Page 51 of How to Find a Romance in a Bookshop

Petra nodded slowly, catching her scurrying thoughts. That was fair enough. He had had time to reflect and—naturally—decided that appointing her as his agent would be disastrous. Career suicide. As if things hadn’t been bad enough already for him.

“Then, of course, I will do what I can to support you in finding someone else,” she said, trying to sound measured but unable to suppress the wobble in her voice. Rejection was rejection, however you looked at it. And she had had more than her fair share of that in the last few months.

“Yes, good, thank you,” said Ross. “Obviously, I would have loved for you to do it—and I appreciate it would have been good for your career, so I am hugely sorry about that.”

Petra made a dismissive gesture.

“But,” he went on, “I really can’t allow myself to break my rule of mixing business with my private life. You have to trust me—it’s a really bad idea.”

“Oh, okay, so . . .” Petra was struggling to keep up, her brain felt foggy and full. “Does that mean that we . . . ?”

“If you want to give it a go?” said Ross anxiously, coming over to the bed and pulling her into his side. He gazed down at her, a sweet smile spreading across his face.

“I think we could ‘give it a go,’” said Petra, sighing a happy sigh.

And then, oh so slowly, Ross bent his head down and brushed her lips with his own.

Petra gave fleeting attention to the thought that she very likely had smudged mascara, bird’s nest hair, and morning breath, but then she dismissed her chattering negative brain, allowing those delightful feelings she had experienced in her dream to suffuse her body once again. And there was more. A warm glow started in her core and spread as she pushed herself against him, deepening the kiss, and reaching up to run her hands through his thick silky hair, pulling him down against her.

For a long while they communicated without words, exploring and basking in their physical nearness. Touch was enough. It was as if the months of growing friendship had been missing this one piece of their relationship, and now their need to catch up was a gentle but persistent hunger.

Eventually it was Ross who pulled away, sitting up and resting Petra back against the pillows. “You need to take it easy,” he told her as he got to his feet. “I’ll get us some food.”

Disappointed, and not at all feeling like taking it easy, Petra gazed after him, yearning for him to stay near, but comforted to hear the everyday sounds he was making in the kitchen below.

She was no longer in any doubt about how close she came to losing everything the night before, and that realization drove her to a revelation. She had to lose no more time living her life to the full. Books were great, work was—well—becoming a little more attractive, but this? This meeting of minds and bodies had had “inevitable” written all over it, right from the moment they met on the station platform, if only she had known . . .

It would be like this now, she told herself, astonished that her happiness could be so profound and yet the feeling should exist with this calmness she felt—a quiet “rightness” that she had never experienced before. So, this was what it felt like. This was “true love,” not the edgy, anxious excitement, the stomach-churning roller coaster of her past relationships, but this.

This.

Ross returned with a laden tray. There was fresh coffee, a pile of hot sourdough toast, a jar of thick-cut marmalade, and a pat of daffodil yellow butter.

“I wasn’t expecting guests,” he grinned. “I didn’t have a lot in. But get this into you and maybe later I’ll let you get up. We can go to our café and have bacon and eggs.”

“Our café,” said Petra dreamily, spreading her toast thickly and taking a huge bite. She was suddenly starving.

“I thought love was supposed to make you too preoccupied to eat,” she said apologetically. “I’m going to get massive at this rate.”

“Good,” said Ross. “I don’t think real love stops you from eating. Sounds like something else does that . . . And also,” he added fiercely, “eat whatever the hell you like. I’m not in love with your backside being its exact current size,” he went on. “I’m just—well—in love with your backside generally . . .”

“Such a way with words,” teased Petra.

“And it’s not just your backside either,” Ross went on. “I’m in love with all of you.”

Suddenly he was serious. He held her gaze. “I’m in love with you, Petra,” he said quietly.

“I’m in love with you too,” she replied with a happy sigh.

Later that day, Flo texted Petra to ask after her and to confirm (insist, really) that she was taking charge of the shop until Petra was up to it.

Ross went to Capelthorne’s to collect some bits and pieces for her, having made it quite clear to Petra—and also to Flo—that he and Petra would be living together at the cottage from that day onward.

By Wednesday morning, Petra was raring to get back to work, insisting that she walk back down to Capelthorne’s in time to open up. There was a delivery due that day, and she didn’t want Flo humping boxes around. Plus, she had a meeting scheduled with Jess about the literary festival in the shop after closing. She was determined not to let her new friend down.

It was a late spring morning, and it felt as if the world had been unwrapped all brand-new just that day. The sky was cerulean with cartoonishly perfect fluffy white clouds, and the birds sang so loud in the churchyard that they drowned out the sound of cars beginning the rush to work.

Petra walked down the main street, reveling in the warmth of the sun on her back. Portneath felt like her town now. There was the little flower shop, with the lady owner placing tall galvanized buckets filled with blooms on the pavement outside. There were bunches of bright tulips, the last of the narcissi, and early apricot-colored roses unfurling and releasing their heady scent into the air as Petra passed by. The chocolate shop was still dark and shuttered, but the windows of the bakery next door were piled high with fresh crusty loaves and trays of huge croissants. A short queue had formed already as retired people collected their bread along with their newspapers and milk from the corner shop farther down.