Page 13 of My Best Friend's Earl
He remained quiet and a pulse of irritation made her push. “You knew about it, didn’t you? Why didn’t you say anything?”
Her father cleared his throat, staring into his mug. “Your mother and I… After Walter, you didn’t want to meet anyone else. We thought it would hurt too much to hear he’d moved on.”
Constance shook her head, amazed her reasons for changing her behavior could be so different from why her parents believed she made those changes. “Everything that happened with Walter was difficult. I won’t deny that. Just because he wasn’t the right man for me, that doesn’t mean I can’t genuinely wish him well.”
“You aren’t hurt?”
She shrugged one shoulder and sipped her tea. “No. And that just proves I was right to end it. I thought I loved him at the time. Once I realized I didn’t love him more than everyone else in my life, I knew it would be wrong to marry him.”
“Love can grow and deepen over the years, you know. Not that I’m saying you should have married him. But if you’re waiting for some grand romance like the ones in Caro’s novels, you’re destined for heartbreak.”
Hearing that made the milk she’d splashed in her tea curdle in her belly. “Then I suppose I’m destined for heartbreak. In that case, I’m grateful to already have all I need. My wonderful family is close by, and I have the bookshop.”
Her father cleared his throat again, and a wave of trepidation washed over her. She had Martin House, right?
Chapter Six
Eat something
New bookmark idea: humorous instead of literary quotes?
That is what I wished to discuss with you. Your mother and I have been considering what we want to do with the rest of our lives. Martin House is successful, and that’s such a gift. It allows us to dream and have conversations like this, when so many others will have no choice but to work until the day they die. Your mum misses Betsy. With Georgia growing so fast, we want to live closer to them. Not tomorrow, but relatively soon. In the meantime, we’d like to start spending more time in Kent with Betsy’s family.”
When her arm cramped, Constance realized she’d grown very still. Slowly, she set her cup on the table. “What will happen to the shop? Are you going to sell?”
What will happen to me, she wanted to yell.I don’t belong anywhere else. Martin House is my home.
Pity strained her father’s smile. That look, she decided, was her least favorite of all his expressions. “You’re brilliant with customers, and you’ve a knack for displays. But paperwork and the office side of business ownership don’t come easily to you.”
“I finished last quarter’s accounts two nights ago,” Constance protested, even though he had the right of it.
“And I’m grateful for the help. But relying on erratic bouts of insomnia where you spread the account books and receipts on the floor at three in the morning isn’t a feasible long-term business plan.”
She had no defense for that, since he described exactly what had happened this week and six months ago. “Even you don’t enjoy doing the accounts.” If she sounded petulant, it was because after two years of effort, of learning all she could about the business, she still hadn’t inspired confidence in her parents.
“You’re correct. The accounting side of the business has never been something I enjoy,” he agreed readily enough. “I still do it. You don’t, Connie. It’s as if those stacks of receipts become invisible.”
He rested a hand on hers, but Constance didn’t derive comfort from the touch. She was too numb.
Those receipts did disappear. Most days it didn’t cross her mind to sit down and handle them. And when she remembered, she felt guilty for letting them pile up for her father to handle. Then the enormity of the task overwhelmed her until she backed away from it, and the cycle began again.
If there was a way to predict or harness those late-night periods of focus, when the world fell away and she magically completed a month’s worth of work in a few hours, she’d be fine. Since she hadn’t determined how to do that, and establishing a regular habit of office work seemed impossible, she couldn’t blame her father for where this conversation would inevitably end.
If Betsy were here and wanted the store, Constance would understand her parents leaving Martin House in her sister’s capable hands. Betsy enjoyed all kinds of things Conniethought were boring, including maths. And her twin never struggled with handling tasks, even those she didn’t enjoy. She simply did whatever it was, like the responsible adult they were both supposed to be.
“What about Hattie? She’s smart as a whip. Not as good with numbers as Caro, but far more organized than I am.” She already knew the answer, though.
“I’d happily give the store to Hattie, but she doesn’t want the responsibility of ownership. You know her. Having ties to anything makes her feel trapped.”
Hattie had lived at Martin House for ten years and never spoke of leaving. But her dear cousin hadn’t had a peaceful childhood, and a painful incident she refused to discuss cemented her desire to remain unmarried. Even after a decade, Hattie kept a carpetbag under the bed, packed with essentials, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. Constance pretended not to know it was there, although she occasionally stuffed extra pin money in the bag, just in case Hattie ever felt the need to run.
“If I can’t convince Hattie to stay, then what? You’ll sell the store?”
Her father nodded. “I believe so, yes. Unless you’ve been having a secret romance with a businessman and keeping it to yourself, then I don’t see any other way for Martin House to continue.”
Constance attempted a smile. “No. I have no marital prospects on the horizon.” Something Past Constance wouldn’t have believed possible. “Is there enough in the budget to hire a bookkeeper?”
“It’s a possibility we can discuss as the time grows closer for your mother and me to make a decision. Right now, we have higher profits because part of your and Hattie’s wagesis room and board. I’m not sure if paying a full-time bookkeeper would exceed those profits.”
