Page 69 of How to Find a Romance in a Bookshop

“By the way, do keep Jules’s condition under your hats for now,” Roman added quickly. “We thought we’d maybe announce it at the party.”

“God, of course!” Petra reassured them. “And I just need to say, Ross’s manuscript is a secret too, although we totally don’t mind you knowing.”

“Don’t you just love sharing secrets?” Jules said. “That’s what they’re for, right?” She sighed happily.

“That’s literally the opposite of what you are supposed to do with secrets,” deadpanned Roman indulgently, reaching over and tenderly tucking a loose lock of Jules’s hair behind her ear.

“Flo tells me you’ve gone on the most amazing honeymoon,” said Petra wistfully. “All the most incredible bookshops in the world?”

“Yes!” declared Jules. “It’s been the trip of a lifetime, so now I am totally ready to spend the rest of my days in Portneath.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Could you spend the rest of your days in Portneath?” asked Ross when he and Petra were chatting about the evening in bed later.

“Could you?”

“Yeah, maybe,” said Ross sleepily. “I feel like I’ve been everywhere, moving around to stay invisible . . . Now I’m starting to feel like I want to be found. I want to—I dunno—belong somewhere . . .”

“Hmm . . .” said Petra, snuggling in to go to sleep. “I think maybe I do too. I’d need to talk to Alistair, though. He’s expecting me back soon.”

Petra grabbed her chance to phone Alistair just before opening the shop, hoping to catch him before his secretary arrived and started intercepting his calls.

“You should accept,” he said immediately, when Petra filled him in on Jules and Roman’s offer.

“You don’t want me back?” said Petra, feeling rejected.

“Of course I do,” Alistair replied. “But you don’t have to be physically here. You don’t have to be in London at all. This is the WFH revolution, remember? And—even if you do relocate to London—you don’t necessarily have to take all your clients back.”

Ah, there it was.

“They don’t want me back, do they?” said Petra, lifting her chin and refusing to be downcast. “They’ve gotten used to having you instead. Any sensible client would want the agent with the most experience.”

“You know how we work,” Alistair reminded her. “Our client agreements make it quite clear that they sign with the agency just as much as the individual.”

“Have they all walked?”

“Not at all!” Alistair replied quickly, and then he paused. “I mean, one or two . . .”

She didn’t need him to spell it out to her. “So, yeah, I think I’d like to stay on here,” she said, letting him off the hook. “Jules and Roman have kindly said I can remain in the flat as long as I like too, so . . .” So even if she and Ross didn’t last the course, she wouldn’t be homeless, Petra thought. She had to be realistic. It would be unwise to hope for too much in life. And she had told herself how lovely the life seemed to be here in Portneath, hadn’t she? She could retreat. Run a bookshop. Have a quiet life. Not everyone had to conquer the world.

“I’ll tell you what, though,” Alistair went on. “Even if you let a couple of your smaller clients go, you’re not getting out of selling Ross McCloud’s manuscript. Where did you get to on the submission package?” he asked. “Do you want to float the email copy by me? I’ll ping you over the list I suggest you submit it to?”

“Sure,” said Petra crisply, echoing Alistair’s businesslike manner. She could do that for Ross. It was the least he deserved.

“There you go,” Ross said later as they ate supper together at the cottage. “That Alistair sounds like a top bloke. Run the bookshop for Jules and Roman for a few months and represent me. Simples.”

“And the literary festival, don’t forget,” Petra said, ashamed of the slight whine she could hear in her voice. “So much for escaping to the seaside for a less stressful life,” she went on, trying to make it sound like a joke. “I thought you were on my side.”

“I am on your side. And don’t forget supporting me to actually write my book, in your list of amazing achievements. I’m your biggest fan, remember? I just want to know when you’re going to stop underestimating yourself,” Ross said gently.

Uncompromising words maybe, but when Petra met his gaze, his green eyes were ablaze with love.

Petra asked anxiously, “I mean, supporting you to write your book, critiquing it and whatnot . . . You don’t think I’m like Henrietta do you?”

At this, Ross guffawed. “God no,” he exclaimed. “Apart from all the other stuff she did . . . You? Tell a lie? You couldn’t if your life depended on it.”

“Listen, telling the truth isn’t always the best strategy either, remember,” admitted Petra, recollecting the many, many times her big mouth had got her into trouble.