Page 27 of The Library of Second Chances
Chloe spluttered, coffee in both hands now. ‘Don’t be daft.’
‘Oh, let him buy them,’ said Hannah, a look of delight on her face. ‘He tips well,’ she mouthed over his shoulder.
Thoroughly confused, Chloe left the café with two coffees she hadn’t paid for.
Chloe was working on the computer, going through the customers’ accounts. Mrs Cook had asked her to check if there were any books that hadn’t been returned. It would be up to Chloe to contact them and remind them the book was due.
A list sat in front of her now. All the members had their names, and some had their phone numbers, email addresses, and mail addresses, depending on what details they had provided when they’d signed up. There was also a history of the books they had checked out.
She couldn’t resist taking a peek at Alice Cook’s data after quickly checking that the lobby was empty. Only Clementine hung around, wandering over the lobby desk and sniffing at the papers and stationery there.
Mrs Cook had checked out several books over the years, but only one at a time and separated by several months each.Witching for Beginners.English Herbs and Their Natural Healing Properties.And . . .
‘Oh,’ said Chloe softly.
The most recent book Mrs Cook had checked out of the library, just before Chloe had started working here, wasFinding Love in Your Senior Years.
A noise startled her, but it was only Clementine knocking a pencil off the desk. Chloe clicked off the page of data and watched the cat in amusement. His amber eyes fixed on her in defiance as he pushed another pencil, letting it roll off the desk and bounce off the carpet.
Moments later, Mrs Cook walked in, giving them both a motherly smile.
Good kitty,thought Chloe and petted him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHLOE WAS ALREADYnervous about spending time with Gwen. Her sister was still new to town, and the thought of her sitting at home alone was strangely sad. Gwen was used to sunshine and yacht rides, not cold little English towns.
Music was playing when Chloe stepped into the house. The heating was on far too high, and she scowled, shrugging off her jacket. ‘Gwen?’ she called, turning down the radiator.
Gwen was in the kitchen, the music too loud for her to hear Chloe coming in. Chloe swallowed the gasp of horror that crawled up her throat. The kitchen counters were a mess. A dirty cutting board was covered with carrot and potato peel, and the counters held broken eggshells, dirty bowls and measuring cups and spoons. Free parts of the counters were covered in splashes of liquid, the sink somehow full, and even the dining table was a mess. Gwen was in the middle of it all, standing at the hob over a steaming pot, tutting to herself as pop music blasted from her phone.
‘Hi,’ said Chloe, and Gwen jumped.
‘Oh, Chloe! I didn’t even hear you come in.’
‘Probably because of the . . . music.’ She just stopped herself from saying ‘noise’. ‘Erm, what are you making?’
The contents of the pot, the largest one in the house, were a bubbling brown mess with what she supposed must be carrot and potatoes inside.
‘Well, it’s supposed to be stew.’ Gwen stirred it with the wooden spoon. She lifted it and several thick splodges sluicedoff. ‘Mr Richardson gave me some potatoes he’s grown in his garden. Isn’t he cute? I can’t believe he’s still alive.’
‘He wants us to call him Joe now,’ said Chloe, silently apologising to Joe for the sad fate of his homegrown potatoes. ‘The hob’s on too high,’ she added and reached to turn it down.
‘Oh crap, it’s burnt!’ Gwen howled and started scraping the bottom of the pan. It didn’t smell great, not that Chloe said anything.
The living room was reasonable, though there was a bottle of skin cream, some mascara, Gwen’s phone charger, and a dirty mug on the table. The paperback Chloe was reading was on there too, half hanging off the side. She straightened it all up and then went to get changed, more than a little anxious at what Gwen had planned for the evening. Chloe felt a bit better when she had tugged off her work clothes and pulled on a cosy pair of sweatpants.
She slowly went back downstairs, thankful that Gwen had at least switched off her music. Gwen brought her a steaming bowl of . . . whatever she had made. Chloe tried to smile as she said thanks, though it probably looked like she had a toothache.
The dinner didn’t taste great. Gwen put a movie on as Chloe ate in silence, wondering if Gwen had dropped the salt into the stew. And the sugar. Would it be better to gulp it down as quickly as she could, or would she succumb to poison if she did that? After choking down half, she subtly placed it on the table beside her book.
At least Gwen had brought wine. She got her glass from the table beside its bottle. Chloe wished Gwen had kept the thought of dinner to herself. She couldn’t bring herself to feel grateful. The movie Gwen had put on was her own favourite, one Chloe didn’t care much for. She swirled the wine in her mouth. At least it was better than the so-called stew. Gwen sat with her knees up, her glass in her lap, engrossed in the movie.
Chloe tried watching the film, but her focus slipped as her thoughts wandered to Harry. She hoped his dinner tonight was better than this, though perhaps he had opted for a frozen tikka masala this time.
He had remembered the little detail she had told him at the pub that day. He had remembered she liked caramel lattes, had made the effort to go to the Brew House to buy her one. Maybe he wasn’t all bad after all. She wondered what would have happened if he had been there during the robbery instead of her comic-book hero.
Why am I thinking about Harry?
