Page 40 of How to Find a Romance in a Bookshop

“You’ll see,” he told her, as they strode together in lockstep down to the quay. Out at the harbor now, the wind from the sea sliced like a knife and Petra clamped her hands to her cheeks, trying in vain to imbue warmth with her icy fingers.

Suddenly, Ross took a sharp left, grabbing her arm and wheeling her around into a little greasy spoon café on the seafront. Inside, the air was fuggy, warm, and redolent of bacon fat and wet wool. Most of the Formica tables were occupied, but Ross steered Petra to a little table that had just become vacant by the window, sitting her down and efficiently stacking the detritus of the previous occupants out of their way.

Petra blew her nose on a plasticky white napkin from the stack in the middle of the table. Ross was truly seeing her at her most radiant, she thought, wiping her eyes that had been streaming from the cold.

“Full English twice?” Ross queried, looking at Petra as the bustling café owner came to take their order.

Petra nodded. “Totally,” she said, nodding at the lady. “But just once is plenty for me,” she added.

“Even the lorry drivers don’t manage two,” the lady agreed. “I’ll get you some nice hot tea straightaway, my darlings,” she went on. “You look like you need warming up.”

Two steaming mugs of strong milky tea arrived, and Petra warmed her hands around hers gratefully.

“I had you down as an avocado-on-sourdough kind of girl,” teased Ross as two plates piled high with bacon, sausage, eggs, baked beans, tomato, and mushrooms arrived, along with side plates of sliced white bread and stacks of little foil butter packets.

“I eat avocado,” said Petra defensively, before shoveling a forkful of sausage and bacon into her mouth. It was as hot as lava, and she panted desperately, fanning her hand in front of her open mouth. This must look utterly charming, she thought to herself, rolling her eyes at Ross, who was laughing at her predicament.

“Classy,” he deadpanned. “Listen, I like to be around women who actually eat,” he went on, in response to her pseudo-outraged expression. “I dated enough avocado toast girls when I was living in London.”

Dated? Is that what this is? thought Petra, hoping her blushes at the word were lost in the general ruddy-cheeked-ness of chilly Sunday morning walks with no makeup on. Suddenly, she hoped that Ross was a man who liked the natural look.

“Tell me about your London life?” she said, fiddling with a butter packet and spreading her bread so she had an excuse not to meet his eye.

“Book launches, interviews, parties filled with people who don’t actually like each other . . . leggy, clever women throwing themselves at me. And men.”

“Must have been hell,” said Petra, feeling a pang of jealousy. “And did you manage to refrain from reciprocating?”

“Yeah, mostly,” he said. “I was kind of . . . ‘unavailable’ at the time.” He gave Petra a twisted smile.

“You were in a relationship?” she hazarded.

“Yeah,” he said, without elaboration.

“With Prospero?”

“Yeah, kind of . . . Dr. Frankenstein, Geppetto, choose your god/creator/whoever . . . Female in this case, if you were wondering.”

“When God made man, she was only joking,” Petra told him.

“Bumper sticker philosophizing. Profound stuff,” he told her, looking away and pretending to be very busy with the ketchup.

Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about it, which—of course—meant that Petra very much did.

“So about Caliban’s happy ending,” she said tangentially. “What might that look like?”

Ross put down his knife and fork reflectively. “I think I always saw it that Caliban’s thing for Miranda was legitimate,” he said. “And potentially reciprocated. I mean, why not?”

“Makes sense,” Petra nodded. She had kind of had a crush on Miranda herself, after seeing the play as a teenager.

“I mean, why wouldn’t he be in love with her?” Ross agreed. “Not just because she’s beautiful, but because of her courage,” he went on. “Her open-mindedness and determination to find beauty in all things.”

“‘Brave new world . . .’” quoted Petra.

“‘ . . . that has such people in it,’” Ross quoted back, his eyes locked onto Petra’s. “Exactly. So there’s Caliban, in this beautiful place, but lonely, angry, and hating everything, then there’s Miranda, his childhood friend. I think she’s so amazing,” he said smiling, with a faraway look in his eyes.

“Because . . . ?” prompted Petra, her heart inexplicably pounding.

“She’s astounding,” he went on. “She’s ended up on the island because of someone else’s agenda, she’s endured the trauma of a shipwreck, and she’s got this seriously weird father. Despite all that, there she is: embracing change, driving positivity, bringing life, joy, and a fresh perspective into Caliban’s world at exactly the time that he’s suffering from having lost his freedom to this manipulative Svengali figure, Prospero. It’s intoxicating,” he said, his eyes ranging hungrily over Petra’s face as he talked. “She’s . . .” He shook his head, locking eyes with Petra again, smiling. “She’s kind of my dream woman, I suppose.”