Page 59 of How to Find a Romance in a Bookshop

Petra nodded, annoyed, but she started to see Ross’s point. “So it’s misogyny,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Pure misogyny,” said Ross, topping up Petra’s glass. “And, before you ask,” he went on, “I like reading a good romance myself. I am the exception that proves the rule.”

“I would expect nothing less,” said Petra.

“So how are we going to change the world?” prompted Ross, smiling in expectation.

“How are you going to change the world first?” said Petra, buying time.

“How about I write a romance?”

“Done.”

“Good, because I already am,” said Ross, delighted that Petra had fallen for his little trap.

“You are?” said Petra, flushing with pleasure at the thought. But of course he was! Caliban and Miranda . . . it was the greatest love story never told . . . “That Shakespeare was a sappy old thing, wasn’t he?”

“He was. Although he didn’t always deliver on the happy endings.”

At that, his expression darkened.

“This is nicer than holing up in the used books section,” said Petra quickly to divert him, cuddling up for warmth. Even in early summer, the evenings could be cool, and the stone cottage was a little damp, if Petra was honest.

This was how they spent their evenings now, she mused happily, curled up together on the sofa in the cottage, drinking endless cups of tea, sometimes watching a film on Ross’s laptop, but—as often as not—just chatting about work and life.

“Doesn’t four months ago feel like forever,” said Ross, gazing into the flames, his dark thoughts apparently forgotten again as he idly stroked Petra’s cheek.

“Yeah, time’s been kind of dragging since I met you,” Petra joked.

They both sat in contented silence for a minute or two, and then: “About the festival—” they both said in unison and then laughed.

“You go,” said Petra.

“Okay, so I’m thinking it’s a bit silly to do that workshop incognito,” Ross told her. “And I’m going to look like a total weirdo if people find out later.”

Petra stiffened. He was right, of course, but the last thing she wanted to do was push him.

“Plus, you and Jess are doing an amazing job, and I know bandying my stupid name around will help, which is ridiculous, but . . .” He trailed away.

“If you’re sure?” ventured Petra.

He nodded firmly.

“Okay,” said Petra, looking at him anxiously, but she was reassured by what she saw. “I’ll get Jess to draft an announcement that you’re our keynote speaker for the launch then,” she said. “And we’ll need a publicity photo . . . This is the kind of thing you should be talking to your agent about, really,” she said, biting her lip.

“Who needs an agent when I’ve got you as my . . . ‘unagent.’”

“Kind of like the ‘undead’ with fringe benefits?” queried Petra.

“Oh yes,” said Ross. “Aaaall sorts of fringe benefits. Like, I would never do this with my agent,” he said, pulling her onto his lap and kissing her on the neck, just behind her ear, where he knew it would drive her wild.

“Yup, that would be seriously unprofessional behavior,” she sighed, slipping her hand inside his shirt and leaning in for more.

Petra was anxious. She was glad to be in the shop alone today because Flo would definitely weasel it out of her, but the truth was, she was out of her depth. She was well aware how incredibly brave Ross was to agree to be part of the festival. He was, she knew, doing it out of loyalty to her—and to Jess and the gang who had sweetly taken him into their friend group as one of their own.

But this unease was making her feel isolated, because none of the crowd in Portneath would understand what was causing it. Not even Ross. She wasn’t the most experienced literary agent in the world, but she wasn’t totally green. Once Ross broke cover, it would be a complete fracas, especially if they got wind that there was a manuscript too. Not only would the trade media be all over it, she was fully expecting a flock of influencers to descend. And social media was powerful but fickle . . . His TikTok fans might have helped to make Ross, but they could break him just as easily. If they didn’t buy his story—his reasons for disappearing (and even she didn’t really understand what they were)—then the condemnation could be personally and professionally crushing.

There was only one person she could turn to, and she knew she could trust him to keep a secret.