Page 63 of How to Find a Romance in a Bookshop

“And don’t let me forget to give you the morning coat for Ross when I see you,” Flo reminded her.

I’ll be a bit late, Petra texted Ross as she and Flo closed up the shop that Tuesday. I’ve got to go back to Flo’s to find a dress. She had told him this that very morning, but he was so vague these days, his story of Miranda and Caliban filling his head. Surprisingly, he had politely declined Flo’s offer of a morning coat, telling Petra he already had something to wear for the wedding party.

The evening air was warm and sweet as Petra and Flo drove, windows wide open, through the narrow country lanes to Flo’s cottage in Middlemass, a pretty little village a few miles inland from Portneath. It was also, Petra learned, where Roman and Jules lived, and where the party would be in a couple of weeks’ time.

“What is it?” said Flo perceptively as she drove.

Petra sighed. There was no hiding anything from her friend. “Jess wants to go ahead and announce that Ross will be headlining the literary festival.”

“And . . . ?”

“I mean, it’s fine that he’s going to be there. Actually, I think it’s good. He’s in such a great place now,” gabbled Petra. “He’s writing . . . the book’s nearly finished, as a matter of fact . . .”

“It’s good?”

“Outstanding,” breathed Petra. “Truly . . . No, I mean, it needs to find an audience.”

“So . . . ?” prompted Flo.

“So when we make the announcement, everything is going to explode. It’s going to feel like I’m trying to suppress nuclear fission.”

“Sure?” probed Flo.

“Yes,” said Petra with conviction. And that was not just because she thought it, hadn’t Alistair said as much himself? And he would know, with his wisdom and experience.

“I fail to see a problem,” said Flo. “You want to make a splash, presumably?”

“No, I mean, yes, it’s all good! It’s all good,” declared Petra.

“But . . .” nudged Flo.

“He says he wants me to represent him, and he refuses to go with my old boss Alistair instead,” Petra burst out.

She gazed unseeing out of the car window, breathing in the straw scent of the sun-warmed meadows they were driving past as they entered the outskirts of Middlemass, over the stone bridge and past an old stone church, with its square Norman bell tower.

“But he wants you,” said Flo at last. It was a statement, not a question. “So do it,” she added with finality, pulling into the driveway of an exquisite little stone cottage with towering hollyhocks in the tiny front garden. “Good talk,” Flo continued, switching off the engine. “Now, on to other matters.”

Nightingale Cottage was a study in cozy cottage perfection. Flo opened the back of the car and Digger popped out, trotting to the front door and looking at the two women expectantly.

“He’s settled so well,” said Flo fondly. “You would think he’s been here since he was a pup.”

“Has he not?” asked Petra.

“Rescue,” said Flo succinctly. “Bless him. Not saying we didn’t have our teething problems, but they were understandable really.”

“He landed on his feet, coming to you,” said Petra, following Flo into the little house.

“He knows when he’s home,” said Flo simply. “You do too, don’t you?”

“How do you mean?”

“Dear girl,” said Flo, “I think you know. I’ve seen you settle and change so much since you arrived . . . your confidence, self-belief—apart from this silly wobble about representing Ross—your happiness . . .” Flo gave her a sweet, wistful smile, quite different from her normal brisk manner. “Don’t tell me you aren’t happy here,” she challenged. “I can see you positively glowing with it these days. This is home for you now, don’t you both see?”

“Home is where the heart is,” said Petra. “I suppose. That’s just a saying, though . . .”

Flo laughed. “Sayings tend to become sayings because they’re true. Now, gin and tonic or wardrobe dive?”

“Both?” said Petra.