Page 30 of How to Find a Romance in a Bookshop

“Yeah, but it isn’t though,” Petra laughed ruefully. He had really got her then.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said, sitting back down and taking the chocolate box away before it occurred to her to throw any more of it at him. “Here’s how it works. I give you first lines of famous novels. For each one you identify correctly, I’ll honestly answer a yes/no question about my own writing, agreed?”

Petra sighed happily. He must know she would agree. Which right-minded book-loving person would turn down any opportunity like this? “Go on then,” she said, trying to sound sulky, but unable to hide her fierce anticipation and delight. This was going to be the best game ever. He would quickly discover she was a demon for first-line recognition.

“Last night I dreamed—”

“—I went to Manderley again,” Petra cut in. “Du Maurier’s Rebecca. Too easy. Right. First question: What went wrong?”

“Yes/no answers,” he reminded her. “That’s a Bible-length reply.”

“Okay, fine,” said Petra, humming as she thought, with her finger over her mouth. Tactics were required. “Are you writing?” she asked slowly.

“Yyyy . . . no,” said Ross.

“Liar!” Petra declared.

“All right, yes,” admitted Ross.

“I knew it! So come on,” she pleaded, “can I read it?”

“Not so fast. You have to earn it, okay . . .” Ross tapped his lip reflectively. “All right, this one: ‘It was a bright, cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.’”

Petra groaned in frustration. “Hang on, hang on . . . I know this. Ha! Orwell. Nineteen Eighty-Four.”

“Finally!” declared Ross. “Okay, next one—”

“Wait! What about my question?”

“Go on then.”

“Um . . . Didn’t you have a two-book deal with Encore?”

“Yes.”

“Damn! I meant to ask, ‘Are you still under contract?’”

“Ah, but you didn’t,” Ross observed infuriatingly. “Okay, this one’s easy. ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times . . .’”

“Tale of Two Cities!” crowed Petra triumphantly. “God, I love that book. ‘It is a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done . . .’”

“‘And a far, far better rest I go to than I have ever known,’” finished Ross, momentarily reflective, flumping down on the sofa beside her, their thighs nearly touching.

“God, I bloody love that book,” Petra quavered, her chin wobbling. What? Just thinking about Sidney Carton made her want to cry? She had to get a grip.

“Need a minute?” said Ross gently, turning his body to face her. He rested his hand on her knee, ducking his head so his beautiful green eyes, with their thick, dark lashes, could meet her own. For a long moment, they gazed at each other, neither apparently able to break the connection. Next thing Petra knew, her hand was covering his. By instinct, their fingers interlinked, and electricity coursed up Petra’s arm, straight to her core. She wondered what it would be like to reach up and stroke her fingers along his strong jawline, to press her mouth against his—whoa!

“Absolutely not,” Petra blurted aloud, shaking her head to dispel the moment, forcing her mind to return to Sidney Carton, doing the noble thing. And that was what she had to do. Never mind her own increasingly disturbing feelings toward this man, their friendship was far too precious to risk ruining it with a casual fling.

With difficulty, she gathered her scattered wits. “Now, spill. Are you still under contract?” she demanded briskly.

Ross hesitated. “No,” he said at last, apparently reluctantly taking back his hand and turning around to face the fire.

Silence fell.

Seriously, this was huge, thought Petra, unable to think up a response. Being released from a contract was top level “bad.” It basically never happened, except when things had gone really, really wrong.

“Did you have to pay back the advance?” Petra asked at last, her face screwed up in sympathy.