Page 8 of The Mended Hearts Bookshop

Ah, not going to make her rich then. Still, people would taste her bread, that’s what counted, right? Pen beamed and thanked the councilwoman profusely before offering her a trial bun.

“I don’t snack,” Thurst said.

“Ah, I see,” Pen said, hand hovering over the basket of buns. “Perhaps for later?”

“No, no, my meals are planned. Besides, I’ve got a busy day and no time for interruptions.” She leaned in confidentially. “The council are applying for a development grant and we’re very excited about it.”

“A development grant?” Pen asked. “To develop… what?”

“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it?” said Thurst. “It could go in one of a million directions. Perhaps we’ll use it to rebuild the pier, perhaps for a new leisure center, perhaps a town museum. The list of options is exhausting.” She said this like it was personally exhausting, like she’d been lying awake thinking of buildings to build.

“Important work,” Pen said with a nod.

Thurst returned the nod seriously. “So, we’ll count on you for the catering then?”

“I’d be delighted,” said Pen.

“Have everything at the town hall by seven.”

Majorie Thurst walked out like she had a rod down her back, walking down the high street like it was a military parade ground, and Pen grinned to herself. Surely catering a council meeting had to be a doorway to something. Or wereopportunities supposed to be windows, not doors? Speaking of windows.

She found her paintbrush on the window ledge and carefully dipped it into the chalky paint, starting the first curved line in the very corner of the window. When Mr. Gupta from down the road came in, she was so involved in her painting that she had him leave his money on the counter, and when Moira Hadley came in with her youngest on her hip and leading a toddler by the hand she downright insisted that they help themselves to the jam tarts.

“These two will eat you out of house and home,” Moira said.

“They’re growing children,” said Pen firmly. “And the tarts will go bad if someone doesn’t eat them.”

“It’s not even lunchtime, surely someone will actually buy them,” protested Moira.

Pen cocked her head to one side to survey the flower that she’d painted and smiled. “Just take a couple, for the kids.”

It was half past ten when she heard the familiar whistle from the back door. She carefully scraped her paintbrush clean and laid it over the top of the paint can, wiped her hands on a rag, and went off to the kitchen to find Joe standing there a sack of flour at his feet.

“Just put it in the normal place,” she said, thinking about asking him to check for mice and then deciding it was better not to. He might tell someone. Or, god forbid, hurt the creature.

Joe blushed red and didn’t move. “Um, about that, Pen.”

Pen stopped, putting both hands on the cool metal top of the baking table. “About what?”

Joe scratched his head. “See, if it were up to me, I’d not have a problem with it. The trouble is my boss, see? I mean, it’s not as though it were a fortune, but he says every bit adds up and I’m sure it’s not intentional and all, but you see there’s not muchI can do it about it since he says we’re running a business not a charity and all.”

It took a second to parse the river of words, when she did the meaning wasn’t much clearer. “Come again?” she asked.

With a sigh, Joe pulled an invoice out of his top pocket. “It’s probably an oversight is what it is,” he said.

Pen took the paper and frowned down at it. “I thought this all went through the business account?” she said. “It’s automatic, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, well, it got declined,” Joe said, scratching his head again so that Pen was starting to wonder if he had nits.

Pen’s stomach contracted. “Ugh, I must have forgotten to transfer funds over into the account,” she said. She eyed the amount. “Let me get you some cash and we’ll sort this out.”

Joe grinned in relief. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, hoisting up the flour sack and placing it easily next to the others. “Got a coffee going?” He followed her into the front of the shop.

She flicked the switch on the coffee machine and put a cup down before opening up the till and lifting the drawer to count out the notes under there. She handed them to Joe almost embarrassed until he shoved them in his pocket and she couldn’t see them anymore.

“Smells good in here,” Joe said, looking around until he caught sight of the windows. “Nice painting job, Pen. That window looks like a field of sunflowers.”

She grinned at him. “Figured the high street could do with a bit of a glow up. Coffee’s up.”

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