Page 75 of How to Find a Romance in a Bookshop

“Small town life,” explained Jules. “What you’ll learn is everyone has to have an opinion about everything. It’s the law. And even the smallest thing is life and death too. Every. Single. Time.”

“Horrible?” ventured Petra.

Jules laughed again, shaking her head. “At first it’s a bit alarming,” she admitted. “But you learn not to mind.”

“In London people just bitch behind each other’s backs. Here . . . I dunno. People—people like Diana at least—are braver, I suppose. Bolder.”

“Portneath changes everyone,” mused Jules. “It’s the security of belonging, I think . . . So Diana can be a pain in the arse,” she explained, “but she’s our pain in the arse. And she makes things happen too. Good things, on the whole.”

Petra nodded soberly. If she had learned one thing from her sabbatical here, maybe it was “be more Diana.”

“And love. Love does that too,” mused Jules. “I’m bolder and braver than I once was,” she observed dreamily, stuffing in another huge mouthful of cinnamon bun, chewing ecstatically. “The baby wants it,” she explained to Petra, wiping her sticky fingers on her napkin. “Everyone loves you,” she went on. “You and Ross. You fit in.”

Petra said nothing, not wanting Jules to notice that tears had sprung to her eyes at her words of praise and acceptance. After a lifetime of feeling like she had her nose pressed to the glass, watching everyone else with their busy, fulfilling lives, with their friends and their careers and their lovers . . . here in Portneath she had all of these things.

Life was good.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated, shimmying its way across the table.

Jules caught it just before it threw itself on the floor and handed it to Petra. “Jess in a flap?” she suggested, glancing at the screen.

“I can’t find the folder with the VIP hotel reservations,” Jess blurted as soon as Petra greeted her.

“That’s because you left it in the office when we were going through the ticket sales numbers last night,” Petra told her soothingly. “Why don’t I drop it at the reception desk at The Swan later, and you can pick it up from there, when you meet them for dinner, right?”

“Oh, thank God, that would be amazing,” Jess told her. “Urgh, yes, dinner is terrifying. I tried to get Aiden to come too, but he just threatened to put on an impenetrable Devon accent and lecture them about ash dieback all night.”

Petra laughed. As a tree surgeon, Aiden knew everything there was to know about ash dieback, but he was also extremely knowledgeable about many other subjects and definitely didn’t talk with an impenetrable local accent. “It’s because he’s got faith in you, and so have I,” said Petra. “You’ll be great.”

She would offer to help Jess herself, but her mission that evening was to make sure that Ross was mentally on track for his big day tomorrow. The nerves about coming back out into the open seemed to be getting to him. At least she had to assume that’s what it was.

In the end, it was hours before she got a chance to walk the file over to the hotel. Setting off at last, she saw it was a balmy, golden summer’s evening. The sun was dipping down low on the horizon now, casting its glowing rays across the broad, flat sands of low tide, where sheets of sitting water reflected the sky, and the rippled sand gave the appearance of wavelets frozen into stillness until the sea returned to free them.

Petra tilted back her head, closing her eyes and basking in the warmth on her face, Jess’s missing file binder under her arm. The Swan Hotel was on the far side of the footbridge that crossed the river mouth and as she walked across, feeling as if she was suspended between sea and sky, she recalled walking across this very bridge as night fell on the January day she arrived. Who was that young woman? Stressed, lonely, frightened . . . She could hardly remember. What she could remember was her first meeting with Ross, the bit where she faceplanted on the railway platform and then tried to press money into his hand.

“What are you smiling at?” came a warm, deep, familiar voice.

She opened her eyes, and there he was. Ross. Standing before her in silhouette, in front of the setting sun.

“Just thinking what a fool I made of myself the day we met,” she told him, as he linked arms with her and turned back the way he had come. “What are you doing down here?” she asked, falling into step with him so naturally it was as if they had been doing it their entire life. “I thought you were up at the cottage. I was going to come up as soon as I delivered this.” She showed him the folder.

“Jess told me,” he explained. “I thought I’d meet you and buy you supper. It’ll do us both good to have a square meal, whether we feel like it or not. I bet you haven’t eaten since this morning.”

He looked down at her, eyebrows raised, and she ducked her head. “You’ve got me,” she admitted. It had been a very long time since her cinnamon bun with Jules. “And—you’re right—I’m starving!” she said, delighted to see him apparently relaxed and happy again at last. Whatever the issue had been, it appeared to be resolved. “I’m going to have sweet potato fries and mayonnaise and a huge glass of viognier,” she told him happily. “And garlic bread. And sticky toffee pudding.”

“Hmm. Carbs with your carbs?” he chuckled. “Good thinking. I’m in, although I reckon I’ll have to roll you back up the hill to bed.”

“Listen, don’t appetite-shame me,” said Petra, jabbing her finger into his biceps. “Remember I know all about the potato chip sandwiches and the full English breakfast buns.”

“True,” admitted Ross. “You know so many of my secrets now, I’m either going to have to kill you or marry you.”

“Ha!” said Petra, a little too loudly, just to show she totally knew that what he had just said was a joke. Until he was prepared to propose to her properly, she was determined not to jump to conclusions.

It was a relief to push through the heavy oak double doors at The Swan, escaping the slight chill of the breeze on the seafront. Petra was immediately enveloped in the quiet luxury of low lighting, wooden paneling, and thick carpets that muffled the sound.

She shivered at the sudden warmth, and Ross put an arm around her shoulders.

“Cold? Have my sweater.”