Page 51 of The Truth About You and Me
Nell is appraising me. I look away, focusing instead on rolling up the cuff of Jack’s jacket. ‘It’s good to meet you, Maggie,’ Nell says.
‘You too,’ I reply brightly.
‘Right, you lot, back inside.’ Nell ushers the group towards the doorway, fairy lights framing the glass windows. ‘I think Jack can take it from here.’ She gives Jack a wink. ‘Take care of our boy?’ Nell adds over her shoulder. Her smile is relaxed but there is something pointed in her words.
‘Nell…’ Jack gives her a warning.
‘Of course,’ I say, looking away from her gaze.
‘Sorry about that.’ Jack looks over his shoulder as if he expects the book clubbers to be watching on.
‘Nell is protective of you.’ I look up at him. ‘Have you two ever…?’
‘Me and Nell?’ He laughs slowly. ‘No. Me and Nell as a couple?’ He lets out a long plume of air. ‘We’d kill each other. Also, I don’t have boobs. This way,’ he says leading us further along the road, heading towards the park from the main entrance.
‘First you give me your jacket to shield me from the cold, then you suggest a moonlight walk.’ I look up at him. If I was normal, I would nudge him with my shoulder. ‘The romantic hero looks good on you, Jack Chadwick.’
‘I’m no Hugh Grant.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re more of a—’ I turn my head to him, stopping my steps. I step back assessing him. ‘Theo James.’ His eyebrows rise quizzically. ‘It’s the whole Greek descendant vibe, I think, dark hair, dark eyes, high cheekbones… and you’re, well…’
‘What?’
‘A bit posh.’
He laughs and shakes his head.
‘Actually it’s Italian. My great-grandad on my mum’s side was from Sicily.’
We continue walking. ‘Do you still have family over there?’
‘Some, but I haven’t been over since…’ He gives me a look that reads ‘my stroke’.
‘So where are we going?’ I lighten the conversation.
‘Linton Park, if that’s OK?’
‘Sure.’
We continue walking. ‘The book club people seem like a fun bunch.’
‘They can be.’ He hesitates. ‘I’ve mostly avoided them for the past year.’
Both of our heads turn to the sound of steps behind us, an owner being walked by their dog, the lead straining against his gloved hands. I step onto the empty road, letting them pass. The flustered man gives out a‘sorry!’as he narrowly avoids bumping into my shoulder. I hop back up onto the kerb.
‘Did you always want to own a bookshop?’ I ask.
‘Honestly? I used to want to be a writer. Apart from reading in stairwells, it was all I did in my spare time when I was a teenager. I was a bit of a nerd. Never quite fit in with the popular crowd.’
‘I find that hard to believe. I bet there was a bevy of hormonal teenagers slapping on watermelon lip gloss and straightening their hair before class.’
‘Well if socially awkward, gangly boys with bottle-top glasses, braces and a lisp are your stereotypical teen crush.’
‘Bottle-top glasses?’
‘Yeah. I was always losing mine and after the third pair of thinned lenses Mum decided to put her foot down. And I couldn’t afford to replace them. As soon as I was old enough I had laser surgery.’
‘Oh, she’s a tough-love mum?’
