Page 52 of How to Find a Romance in a Bookshop

The windows of Capelthorne’s winked in the sunshine as Petra slid the key into the door. She knew its foibles now, a little twist to the left, a push, a twist around to the right, and the door opened sweetly for her, not like her precipitous entrance that first evening just a few months before.

Walking in, and humming contentedly, Petra whizzed around the shop, switching on lights, firing up the register, running her eye over the displays to make sure all was as it should be. Flo had been in the day before, so everything was—of course—perfect.

Petra cast an eye over the receipts. Once again, it had been a good day’s trade yesterday, she noted with satisfaction. The little shop was doing well under her care, despite her initial morose predictions.

Petra was in the habit of sending Jules and Roman a brief weekly update, and they had been professing themselves delighted with her work too. Not for the first time, Petra wished her six months’ stewardship was not whizzing by quite so quickly. It would be summer soon, and time for her to leave. And now, with Ross in her life, what would become of them both? Okay, so he had professed his love, but would it be enough to persuade him to leave this charming town and come with her?

Would he even want to go to London?

Would she?

Chapter Twenty

“So,” Jess announced as soon as she arrived and placed her folder on the table between them. “You and Ross, eh?” She was grinning widely.

“Good grief, news travels fast,” Petra muttered, unable to wipe the smile from her face. Ross had been messaging, promising her a delicious supper on her return to the cottage after this.

“Fast work, eh?”

Petra laughed. “I met him before I met any of you,” she said in her own defense. “It’s just been nice having a friend . . . and now . . .”

“It’s luuuurve!” declared Jess. “Fabulous. We need to see more of this beautiful man. Bring him on Friday? Usual time and location?”

“God, poor Ross,” laughed Petra. “You will be gentle with him, won’t you?”

“I will,” promised Jess, “but you know what Freya’s like. Also—this is great—because it saves me having to find you a ‘plus one’ for Jules and Roman’s wedding party. I’ve been racking my brains, to be honest.”

“Hang on,” said Petra nervously. “I haven’t actually RSVPed on that yet. I’m assuming Jules and Roman are just being polite . . . They want me to be out of here as soon as they get back, surely? I’m only covering while they’re away. That’s the deal.”

“Of course you’re welcome to come,” said Jess firmly. “And anyway, you can’t rush off, because I need you for the festival, so it’s going to be at least the beginning of September before you go. Plus”—Jess’s face fell—“well, I thought you’d want to stay. We blow-ins need to stick together.”

“Yeah, well . . . it’s not even June yet. Let’s see how things go,” said Petra, flipping open her laptop and opening up her festival “to do” list. “So . . . let’s talk about responses to our speaker invitations, because we need to get the final lineup confirmed asap.”

Closing his laptop with a sigh, and—more important—another thousand words of the novel safely in the bag, Ross was thinking about Petra coming home, and how they would cook supper together. Maybe they would sit in the tiny garden with a beer while it cooked, shooting the breeze, exchanging news about their respective days . . . They never ran out of things to talk about.

Just as he went to stand up, his phone pinged, and he reached for it, smiling. Petra’s texts were always so funny. Really, she should write a book too. Maybe a rom-com . . .

When he saw the notification, his heart clenched like a fist, a rock, heavy in his chest:

Rossie! read the message. It’s been too, too long, lover-boy . . . Call me?

When they were apart, Petra longed to be with Ross.

Had they ever really been “just friends” she wondered now as she walked back up the main street to Ross’s cottage—home—at the end of another satisfying day’s work. How had she not seen this sooner? It must have been more than simple friendship that caused her spirits to lift so euphorically when she saw him slip in through the bookshop door at the end of the working day. And on the days when his writing was going well and he hadn’t shown up, she had been so downcast. Ridiculously, she had not recognized the cause of her seesawing mood.

It was as if their love for each other had been hiding in plain sight. Even from themselves. Flo’s predictions about the two of them had been right all along. She was a wise old bird. Petra smiled; she would give her that. And they were good for each other too. It wasn’t just the not being able to keep their hands off each other bit—which was fun—it was also the deep shared interest in all things related to books. Ross was so confident of his abilities again now. His editing was underway with a sure touch, and Petra’s work for Jules and Roman had become inspired: She had the writing club, the two book clubs, and—best of all—her reading recommendations were becoming so legendary that she was getting strangers coming into the shop asking for her by name.

Yes, the Beach Reads Book Club, in particular, was thriving, she mused as she walked. And it was even becoming a useful bellwether for her commercial fiction buying.

Write Club too was flourishing under her tender stewardship, which gave her an idea.

“You should come to Write Club next week,” she said to Ross as they cooked supper together, squeezing past each other in his tiny kitchen. Not that close proximity was any kind of problem.

“What? I could never be a tutor, if that’s what you mean? I’m a crap teacher.”

“That’s actually not what I was talking about. You’re in another stratosphere to them careerwise, but I meant you should join in. Actually, you probably wouldn’t want to lower yourself. Forget I said anything.” He was in a weird mood tonight, she told herself. Negative, which wasn’t like him. Okay, it was like the old Ross—

“That is absolutely not what I meant,” Ross said hastily. “Of course I don’t want to pull rank on other writers.” He sighed. “I feel like I’m not ready to share. Except with you,” he added. “I wish you had been my editor first time out.”