Chapter 1

Chapter One

K neeling down, Bea Thompson reached beneath the counter and ran her hand across the floor tiles.

‘Yuck.' Pulling her hand out, she grimaced. A half-eaten, or to be exact, half-sucked boiled sweet stuck to the skin between her thumb and forefinger. She knew exactly who's that had once been and how long it had been festering beneath the counter of her bookshop too. ‘Mr Daly.'

Mr Daly was her most valued customer, the sort of customer every bookshop owner dreams of. Every Thursday morning, at 10:15 precisely, he'd come bumbling into Bea's Bookshop, a yellow woollen scarf his late wife had lovingly knitted for him the year before she'd passed away wrapped around his neck regardless of the weather, carrying his navy man-bag in one hand and holding a scrap of paper in the other. Upon this scrap of paper, there would be a list of between five and seven books he would be looking for, written in delicate cursive handwriting. Any which Bea didn't have in stock she'd order for him to collect the following week, which he would at precisely 10:15 the following Thursday.

Shaking her hand, Bea watched the boiled sweet detach from her skin and skid across the floor. She'd pick that up in a moment. Scrunching up her nose, she shoved her hand beneath the counter again. She dreaded to think what else might be lurking under there. Not that her shop was dirty. No, she tidied, hoovered and mopped the floors every evening after closing and thought she did a pretty good job of it. Until now and finding the boiled sweet Mr Daly had dropped two weeks ago.

She sighed as the bell above the door tinkled, announcing a new arrival. She should have known that the small hand-painted sign she'd bought from the local arts and craft store wouldn't be enough to deter a late customer. It would have been better if she had locked the door. She normally did, but she'd been in a hurry and had only popped back behind the counter to grab her pen and notebook before leaving herself.

‘Bea! Are you in here?' Phew, it was just her good friend and owner of the local flower shop, Fleur.

‘Over here, Fleur.' Now where was that pen? She listened as Fleur's heels clicked across the black-and-white tiles before she appeared above her.

‘What on earth are you doing? Now is not the time to suddenly decide you need to give the place a spring clean. You know what Greg's like if anyone rolls in late to one of his meetings.' Fleur raised her eyebrows at her.

‘I know, I know, but I just need to get my pen. It's under here somewhere. It must be.' Bea grimaced as she pulled out a dirty tissue.

‘Umm, and I'm guessing that will be your lucky pen? The one you use for everything?'

‘Yes.' Bea spoke quietly as she reached behind her and threw the dirty tissue in the bin. She knew it sounded daft to everyone else, but it was her special pen, her lucky pen. The one she had received in a bag of freebies at her first ever London Book Fair, the year she had opened the shop.

‘Well, it's not going to be very lucky when we're late. It's won't protect you from the wrath of Greg and even worse, tomorrow's monologue when he pops in to tell us ‘the important information that we've missed'.' Fleur hooked her index fingers around the last few words and lowered her voice, mimicking Greg's serious tone.

Rocking back on her heels, Bea looked from Fleur to the gap beneath the counter and back to her friend again. She was right. Pushing herself to standing, she sighed. ‘Okay, good point. But if anything goes wrong tonight, you'll know why.'

‘Uh-huh.' Fleur nodded and passed Bea her coat. ‘Because you haven't got your lucky pen.'

Taking her coat, Bea shrugged into it. ‘You may jest…'

Fleur held her hands up, palms forward, and laughed. ‘If something goes wrong or Greg's in a particularly annoying mood, then I take full responsibility.'

‘Thank you.' Bea grinned as she flicked the light switch, plunging the bookshop into darkness and closed the door. ‘Just don't go tempting fate and start calling him Greg to his face again.'

‘Oh, I won't.' Fleur pulled a face as Bea locked up. ‘I know I'm to blame for last week's lecture on the importance of respecting other people's right to choose what others call them.'

‘Umm.' Linking arms with her best friend, Bea led the way down the narrow, cobbled street towards the town hall.

‘I have! I promise I won't call him Greg to his face. Not tonight, and not ever again. My time is too precious to spend a moment longer than necessary in his company.'

‘Okay. I believe you.' Bea looked across at her friend and grinned. Fleur would slip up. She knew that. ‘We shouldn't let him intimidate us.'

‘Nope, but we are, and he thinks he runs the town being as his dad owned the grocery store before him, then his grandfather before that, his great-grandfather before that, his great-great…'

‘Haha, yes, and the fact he'll only come chasing after us if we dare miss a meeting or put a foot out of place.' Bea rolled her eyes. When she'd opened the bookshop, it hadn't occurred to her she'd have to answer to someone like Gregory, Nettleford's infamous town busybody. ‘Anyway, how are things going with your new man? Did you go on a second date in the end?'

‘I did.' Fleur nodded. ‘And it was fun. I'm glad I gave him another chance.'

‘You'll be seeing him again then, I'm guessing?'

‘I will be. Tomorrow night actually. We're going to Ruby's restaurant for dinner and then we'll grab a couple of cocktails in the pub.'

‘Ooh yes, Cocktail Thursday.' Bea squeezed Fleur's arm. ‘I'm glad you've found someone. You deserve to be happy.'

‘Ha, remember it's super early days yet! Don't go buying a hat just yet.' Fleur gave a quick laugh before her tone became serious. ‘What are you doing to celebrate your divorce-iversary tomorrow?'

‘Divorce-iversary?' Bea laughed. ‘Seriously? You've named the occasion?'

‘Of course I have. It's a big deal and I think you should celebrate.' Fleur glanced down before looking back at her. ‘I can ditch my date and we can do something together?'

‘What? No chance.' Shaking her head firmly, Bea sighed. It had almost slipped her mind that tomorrow it would have been an entire year since her divorce from Adam had come through. If it hadn't been for the fact that Fleur had mentioned it at least ten times in the two weeks leading up to it, then it would have likely bypassed Bea entirely. The date of her and Adam's wedding anniversary? Yep, that was engrained in her brain. The date their decree absolute finally came through? Nope. ‘You are not missing tomorrow's date. You really like Drew.'

‘We can meet another day.'

‘My answer is no. I'll find something to do.' Bea smiled. Perhaps Fleur was right. Perhaps she should celebrate the anniversary of her divorce. It might not be as crazy an idea as it sounded. It may have marked the end of her and Adam's seven-year marriage, but it had also signalled the beginning of this new chapter in her life. The chapter where she was in control. The chapter where she had carved out her own future. Yes, maybe she would celebrate. She could pick up a nice little cupcake from the patisserie and curl up and finish the book she was reading.

Fleur looked at her and frowned. ‘And I don't mean you getting one of those cupcakes you like from Pat's patisserie and staying inside reading.'

Bea scrunched her nose up. It always surprised her how much she and Fleur knew about each other. They may have only known each other for little over a year, but it seemed the bond two shop owners build when working in the same town and sharing the same customers is quick to grow. ‘No, I… Yes, you've got me, but there's nothing wrong with curling up with a good book and a cake.'

‘Well, there is one slight problem in doing that – you're never going to meet the love-of-your-life with your nose stuck in a book.' Fleur looked at her and tilted her head. ‘And before you say anything, I mean a real-life human, not a book-boyfriend, however perfect he might be.'

‘Maybe a book-boyfriend is all I want at the moment.' Bea spoke quietly. She'd thought about it long and hard, usually in the small hours of the morning after another disastrous date she'd met from one of the numerous dating apps Fleur had set her up on.

‘Aw, you don't mean that. You've just not found the right one yet. That's all.' Fleur paused and looked at her watch. ‘Saying that, neither one of us might live to see tomorrow. We're going to be late for that meeting.'

As they jogged past the bandstand and towards the town hall, Bea couldn't help but feel grateful for the abrupt end to the conversation. She was happy on her own. Besides, it wasn't as though she had masses of spare time to play with. What with the bookshop, babysitting her niece and nephew at any given opportunity and the never-ending redecorating of the flat above the bookshop, she barely had an evening spare, let alone enough time to nurture a new relationship. No, that would just have to wait.