Page 54 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
‘It sounds ideal,’ Harry said. ‘And I’m sure the owner would be fair with the rent, for something so creatively worthwhile.’
She laughed. ‘You’re just getting back on your feet; you can’t offer mates’ rates. Anyway, I’m not sure it’s something I want to do right now.’
Harry crossed one knee over the other. ‘Mates’ rates would be better than the zero rent I’m collecting at the moment. Those shops have been so far down my to-do list that I haven’t made finding tenants a priority. And you’ve just told me all the ways it would help you expand your business. I’d love to rent it out to you.’
Sophie stared into the fire. It sounded promising, but it was also a gamble. She would need to lay out a lot of money – to secure the lease, on shop touch-ups, notebook materials, other stock – before she saw any return. It might not work out, and anyway –anyway –she was leaving. None of it mattered.
‘I don’t know what my plans are, longer term,’ she said cautiously. ‘They might not involve Mistingham.’
Her words were followed by silence, and she saw the moment they landed, Harry’s eyes widening a fraction before he schooled his features into impassivity. ‘You’re not staying here?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘There’s this place in Cornwall …’
‘That’s hundreds of miles away. Do you have family there? Friends?’
Sophie shook her head. ‘Sometimes it’s good to shake things up.’ It was hard to put any conviction into her words when she was sitting here, opposite him.
‘You’re planning on moving to the other side of the country? Leaving this beautiful seaside village behind, leaving everyone – Fiona and Ermin, Dexter – because you want to “shake things up”?’ He was quiet, incredulous, and Sophie wished she could explain it to him in a way that would make sense. But was that even possible? Her decisions usually only made sense to her.
‘I haven’t decided yet,’ she said, and realized it was the truth. In the past, excluding Bristol, moving on had always felt right – exciting, full of possibility, not muddied with dread or uncertainty. Over the last few weeks, a tiny voice had been whispering to her, saying that maybe, this time, she was getting it wrong: maybe Mistingham held answers to questions she’d never stayed anywhere long enough to ask.
But Harry didn’t seem mollified by her answer. He nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared into the fire. ‘It’s getting late,’ he said after a moment. ‘Do you want me to drive you back?’
‘Oh.’ Her throat clogged with disappointment. ‘That would be great. Thank you.’
He stood up and held his hand out, and Sophie took it. She felt an unmistakable tingle as her warm skin touched his, felt his strength as he easily pulled her to her feet. But there was a bigger distance between them now than there had been earlier, when they were sitting on opposite sides of his desk, when she’d thought he was in a relationship with May and he’d believed she had a thing with Dexter.
Despite the cosiness of Harry’s study, the gently burning fire, Sophie suddenly felt cold.
Chapter Seventeen
On Monday morning, Sophie arrived at Hartley Country Apparel earlier even than Fiona. She hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning, her thoughts running wild after her conversation with Harry in front of the fire. She’d established that he wasn’t with May after all – something she had started to suspect, especially after their walk home from the pub – and in return she had quashed his assumptions about Dexter. So far, so good. Then she’d ruined it by being honest with him about her future. This,this, was why she didn’t get close to people. It caused too much hurt, led to miscommunications and disappointments, orunmet expectationsin the case of Trent, her boyfriend in Bristol.
She turned on the shop lights and the twinkling gold fairy lights, and switched the kettle on. She was logging into her till when Fiona arrived with Jazz. The young woman looked relaxed but smart, in navy jeans and a raspberry jumper that matched her hair.
‘Morning, Sophie.’
‘Jazz! How are you?’
‘All right,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Mary’s giving me a trial run at the hotel later.’
‘That’s brilliant.’ Whatever Jazz’s long-term plans were, Sophie was relieved that she felt comfortable enough here to get a seasonal job, to make some money and be more prepared for whatever she chose to do next. ‘Are you looking forward to it?’
‘I am, actually. Fiona says Mary and Winnie are cool, and the hotel’s pretty nice. I hope it’ll be fun.’
‘Of course it will be,’ Fiona said bullishly, as if she hadn’t had a moment’s worry about Jazz or her future. ‘You could do a lot worse than putting down roots in Mistingham. Now, Sophie, do you want to update us on the festival? I told Jazz you’re planning an open-mic night, and we want to know details.’
‘Let me make drinks first. What do you want?’
Once they were settled, Sophie ran through the ideas she and Harry had cobbled together and their purchases so far.
‘Pot-luck food?’ Fiona raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re letting everyone make and bring a dish for general consumption? Have you had the misfortune of trying Mrs Elderberry’s sweet potato curry?’
‘Not so far,’ Sophie said, with a laugh. ‘But that will only be a small part of it. We’ll still have Batter Days and the Blossom Bough offering fish and chips and drinks, but I want all the villagers to have a chance to contribute. You gave me the idea, Jazz.’
‘I did?’ She stopped slumping on the counter.
‘What you said about everyone here looking out for each other. It made me think about how people can belonely, especially at Christmastime if they don’t have friends or family nearby. Not everyone will love the arcade games and bar truck, but if we give them the chance to share their favourite dish, run a Scrabble tournament in the hall, it’ll appeal to the residents who might not have come otherwise.’
