Page 68 of How to Find a Romance in a Bookshop

Dissent had not even been an option, mused Petra, carefully applying mascara in the little bathroom of the flat as she waited for Ross to arrive. He had been of two minds when she told him the plan but—understanding that Petra was dying to make a good impression—he agreed to come and was popping into the shop to pick her up a few minutes early.

It was nice to have a chance to dress up, Petra thought, smoothing her new navy blue dress with her slightly sweaty palms and stepping back to judge her appearance. School mistress, she decided, with a subtle overlay of goth teenager. God, she was going to look so colorless next to Jules with her bright, floaty scarves and expensive, globe-trotting tan.

Roman had—oh so politely—asked to see the spreadsheets when they met in the shop too. He spent an hour in the back office, bringing himself up to speed, although Jules had excused herself, claiming jet lag and the need to nap before dinner. Petra fiddled around on the shop floor, too nervous about possibly being interrogated to go into the office where he was. She knew the figures weren’t bad. Flo had a good sense of the turnover they should be aiming for, even if Petra didn’t, and she had raised no concerns over the last six months. But Petra was still nervous to hear what Roman had to say.

Petra’s phone pinged—just Ross letting her know he was outside—so she smoothed her straight black bob one more time and checked that none of her scarlet lipstick had transferred onto her teeth. It would have to do.

“Pretty!” exclaimed Ross instantly when Petra opened the door.

“Yeah, sure,” Petra replied, making a face.

“Listen,” said Ross, pulling her against his chest and dropping a kiss onto the top of her head, “you look gorgeous, and you rock. They’re going to love you just as much as I do, okay?”

Petra grunted in reply. If she doubted the sincerity of the message behind the words, then his eyes told her otherwise. He locked her gaze, eyebrows raised in query, and she gave him a reluctant smile.

With his arm resting heavy and comforting across her shoulder, Petra let Ross shepherd her safely across the street to Freya’s.

Opening the door, they were greeted with a swell of chatter and a glorious waft of delicious savory smells from the kitchen.

Roman and Ross shook hands in a friendly fashion, but Jules pulled Ross in for the whole “air-kisses on both cheeks” treatment, accompanied by a quiet outpouring of delight over Ross’s first novel, which Jules had adored, remembering all the fuss about it from when she was working at Farquarson and Trimble in her London days.

“Didn’t you guys at F & T make a bid for it when it went to auction?” asked Ross, narrowing his eyes in an effort to remember.

“Well, I mean I didn’t,” admitted Jules, sitting back down and taking her napkin. “It was a while ago, wasn’t it? I would have been responsible for tea-making and letter-opening at the time. I wouldn’t even have been in the room, let alone been in charge. You must have been so young!” she exclaimed.

“He was twenty-eight and sickeningly precocious,” Petra told her as Ross slid her chair back for her. “I mean what normal twenty-eight-year-old has anything to say?”

“I’m not normal,” admitted Ross ruefully.

“I’ll drink to weird,” replied Petra, taking a gulp of the wine that Roman had just poured for her.

“Hey, hang on,” Ross remonstrated, “Weird? I wouldn’t go that far.”

Roman laughed. “And I gather from Flo”—here he lowered his voice and leaned in toward Ross—“that you’ve got another manuscript on its way. That’s going to be quite the event. If you’re looking for a contact in the US publishing houses, I know an editor who would love to see it.”

“Thanks,” said Ross. “I’ve got Petra representing me, so—yeah—do pass it on to her, that would be great.”

“Ah,” said Roman, and he and Jules looked at each other meaningfully.

“What?” asked Petra.

“We did wonder whether you’d be going back to London, to pick up the agenting thing,” admitted Jules, “but we were really hoping . . .” She looked at Roman again, and then back to Petra. “The thing is, we were really hoping we could persuade you to stay.” She looked at Petra, biting her lip. “Shall we just tell them?” she asked Roman, who nodded.

Jules leaned in, darting glances to left and right. “I’m eating for two,” she confessed.

“Oh wow!” exclaimed Petra loudly—and then, more quietly, “That’s so exciting!”

“Yeah,” acknowledged Jules, looking delighted, but trying not to. “It’s a honeymoon baby—what a cliché,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“How are you feeling?” asked Petra.

“Mostly really hungry and really sleepy,” confessed Jules. “I’ve been lucky, I know. I’m actually already four months gone, so I’m definitely starting to need baggier clothes, even if it’s only to accommodate all the eating I seem to be doing . . .”

“So—the thing is,” Roman picked up the thread, “we were hoping you would help run the shop for the next year at least, while Jules is busy with the baby? I’ll be around too, of course, but we really want to persuade Flo to rest more, and we’ve got a few other projects we want to explore, so it would be super helpful to not be running the shop all the time as well. You’ve done such a great job for us. We couldn’t be more grateful, but—if you’re not staying . . .”

“We’re definitely potentially staying, though,” said Ross hastily. “There’s a lot we need to talk about. What you’re proposing sounds really interesting, doesn’t it?” he said, catching Petra’s eye.

“Sure!” said Petra, who had been dreading going back to her old job, something that had seemed inevitable. Now this? Staying in Portneath longer? Petra floated the idea in her head and the resultant surge in hopefulness—a swelling sense of joy—was unmistakable.