Page 19 of The Bookshop By the Loch

I pointed to the shimmering vista of the loch across the road. “I was going to suggest having the front of Book Ends repainted a gleaming white and the windowsills decorated with the same pale grey as the interior. I thought that might play well against the water just across the way.”

Trevor had been very generous with providing funds for the shop revamp, which was a relief. We would no doubt need every penny!

The student, who hadn’t purchased any books, gave us a brief smile as he packed up his laptop and vanished into the street. “That’s the first thing that has to stop,” I said, with an eye roll. “We’re not a library.”

Trevor shook his head, exasperated. “It’s been happening a lot.”

We both meandered outside, drinking in the tired shop facade, before hurrying back in, thanks to the keen breeze whipping in from across the loch.

I chose that moment to mention to Trevor about looking at the staff rota. “As you won’t be working in the bookshop for ninety-nine per cent of the time, like I said before, I think we’ll need a full-time assistant and perhaps one other part-time member of staff.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” agreed Trevor. “We’ll be swamped with customers and will need all hands on deck!”

“I hope so,” I said, my heart giving a nervous jolt. “Once we get the revamp underway, we can start thinking about advertising the two vacancies.”

Trevor suggested we take a look at the bookshop office next and we agreed that just needed a lick of white paint to replace the dark burgundy in there, which would complement the biscuit carpet better and enhance the rectangular walnut desk. The fridge and microwave could remain in there for the staff to use.

I made more copious notes.

We closed the office door and stepped back out into the bookshop. Excitement zipped through me. “If you’re happy, I can recruit the services of one of Mum’s friends to undertake the redecorating.”

“As soon as possible would be best,” mused Trevor. “Now that the bookshop is off the market, I want to hit the ground running.”

My attention fell again on the generous space at the rear of the bookshop. If things went well, we could think about expanding further.

I gave myself a mental check. One thing at a time, Lexie. I had twelve months to turn the fortunes of Book Ends around. One thing at a time.

As soon as I arrived back home, I set to work. Keeping occupied was helping me not focus too much on the task I was taking on, as well as the fact I’d told Literati where they could stick their job.

I moved on to pulling together ideas for posts for Book Ends’ social media accounts, as well as advertising and promotion. I noticed Trevor developed a nervous twitch whenever I so much as mentioned Facebook, so I knew he wouldn’t want to be involved in any of that side of things.

I’d already begun setting up social media accounts for Book Ends on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter. Now, it was just a case of pulling together exciting, enticing posts to load up on them!

I gave my lengthy to-do list another critical look as I perched on Mum’s sitting room sofa. Bloody hell! I wanted it to start looking shorter, not longer!

I wandered through to the kitchen, from where I could see a teasing glimpse of Bracken Castle’s jutting turrets in the distance.

Tomorrow was the 1st May and Easter had vanished, taking with it the dusty lemon and lime daffodils on the castle hill.

I’d managed to place a couple more adverts in local and regional newspapers earlier that afternoon, as well as one in a writing magazine, advertising my editorial services.

I had to keep my options open. If Book Ends didn’t work out in the next twelve months, I’d have to have something else to fall back on.

Mum and Grandpa had gone out to the local garden centre for a wander and a cup of tea. They’d tried to persuade me to go with them, but I knew I had to press on.

After rustling up a salmon, cream cheese and salad bagel for lunch, I returned to my action list.

The words “Speak to Rhiannon!” jumped out at me from the yellow, lined paper.

I wasn’t looking forward to that. I’d texted her with my news, but it looked like she hadn’t received my messages. I suspected she hadn’t heard yet about me abandoning ship from Literati either, as she’d been away on holiday, visiting her sister who lived in a remote part of Canada. She would’ve called me otherwise and tried to change my mind if she’d known.

I procrastinated for a few more minutes by sticking on some washing, watching videos of wild dolphins on my laptop and admiring the latest photos of Ryan Reynolds on social media, before I managed to harness enough courage to ring Rhiannon.

When she heard my voice, hers rose several panicked octaves down the line. I asked her how her sister was and if the Canadian weather had been kind to her. But Rhiannon wasn’t in the mood for small talk. “I’ve just received your texts,” she gasped. “What the hell is going on, Lexie?”

“I’ve handed in my notice. I’ve got a new job. I’m now the manager of my local bookshop.”

There was such a deafening silence, I wondered for a moment if she’d passed out and was lying in her carpeted, glass-desk office, with her red-soled Louboutin’s in the air.