Page 37 of The Bookshop By the Loch

Tobias leant the painting against the nearest wall. “I don’t paint by numbers.”

“I never said that.”

“If I recall, you did. A couple of weeks ago.”

Oops. I did. My cheeks lit up.

“I enjoy painting with water colours. I think they remind me of dancing; they possess a life and rhythm of their own.” He angled his head to one side as he studied me. “But you do sound surprised that I painted this?”

“No,” I clarified. “I suppose I’m surprised that you paint like that.”

Tobias indicated his shoulder-length mane to another painting being transported past me by the delivery driver. This one was of a half-naked young woman with a messy raven bob, examining her reflection in a long, oval mirror.

“That’s lovely too,” I admitted.

His eyes shone. “It was a commission I was asked to do by the lady in the portrait. It was a surprise gift for her husband for his fortieth birthday. Camille, the lady in question, has given me permission to display it.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said, before realising I was giving Tobias another compliment. That would have to stop.

He kept staring at me. “Thank you.”

Chapter Thirteen

The day of the official relaunch of Book Ends and the opening of Mirror Image dawned with bright, sweeping sunshine that glittered on top of the loch like scattered pieces of gold confetti.

I’d had a restless night’s sleep, my head filled with thoughts of the bookshop and niggling doubts about whether working so closely to Tobias had been such a great decision on my part. Only because he was so arrogant, I assured myself. For no other reason than that.

Oh well. It was too late to do anything about it now. I’d just have to get on with it and make the best of the situation.

Had I remembered everything? What if I failed? How would the Bracken Way locals react to the new look Book Ends?

Would the next twelve months see me able to make a success of the bookshop or was it a catastrophe waiting to happen? I really wanted this to work. Failure was not an option.

In the end, I became so agitated, I threw back my bed covers and padded downstairs to Mum’s kitchen to make myself a cup of tea.

It was just after 5am and the dawning sky reminded me of treacle spilling across the amber silhouette of the town walls.

Realising my brain was full of so much turmoil I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, I drained the dregs of my tea, managed a few bites of toast and then showered.

Mum, Grandpa and I had arranged to meet Trevor and Chloe down at Book Ends at 8am, so I took my time getting ready.

I also checked my emails from authors seeking my freelance editorial services.

I’d received a couple more enquiries from struggling writers, who had seen my adverts and were keen to speak to me, so I dashed off replies, asking for them to send me a synopsis and first three chapters of their novels. I also attached details of my rates.

One said she’d written a political romance that had received a torrent of rejections from agents and the other author, a retired man in his sixties, had completed the first draft of his Scandinavian espionage thriller, but felt like it needed an expert eye.

Another writer had also been in contact about his memoir of his times on an oil rig, but I replied with a polite decline, explaining that I was only dealing with fiction.

Then I gave him a couple of names of other freelance editors I recalled from my days at Literati, who he might be able to approach.

Once that was done, I decided to throw on my old sweatshirt and jogging pants. I also piled my hair into a messy up-do and applied my make-up, so it would just require a quick retouch before we officially re-opened at 10am.

Last night, I’d fetched my floaty, sky-blue, daisy-printed summer dress from my wardrobe and slid that into a hanging suit carrier to protect it.

To accompany it, I chose my pale ballet flats topped off with yellow leather bows. Once we had everything in place and as it should be in the bookshop, I could slip into the staff toilets and change out of my scruffy clothes.

Mum, Grandpa and I made sure we departed at 7.45am and armed with my change of outfit and shoulder bag, I jumped into the back seat of Mum’s car, with Grandpa easing himself into the passenger side. It would be a little too far for him to walk.