Page 19 of How to Find a Romance in a Bookshop

Aha, thought Petra. There it was.

“Yes!” piped up another lady, seemingly empowered by Muriel’s and Joan’s bravery. “I saw the new Jill Mansell on the way in,” she declared. “I want to read that! I want my reading to be a pleasure!”

“Hear, hear,” rumbled Mungo, before shooting an anxious glance at Diana. But now, Petra noticed, Diana was sitting back in her chair, bright-eyed, clearly happy to see the insurrection play out.

“Hands up who wants to belong to a book club for happy books,” cried Flo. “I for one am perfectly prepared to say I adore writers like Jilly Cooper and Jenny Colgan. Always have, always will.”

“And Sue Moorcroft!” declared Joan.

“And Veronica Henry,” cried another lady.

“And crime,” suggested Muriel. “I love a bloody murder and a good mystery.”

“She does,” agreed Joan. “You like a police procedural, don’t you?” she told her sister.

“I’m devouring all the Kate Rhodes books at the moment; they’ve got horrific murders in them,” Muriel declared happily. “She’s a bit like that Shetlands crime writer.”

“Ann Cleeves! I love the Shetland books,” confided another lady. “I must try these ones—Kate who?”

“Rhodes,” supplied Muriel, leaning toward her.

“Beach reads,” suggested Mungo diffidently. “That’s what I call them. Something to enjoy on a sun lounger. My favorites are Wilbur Smith and all the Jack Reacher books.”

“In that case,” suggested Muriel, “you might like Chris Ryan. My hubby loves a bit of SAS adventure.”

“Ooh, that does sound good,” Mungo enthused. “I already love the Andy McNab ones. Thank you.”

A swell of conversation filled the room.

Diana clapped her hands again. “Okay,” she said, looking around for silence. “So I propose that there will, henceforth, be a Beach Reads Book Club. Who wants to join?”

Everyone except poor Beatrice, who was now the color of a beet, raised their hands.

“Good,” said Diana. “And who also wants to stay in the current book club.”

Again, everyone—except Joan and Muriel—raised their hands.

“Fine!” said Diana. “There we go, something for everyone. Joan and Muriel, I propose that you should both lead the new club. Do I have a second?”

Mungo rumbled a response, and Diana gave him an affirmative nod.

“Settled!” she declared. “Now, someone pass me another one of those splendid chocolate biscuits.”

“Drinks at The Bell tonight?” Freya popped her head in the shop to propose, one morning a few days later. “Time for you to meet the crowd, I think. All work and no play, et cetera.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I can make it,” Petra demurred. “I’ve got a date with my pajamas and a good book this evening.” It was true; she and Flo had started the yearly inventory, and they had at least a couple of hours more to do after closing time. Plus, she was halfway through her umpteenth reading of Jane Eyre and the getting-to-know-Rochester scenes were her favorites. Somehow, she had discovered, reading a deeply familiar book didn’t trigger her anxiety the way a new book did.

“Nonsense,” Flo said unhelpfully. “It’ll do you good to get out. I’m fine on my own.”

“What? You, going up and down that stepladder? I don’t think so . . .” insisted Petra.

“I’ll leave you two ladies to your row,” laughed Freya. “Eight o’clock sharp!” she declared, pointing at Petra. Then she ducked out of the shop rapidly before Petra had a chance to reply.

“Going up and down the steps on your own does add a lot to the time it takes,” admitted Flo.

“Not the reason why,” muttered Petra. But, fine, make Flo think it was a time and motion thing, not the ridiculousness of letting a woman in her eighties climb a ladder. While alone in the shop. Although—to be fair—she was the fittest woman in her eighties Petra had ever met.

“Why don’t I come in on Tuesday to finish inventory instead,” Flo was continuing. “Ah no, hang on, this Tuesday is WI, now let me see.” She thumbed through a little lilac diary, murmuring to herself. “Wednesday? No . . . Thursday? No . . . Friday? Mm . . . No, I have to bake that evening for the coffee morning . . .”