further between. Ivy was sure something had changed. The texts, which yesterday were full of his observations and sweet jokes, started to feel clipped. His replies were shorter and there were longer gaps between them. Ivy told herself not to read anything into it. He was probably busy sightseeing or eating his way through all of Borough Market.
Still, around early afternoon, she couldn’t resist checking and double-checking her phone, noticing that her text about Old Bill being spotted wearing a nicotine patch had gone unanswered.
Trip didn’t owe her anything, she told herself.
All the same, she wished he would text back.
Later, when she texted him a photo of a cardboard castle turret she’d finished for the set, he reacted with a heart emoji. No comment.
Ivy stared at the screen a little too long. Then locked her phone and shoved it in her pocket.
She wasn’tbothered. Not really.
Except … she kind of was.
Josie glanced at her from where she was wrapping up a stack of hardbacks in brown paper and string, which she was adorning with lines of Russian poetry using, Ivy noted, an actual quill. ‘Any word from our American in London?’
