Chapter Eight

"It's a catastrophe, that's what it is," Pen said, holding the twenty pound note Mr. Gupta had just given her and waving it around.

"Really, I just came in for a croissant," said the newsagent patiently. "I have no idea what's catastrophic about that in the slightest."

"Not you!" laughed Pen. She put her elbows on the counter. "So, the new owner of the bookshop just moved in."

This perked Mr. Gupta's interest. "Indeed? And what are they like?"

Pen grinned thinking about Ash. "Oh, tall, dark and attractive, now that you mention it." She stared sternly at Mr. Gupta. "Not that you should get any ideas."

"I should think that Mrs. Gupta would erase any such ideas from my mind," he said. He winked at Pen. "So, are you in with a chance, as the kids say?"

Pen sighed. "I do hope so. I've been wooing her with cakes, but so far I'm not getting quite as far as I'd like." She screwed up her mouth. "She does keep throwing me out."

"I can see why that could be a catastrophe," said Mr. Gupta, holding onto his paper bag.

"But that's not the catastrophe," Pen said patiently. "The catastrophe is that she wants to sell the bookshop."

"I see." He scratched his head. "I mean, I suppose someone else nice might buy it."

"Or someone terrible might," Pen said. "Or someone might buy it and turn it into a… a flower shop or an estate agents… or…" She lifted an eyebrow at Mr. Gupta. "Or a newsagents."

His face paled a little. "Yes, I do see how that might not be quite what the town needs."

"What the town needs is its bookshop," said Pen. "And I'm going to save it."

Mr. Gupta smiled at her. "That's what I very much admire about you, Pen. Your can-do attitude, your sunny smile, the world would be a better place with more people like you in it. So, what's your plan."

Pen pulled a face. "That's where I fall down. I don't exactly have a plan just at the moment."

"Perhaps you can use your womanly charms on this bookshop owner."

"Trust me, I've been trying. I'm starting to think she might be immune. Or gluten intolerant," Pen said with a shudder. "But never fear, I'll think of something."

"Well, the town is behind you on this," Mr. Gupta said. "And I shall put on my thinking cap."

"Very much appreciated," Pen said, finally opening the till and making change. "Enjoy your breakfast."

Mr. Gupta chuckled and left, holding the door open for Moira Hadley. "Pen, I just wanted to say thank you for yesterday, you were a life saver."

"Not a problem," Pen said, thinking about the pleasant couple of hours she'd spent making sandwiches while the children colored. "I'm happy to step in any time."

"I'll hold you to that," Moira said, ducking back out of the shop with a smile.

Pen started to arrange pastries on the shelves, sliding things forward so that they looked neater. She sighed as she did so, because this wasn't quite what she wanted.

At the beginning, when she'd used the small inheritance her mother had left her to buy the bakery, she'd made everything by hand. Everything. She'd prided herself on it. Nowadays, there were plenty of products here that she had to buy frozen and bake. The croissants, for example.

She just didn't have the time or the money to do things the way she wanted.

Not that she planned on letting that stop her. The bakery was a lovely place to be, and she was proud of it. She was certain that one day something would show up. Maybe she'd win the lottery, she played faithfully every week. Or maybe, she thought with a flip of her stomach, she'd fall in love with a rich stranger.

Was Ash rich?

She looked well dressed enough. But it was so hard to tell. Even if she weren't rich, there was a lot to be said about her. About those narrow hips and those wide eyes and the way she brushed her short hair off her forehead.

Mind you, there were equally plenty of not so positive things to say about her. Like the fact that she kept throwing Pen out of the shop even though it was now clearly open.

Pen was determinedly not losing hope though. She'd seen Ash slope away to the beach last night, had followed her as far as the promenade where she'd watched as Ash strode along the sand. And as Pen had turned away to head to her crochet circle at the pub, she'd thought that anyone who liked to walk by the sea had to have some romance in them.

Perhaps working at Mended Hearts would rub off on Ash. Perhaps it would soften her. Perhaps when she got used to things and had settled in the corners would get knocked off and she'd change her mind.

"I'm dying of thirst," said a voice as the door opened.

"Then allow me to sustain you," Pen said as George draped himself over the counter. "Things not going well, I take it?"

"If you consider the shop getting sold from under my feet and me becoming unemployed for the second time in a week not going well, then no, they're not."

Pen switched the coffee machine on. "She's going to change her mind, George, she'll fall in love with the town, with the shop, and she'll change her mind."

"She'll fall in love with you, you mean," George said, getting his own cup from the stack by the machine. "And she's not going to change her mind. You haven't spent as much time with her as I have. She's… I don't know."

"She's what?" Pen prompted.

"She's… strict. Cold. I don't know. It's like she only thinks about things, not about people. The only non-business related thing she's asked me all morning was about Mary, and she didn't seem especially satisfied with my answer when I told her Mary was nice."

"So, she's interested in her aunt, that's good, we can use that," Pen said.

"We can lure her with songs of her lost family, like sirens or something?" George said, rolling his eyes. "She's not like you, Pen. She's not a romantic. She's a realist."

"I'm a realist," Pen protested, handing George his coffee. "I don't live in a fantasy world."

The shop bell dinged. "Morning, Pen."

"Morning, Elspeth," Pen said to the cheerful red-head. "What can I help you with?"

"I'm just in for those cakes for the kids."

"Oh, right you are," said Pen, pulling out the cardboard box that she'd filled earlier. "On break time, are they?"

"They are," agreed Elspeth. "And they're right little heathens today, I tell you. Twenty-five five-year-olds and they've all got the devil in them. I'm hoping the cakes will work as some kind of reward system and keep them behaving."

"What have you got them doing?" Pen asked as she taped the box up.

"We're working on our community project for the term," Elspeth said, holding down the flaps so Pen could tape them better. "We're going to plant a garden and then sell the vegetables to raise money for some new playground equipment. But all these kids know about nowadays is fast food. They've asked me if we can grow tacos twice already this morning."

Pen laughed. "Still, it'll be good for them," she said, pushing the box toward the teacher. "Enjoy."

"Thanks, Pen," Elspeth said, taking the box.

"Right, you're a realist," George said when the primary teacher had left. "You don't live in a fantasy world at all."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Pen asked, sweeping crumbs from the counter.

"It means that you've just handed over a box of cakes to someone without asking for money in exchange. You do actually understand how a business is supposed to work, don't you?"

"I understand how a community is supposed to work," said Pen sharply.

George sighed. "I don't know how you make a profit when you give away half your stock every day. Mind you, if Ash could be as nice as you, I suppose I'd still have a job, wouldn't I?"

"I've told you that you can come and work here," said Pen.

"You can pay me in cakes," George said with a grin. "And if I don't get back to the bookshop, she's going to have my head. I'm only supposed to be on a ten minute break."

He was finishing up his coffee when the thought struck Pen. Something in what Elspeth had said stirred something inside her.

"A community project," she said.

"Hmm?" asked George, putting his empty cup down.

Pen put both hands on the counter. "A community project," she said again.

"Yeah, repeating that isn't going to help," said George. "I'm going to need more info."

"Listen, this community needs a bookshop. And it's a good business according to you, right?"

"It is," agreed George.

"So we can agree that Ash selling the bookshop might not be in the best interests of the community. After all, we've got no idea who might buy it next, or who might want to change it. And Tetherington is known for the fact that it has a romance-only bookshop. In fact, it could almost be considered a cultural monument."

"That's putting it a bit strongly," said George carefully, eyeing Pen.

"Is it though?" Pen asked. "Because I think that Mended Hearts is an important part of our town community."

George's eyes opened wide as he cottoned on to what Pen was saying. "You're thinking that Mended Hearts should be a community project," he said.

"Why not?" Pen said. "We could take it in turns to run it, we could donate profits to charity, we could keep our bookshop."

George blew out a breath. "Yeah, that's all very well. But you do realize that before we do any of those things, we have to do something a lot bigger and more important."

"Of course," Pen said with a gleam in her eye. "We have to buy the bookshop."