Amy proudly surveyed her book group. They had gathered, as usual, on the mezzanine level of the bookshop and were sitting against the huge double-height windows. It was dark outside and rain spattered intermittently against the glass. The sumptuous sunsets of August and September had long gone; autumn was rushing into winter with unnecessary haste. It was cosy up here though. Amy had made sure the leather sofas were sprinkled with generous amounts of soft cushions, and she had – now the weather had turned damp and chilly – put some colourful throws out. Her mother, never one to hold back an opinion, had scoffed and claimed the soft furnishings would be ruined within the month. They hadn’t been. As Amy had hoped, customers appreciated the welcoming reading area and had taken care of it. She was holding onto this small triumph in the face of her mother’s derision. It was a tiny piece of armour in the defence of what was left of her self-esteem.
The book group, taking advantage of the time before the meeting started properly, were catching up with one another and sipping the excellent wine that Millie provided. Amy watched Tash and Emma giggle over something with Tash’s boyfriend, Kit. Marti was holding court in a corner, her friends gazing at her open-mouthed in admiration. Amy smiled. She knew Marti was Tash’s arch-enemy and it was patently obvious the woman didn’t always read the group’s book choice but she never missed a meeting and had always been supportive – in her own way.
The book group was the first thing Amy had started up when she began managing the shop and it was the thing she was most proud of. Her heart leapt as Patrick appeared at the top of the spiral stairs which led up from the main shop floor. He put up a hand in greeting before sliding in next to Kit. Patrick had been the first person to enquire about the group and one of the first to arrive at the inaugural meeting back in August. She’d never forgotten the effect he’d had when he’d shaken her hand and introduced himself. She’d been mesmerized by eyes the colour of the sea on a summer’s day, and by his wide smile. Her attraction to him had grown, almost without her noticing, over the past weeks. As well as the simple physical attraction, his innate kindness and wicked sense of humour soon added to his irresistible appeal. When he’d let slip he was a writer, she’d ordered his entire backlist and had only just finished his last novel. His work was dizzyingly good; she could see why he frequently topped the Sunday Times bestseller list. It was a canny mix of the readable and the literary and she’d stayed up late into the night to read the latest instalment of the history of an Irish family through the decades. She would probably have been safe, had her attraction to him been just physical and that he displayed such kindness, but she was a goner when a man had intelligence too. Covertly watching him now, as he chatted to Kit, she felt a blush steal over her cheeks. She loved him so much. And was one hundred per cent sure she was in the friend zone.
After telling her only scant details of his life in Ireland – she was sure there was more to it – during their pub meal, Patrick, while devouring his steak, had deftly turned the questioning back on her. Amy had found herself telling him all about her parents’ divorce and how it had led to her mother’s return to Berecombe.
‘I was headed for Berecombe Comp but then Dad got this amazing job in Singapore so we all decamped. Big company house, swimming pool. I went to a private girls’ school. Mum was in heaven. Then Dad met Jasmine and it all went pear-shaped. Mum was in a bit of a state after the divorce so I ended coming back here too.’
‘I suppose your mother wanted folk around who she knew.’
‘Something like that.’ Having blurted it all out, Amy felt she’d said enough. She looked longingly at the desserts chalked up on the blackboard. ‘Do you think we’ve got time for a pudding?’ Patrick had agreed and, from then on, any conversation had centred on food.
Amy gave herself a little shake back to the here and now. If she didn’t get the meeting started, they’d never have time to discuss last month’s book and choose a new one for October. ‘Shall we get started?’ she said, clapping her hands to get their attention. ‘What did everyone think of our last book, Demelza?’