Chapter Two

There was a faint scrabbling sound as Pen moved the sack of flour and she felt a shimmer of anxiety in her stomach. No matter how often she did this, and she'd owned a bakery for a decade at this point, she just couldn't get used to it.

"Ready?" she asked.

George, who was standing with a tupperware box in one hand, a broom in the other, and a look of complete resignation on his face, nodded.

"I'm going to pick it up," she said, feeling it only fair to give him another warning.

"Just get on with it."

"Why?" she asked. "It's not like you have a job to go to." She picked up the sack and the mouse fled, slithering across the tiled kitchen floor only to find itself in a semi-transparent prison.

"Got it," George said, sliding the lid under the box and then flipping it over expertly. "Back yard?"

"Maybe out in the alley," Pen said. "Give it a chance to move somewhere else."

"Don't know why it'd want to, given that it gets free food and board here," George grumbled. But he took the mouse out anyway.

"You really should get the mouse man in," he said when he came back, throwing the tupperware into the sink.

"Nope," said Pen, who was busy scrubbing her hands even though she hadn't touched the creature. "No way, no how."

"Pen." He settled against the counter beside her, the sun streaming in through the window and glinting on his dark hair. "I get that the exterminator, well, exterminates, but this is a bakery. And a café. You won't be able to keep a mouse infestation from the health department for long."

"It's not an infestation. It's one mouse."

He lifted an eyebrow. "I don't think it's the same mouse that keeps coming back."

"It is," she said with certainty. Then she considered things. "Maybe I could borrow Fabio?"

George shrugged. "You could try. But first up, I don't think Fab would do much unless looks of disdain can kill. Second up, he's not mine to lend out."

Pen grabbed a band from around her wrist and tied back her blonde curls. "Still no news?"

"Not a word." George looked strained. "I mean, we all knew that Mary was no spring chicken. But I don't think any of us expected her to go so soon."

"Still, it's a blessing," said Pen. "Just going in your sleep like that, you can't ask for a more peaceful way to go, can you?" She sighed. "I suppose it all leaves you in a bit of bother though, doesn't it?"

She went out into the front, George trailing her, and put the coffee machine on.

"There'll be someone soon," she said comfortingly.

"There'd better be. Apart from anything else, I've got bills to pay."

"You could come and help around here," Pen said.

"With the millions of customers that you've got?" He grinned at her and pressed the button on the machine to deliver caffeine. "Nah, I'm alright for a wee while yet. I'm just… anxious I suppose. I mean, Mary's the only person I've ever worked for. What if the new boss is… not nice."

"What if the new boss is a tall, dark handsome man who sweeps you off your feet?" Pen asked, picking up two cups and carrying them over to one of the small round tables by the window.

"What if the boss is a tall, dark, beautiful woman who sweeps you off your feet?" asked George in return.

"Then I shall gladly be swept," Pen returned with a grin. "I mean, there aren't that many options in town."

"And you've been through most of them."

"Cheeky," she said. Though it was true. She had, as far as she knew, dated every woman with an inclination toward women. Which was three women. Three. She'd been determinedly single for the last half decade and not through choice.

"You could try online dating," said George, sitting down and picking up his cup.

"With what time exactly? Between running around here, going to council meetings and looking after you, I don't have time to worry about that sort of thing." She picked up her own cup. "Unless that sort of thing moves next door. That would be quite convenient."

George sighed. "Whoever inherits the place might want to sell it. Or close it."

"It's a bookshop, who wouldn't want to own a bookshop?" She sipped her coffee. "Plus, it's a romance bookshop. Come on, you'd need a heart of steel to sell a romance bookshop."

The bell over the front door dinged and Pen turned around.

"Oh, hello Moira, help you?"

A harried looking woman smiled at her. "Just a small loaf."

"Help yourself," said Pen. "Take one of the big ones though, no extra charge. They're going to get stale so someone might as well make use of them."

Moira hesitated for only a second before picking up a large loaf from one of the baskets by the counter. "If you're sure?"

"Sure I'm sure," Pen grinned. "No one wants to waste food. Be off with you, just put a pound on the counter."

"You'll bankrupt yourself," George said when the door closed behind Moira.

"She's got four little ones under five, she could use the extra money," Pen said. "And it does no harm to be kind, does it?"

George sighed. "I suppose not." He looked out of the window onto the little high street with its assortment of shops. "Do you ever wish life was different?"

Pen, who had lived in Tetherington her entire life, laughed. "Different? From what? You might go chasing differences, but it'll all end up the same. Besides, what have we got to complain about? We live in a nice town with nice people and we all look after each other. Better than living in London or the like. Nobody knowing anybody, it must be chaos down there."

"I don't know, the chances of meeting a dark, handsome stranger are probably a bit higher."

"So are the chances of meeting a dark, handsome murderer," Pen laughed.

George turned to her with faked shock. "Penelope Robson, was that… was that cynicism?"

"Not a jot," she said, draining her cup and standing up. "But you're talking nonsense. You're just upset about the shop and about Mary, we all are. Things are changing and change makes people uncomfortable, out of sorts. It'll all settle down again, don't you worry." She took his cup from him. "The offer stands though. If you need work or a couch to stay on."

"You're too generous for your own good," he said, standing up and stretching. "But thanks. You're right. It's nice to be looked after, nice to know that whatever happens there's someone here. Even if that someone couldn't possibly afford to pay me."

"What do you know about my finances?" Pen asked, feeling a slight squirm in her belly.

"Not a thing," George said. "And I'd better be off. The shop might be closed, but if I don't go in and dust once a day it'll be buried by the time the new owner makes an appearance. And Fabio can't survive on mice alone."

Pen put the cups down on the counter. "It's going to be fine," she said, patting his arm. "The town needs its bookshop and whoever owns it now will see that. If they don't, well, we'll just have to persuade them, won't we? Mended Hearts isn't going anywhere, it's a town institution, think of the fits the summer tourists would have."

"They come for the beach, not the books," George said.

"Pessimist."

"You know that being an optimist can be pathological."

Pen shook her head and laughed. "Get out of here before I trap you in a tupperware and set you free in the alley, go and get your dusting done. And stop by when you're finished, you can take some of yesterday's buns home with you."

He grinned. "If the new owner turns out to be tall, dark and beautiful, I'll definitely put in a good word for you," he said.

"Off, out, I've got cakes to sell."

He was still grinning as he left and turned toward next door. Pen sighed. George worried too much, it was bad for someone only in his twenties to worry that much. The new owner was sure to turn out to be just lovely, George really should have more faith.

Mind you, it wouldn't hurt if the new owner was attractive. She leaned on the counter and stared dreamily into space.

Someone curvy and comfortable, just like herself, she thought. Someone who could laugh on Monday mornings and who didn't mind taking out the rubbish because every job should be done with a smile. Someone who was friendly and kind and nice to be around. It really shouldn't be asking that much.

She was sure that her princess would come one day, absolutely convinced of it. But sooner would be better than later at this point. And she didn't think she was being too picky.

The bell over the door rang again.

"Post," said Billy the postman.

"Thanks," Pen said. "Bun?"

"Don't mind if I do." Billy swapped a pile of letters for a currant bun and left the shop with a smile on his face.

Pen didn't even notice that he hadn't paid as she went through the pile of letters. Mostly junk, she thought, as she ditched flyers into the bin under the counter. Except one. She looked at the envelope, tapping her finger on the top of it, then slid it under the till.

There was no point in opening it if she couldn't do anything about it. At some point a solution would present itself. Until then, well, she'd take the letter upstairs to her little flat when she was done for the day. That way she could put it on the table by the front door. With all the others.