Page 61 of How to Find a Romance in a Bookshop

“I can persuade him,” said Petra, thinking she very much doubted that she could, actually. “It would be for you to represent him, not me, of course.”

“Absolutely not,” said Alistair. “Listen, I’m happy to back you, happy to talk through every step you take, but you’re taking the lead on this. It’s your win.”

“But—like you said—it’s huge . . .”

“Yup. It’s a career-maker,” Alistair agreed. “And it’s just what you need and deserve. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back. You’re an excellent agent, Petra. You can do this.”

Life was good, thought Ross one morning, staring out of the kitchen window toward “their” hill as he polished a glass absently. If it wasn’t for Henrietta’s increasingly insistent messaging, which he was trying and failing to ignore, he might even declare himself—well—“happy”?

With his and Petra’s relationship sustaining him, he had found new energy and purpose as the summer wore on. He would write through the daytime, and then by evening, when Petra came back to the cottage, tired from a long day in the bookshop, he was there with supper already prepared. They would eat, share news of their respective days, and then talk, read, and listen to music late into the night.

It was idyllic.

But all the while, he was painfully aware of time ticking away. In just a few weeks Jules and Roman would be returning to take back control of the bookshop. Petra would be staying on until the end of the festival, as she had promised Jess, but then?

Whatever happened to Ross after his reappearance on the literary scene, it seemed inevitable that this charmed existence in Portneath would end. Especially if Henrietta delivered on her barely veiled threats. She had been dangerous enough before, and her messages indicated she still felt as if she held a sway in Ross’s life. As she used to tell him, she knew him better than he knew himself. And maybe she was right. Strong as Petra made him feel, he feared that the sickly, enervating gravitational pull Henrietta could wield might be too overwhelming to resist if he were to see her again. And what damage could she do to him if he angered her? Plenty, he feared . . . What about when she discovered she was officially “a woman scorned”?

What then?

On the same day, Petra, walking down the hill through the fresh, cool morning air, was having similar fears about the time when their current idyll would come to an end. She dreaded how a return to the limelight might affect him, after last time.

And as for their relationship . . .

But—as Flo repeatedly told her—there was no point meeting trouble halfway. Petra was loving running the bookshop, putting more and more of her creative energy into little initiatives she hoped Jules and Roman would approve of. She would message them about anything big, of course, and Flo was a wise mentor, but Petra was growing in confidence at last and having a lot of fun.

“I love a ghost story!” Petra told a local self-published author she knew, later that day. Rosalie, a retired college lecturer who had taken up writing history books in her retirement, had sidled into the shop to show Petra her latest book, with its tales of local folklore.

“Five copies to start with, please,” Petra told her. “We’re steadily selling your other one, by the way, look!” She pointed out the little table where she had displayed the books by local authors. It made sense to have them together. People were always coming in asking for them, and stories about the ruined castle on the top of the hill were especially interesting to vacationers.

“I’m so grateful,” Rosalie was telling Petra. “Not all bookshops want to deal with writers who don’t have a traditional publishing deal, but Jules and Flo have been so supportive . . . Now, about this latest, I uncovered some fascinating information about how the castle was used as a lookout post for wreckers—”

“Wreckers?” squeaked Petra excitedly. “Yes! And ghosts?” This was getting better and better. “Pirates too?” she asked hopefully.

“Well, no,” admitted Rosalie, “although I am sure pirates did come here, with Portneath being such a significant port at the time. There’s not much written about the pirates, maybe I should—”

“You definitely should,” said Petra firmly. “But I’m also keen to read about the ghostly wreckers.”

Rosalie handed her a copy of the book. “Do have a read, and I’ll bring the other copies next week. I am happy to sign them, if you think I should?”

“Actually, let me have ten copies,” said Petra, flicking through the book excitedly, “and—yes, please—do sign them. Um, Rosalie . . .” Petra began diffidently. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to do an event at the festival in August?”

“Me? Oh no,” Rosalie said, blushing. “This writing thing is just a hobby to stave off the dreaded Alzheimer’s. You don’t know how much it takes me just to come in and talk to you . . .”

“I could make it so easy for you though,” pleaded Petra. “And—I tell you what!—I have an idea . . . Why don’t I convene a panel for you,” she suggested. “This other local writer Tony is kind of a local ghost-hunting skeptic, he’s less about the history and more about the science, like whether the appearances can be explained by electromagnetic fields, and—I dunno—cold drafts, and things.”

“Drafts?” asked Rosalie, looking perplexed.

“Yeah, maybe not actual drafts,” admitted Petra, who was hazy about the details. Science was so not her thing. “But my point is you can both talk about the same areas but from different perspectives. Also, the Tourist Information Office has a booklet on the castle, do you know it?”

“I do,” said Rosalie enthusiastically. “It’s brief, but it’s good.”

“So we could get the author of that to join in—don’t you think it would be fun? I’ll host it, and ask you all questions. And the audience can ask questions too. Honestly, people who come in here are always interested.”

Rosalie was starting to nod. Petra had her. “It would probably mean selling quite a few copies,” she persuaded, to clinch the deal. “Maybe a little slot on local radio too?”

“I would like to find a way to support the literary festival,” said Rosalie. “Which I think is a splendid idea, by the way. Why not? I’ll do it!”

The schedule for the festival was now packed to bursting, with daytime and evening events in Capelthorne’s, the town library, and town hall. The museum, it was decided, would host the panel discussion Petra created, as it was where all the history-related activity was going on.