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Chapter Sixteen
The Calm before the Storm
‘So maybe we didn’t make a fortune,’ Alex said, counting out her profits and adding them to the bookshop till’s takings. ‘But it was fun, right?’
Magnús didn’t want to say he had loved every second. ‘We did well. Sixty-three pounds and seventy-five pence. It’s still a profit.’
There were many days back at Ash and the Crash where he’d have given anything to have banked that much. Meanwhile, Alex could make three times that amount on a busy day’s sailing, but she kept that to herself.
‘Have you turned the sign?’ she asked.
Magnús strode round the counter and displayed the word ‘closed’ to any passers-by crazy enough to step out in this rain, now falling at a slant and drumming upon the cobbles.
Bovis had been the café’s last customer of the day and he’d left over an hour ago. The rain and winter darkness had chased everyone else back indoors.
Under its thick blanket of cloud, Clove Lore smelled of chimney soot, wet sand and hearty meals being cooked in cosy homes. Somewhere nearby, a winter garden bonfire had been snuffed out and the resinous smoke still lingered around the rooftops. The scents insinuated their way into the bookshop, mingling with the heady aroma of fir tree warmed by the log fire.
Magnús surveyed the shelves, wonderfully illuminated by the tree’s twinkling lights – red, blue and green. The star on the top branch, attached by a perilously thin vintage cord to the mains, gleamed gaily, casting a gentle glow over the wonky-beamed ceilings.
He had kept the firewood topped up all afternoon, just as Jowan instructed, so the edges of the room were finally warming to a comfortable temperature. The sounds of raindrops pattering on the roof and the windows only made the place cosier.
‘Did you enjoy your day?’ Magnús asked, as Alex dropped the coins into the till and locked the drawer with the key.
She thought for a moment. ‘I’ll be honest with you. It was the best day I’ve had in a long time.’ She shook her head and repeated the words. ‘Alongtime.’
‘Me too.’ He really meant it. ‘Thank you for helping me. I think we’re good at this.’
The Christmas music from Magnús’s phone filled the silence as Alex pressed the toe of her boot into the floor. This morning’s awkwardness was threatening to creep back in now they were alone again, and she refused to let it.
‘We should eat something. I’m starving,’ she told him.
Cooking together in their newly decorated café was as pleasant as Magnús knew it would be when she suggested they both try her toasties and milkshakes.
Alex was smiling and moving deftly around the room, while Magnús tried his best not to get in the way, but two tall and broad-shouldered people working in close proximity behind a café counter brought its own difficulties.
‘Oh, sorry,’ Alex said, having nudged Magnús hard in the stomach with her elbow while working the bread knife.
‘Ups!’ he murmured, having dropped a ball of ice cream onto the floor instead of into the milkshake glass in his efforts to prevent their bodies touching when Alex squeezed past him to get to the fridge.
In the end they’d been forced to laugh about it, and on her last sweep past to rescue the toasted sandwiches from the grill before they burned, she placed her hands fast against Magnús’s arms from behind him, making sure he didn’t suddenly step backwards into her as he plated up the chocolate squares for dessert.
He’d instinctively flexed, hardening the muscles beneath her fingers, before apologising goofily. ‘No idea why I did that,’ and they’d had to laugh to get through the weird excitement neither of them could contain.
Just being near her set off all of Magnús’s enthusiasm and brightness, and Alex responded by letting herself relax.
She loaded their food onto a tray as Magnús found cutlery and wine glasses.
‘You seem happier today. Have you heard from… anyone?’ Magnús had no idea how to end the sentence.
‘I’ve contacted them,’ Alex said, turning off the grill. ‘Everything’s sorted, for now.’
‘Hah!’ Magnús was pleased for her. ‘So you can enjoy yourself now? Call this a kind of holiday, even?’
‘I think so.’
What Magnús wanted was for her to unburden herself, to tell him all her secrets, but he wasn’t going to push her. She was happy, as though the invisible thing that had been chasing her had lost her scent and she was free to just be herself. It was heartening to see her smiling like this.
Following her through to the bookshop as she carried the tray, Magnús collected the wine bottle from beneath the branches of the Christmas tree and uncorked it to let it breathe a little. He took the opportunity to remind himself to breathe too. Why were his nerves jumping and his blood racing so much? All they were doing was sharing a meal.
