Page 58 of Book People

I glare. ‘It wasn’t bad. It was the opposite. It was . . . I don’t have the words to describe it, to be honest. But neither of us is looking for a relationship and so . . .’

‘So, what? One and done?’ She frowns slightly. ‘His decision or yours?’

‘Both of ours.’ I’m trying to sound certain.

She looks sceptical. ‘I hear wistfulness.’

‘No. No wistfulness is happening.’ I bite my lip, trying not to say the thing I really want to say, the thing I really want to ask. But it’s a battle I lose, because the next thing I know, I’m asking, ‘You knew him, right? As a kid? What was he like at school?’

‘Oh dear,’ Aisling mutters. ‘That’s not a good sign.’

‘Ash.’

‘Fine. He was serious and very reserved. A lot of girls had the hots for him, but he kept to himself. Which, quite frankly, made the general hysteria over him even worse. His father was a drunk and his grandfather almost lost the bookshop due to gambling debts. You know, the whole tragic backstory nine yards.’

Yes, so I heard. And as backstories go, it’s rough. I think again about what he said regarding his grandfather and his father, about the gambling addiction and the alcoholism that nearly lost him the bookshop. About what he said about unsuitable women.

I think of his intensity and his passion and the way he looked at me. The hunger in his eyes when I touched him. Of how reserved and aloof he seems.

He’s lonely, I think. He’s desperately, horribly lonely, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

‘Does he have any friends here?’ I ask. ‘Apart from Dan, I mean?’

Aisling screws her face up in thought. ‘Hmm. Good question. No, I don’t think he does. He’s really reserved, like I said. He doesn’t let people get close.’

I almost ask her why, but I think I know already.

When he lost his mother, he escaped into the pages of a book. And when his father was busy drinking, he escaped into the bookshop and never came out again.

He doesn’t share himself with people, he cuts himself off. He’s been hurt and he’s protecting himself, I think.

Then it occurs to me that his shop is the only common ground he has with people. It’s how he communicates. Through the pages of the books he sells.

It’s what I do too, except my shop isn’t there to protect me. I invite people in, I want them to be there. I want to share myself and my love of books. I want connections. But he doesn’t.

Even his predilection for taking his pleasures elsewhere is him cutting himself off. So he can have sex without strings. Without commitment.

As I’ve already discovered, he’s an all or nothing man and, right now, he’s decided to have nothing. No wonder he’s lonely.

We’re the same in some ways and yet so different in others.

‘I wouldn’t go there if I were you,’ Aisling advises. ‘The sex might be great, but the Blackwoods . . . Well, they’re not exactly great when it comes to relationships.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t thinking of going there. I was just curious.’

But I’m lying.

Of course I’m thinking of going there.

Maybe it’s compounding error after error, but still. I hate the thought of Sebastian Blackwood being lonely.

I hate it with all my heart.

Chapter Sixteen

You looked so pale today. There were shadows under your eyes. Are you well, darling C?

H

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