Chapter Nine

As a child, Ash spent plenty of time alone. What with being an only child and her mother being busy arranging weddings and divorces, it wasn't like there was a constant stream of children in and out of her house. Not that she'd really minded. She'd been happy with a book or a game or a TV program.

And being up in the little bookshop attic reminded her a lot of being a child, maybe it was the solitariness of it. Maybe it was just the idea of sneaking away from normal life for a while.

She poked through dusty boxes, finding Christmas decorations and discarded books. A whole set of boxes contained clothes and she pulled some out, trying to gauge what Mary had liked to wear. Trousers was the overwhelming answer. Trousers and shirts and a few hippy kind of dresses.

There was a set of smaller boxes near the roof hatch and Ash had to sit down to get to those. As she sat, she heard a meowing from the bottom of the ladder. The orange cat was standing on its hind paws with its front paws on the third rung.

"Pshht, get away from there," Ash said. "Go on, get."

Instead, the animal bounded up the ladder and Ash groaned. She had visions of chasing the thing around the attic.

"When I'm done here, we're leaving. And if you don't leave when I tell you to, I'm going to close the hatch on you," she warned it.

The cat gave her a baleful glare before strolling off into the shadows.

The smaller boxes held letters, mostly bills and financial things, and pictures. Ash flipped through them but didn't recognize anything. Not that she would. She'd never even seen a photo of her father, so she couldn't identify him if he was in any of them.

The only face that was starting to look familiar was Mary's. And Ash found that she was beginning to be curious about the woman herself. Really curious. Who was she? How did someone so… unromantic looking end up running a romance bookshop?

Was it just a case of being a good entrepreneur? Maybe Mary herself was no fan of romance, but the business was such a good one that it didn't matter?

She flicked through the photos again.

It wasn't just the business, she realized as she watched Mary's face. It was the fact that she was happy. Really happy. You could tell just by looking at her that Mary was content and comfortable in who and what she was, in her role in life. That she was alone, Ash saw no signs of any serious relationships, but not lonely.

That was what was speaking to her. She could see herself in Mary, just a touch, yet Mary seemed to have this big life, this happy life, and Ash wondered just how she did it.

And from there she wondered where Mary had come from, and from there she started to think about herself and where she'd come from. It all came back down to her father.

Alright, she could excuse all this by pretending that she wanted to make sure that the inheritance was hers by right. But it was also a question of finding herself.

She put the boxes away and the cat appeared again, meowing at her before standing in front of the hole in the floor that led down again.

"I'm not carrying you," Ash said.

The cat looked at her.

She sighed and picked him up. She couldn't have him running around all by himself upstairs. The noise would keep her awake.

She was carrying him down the ladder when she heard knocking on the front door. Who could it be now? The shop was closed for the day, George had left, she'd been promising herself a walk on the beach. Interruptions were not welcome.

She deposited the cat on the landing, pushed the attic ladder up, and closed the hatch before she went down to the shop.

There she found two faces peering through the window, hands cupped around their eyes trying to see inside.

"Jesus Christ," she groaned.

"It's us, let us in," George said.

Ash hesitated. If she stayed very still, maybe they'd think she was out.

"We can see you," Pen said, her nose smushed against the glass. "I've got brownies."

Ash gritted her teeth and went to the door, unlocking it and yanking it open. "I do wish you'd stop trying to bribe me with baked goods, it won't work."

"What makes you think it's bribery?" Pen said, with wide innocent blue eyes.

"Isn't it?" Ash asked.

Pen wrinkled her nose. "Well, perhaps in this case it sort of might be?"

"It definitely is," George said. "But on the bright side, Pen's brownies are amazing."

Ash sighed and rubbed her eyes. "You're not going to go away, are you?"

"Um, not really," said Pen. "Not until we've talked to you anyway."

Ash ran her tongue over her teeth. "If I let you in here, you've got five minutes to say your piece and then you're to leave me alone. The shop's closed and I have things to do." Like trying to figure out who my father is. Huh. She hadn't realized she'd decided that. And trying to figure out how Mary made such a nice life for herself being alone.

Not everyone had to get married. She'd explained that to her mother countless times, not that she listened. Ash had never had that girlish desire to march down the aisle. Nor, apparently, had Mary. Which made Ash want to get to know her better, because as far as she could tell, most everyone else in the world wanted to be with someone.

She eyed Pen who was practically jumping up and down with excitement, then George, who was looking at her with puppy dog eyes. If she let them in she could perhaps tease a little more information out of them about her alleged aunt.

She stepped back and let them in. "Five minutes."

"Shall we go in the kitchen?" George said.

"Are you inviting yourself into my kitchen?" asked Ash, following them both in.

"It's not your kitchen yet," George reminded her.

"And I'm beginning to regret letting you stay on," Ash said. Pen put a box on the kitchen table and George put the kettle on. "I did say five minutes."

"Let's sit," said George.

Pen looked like she was holding something inside, like a kid with a secret. She was bouncing and Ash took a seat with a sigh. "What?"

Pen and George shared a look. "Alright, so we sort of need to ask you a favor," Pen said.

"No," said Ash.

"You haven't even heard it yet," said George.

Ash saw Pen take a very deep breath. "The thing is," said Pen. "The thing is that the bookshop is very much a part of town. It's a part of our community and we're famous for having it."

"So you're here to persuade me not to sell it," Ash interrupted, feeling slightly irate. The shop was hers, well, almost hers, nobody could tell her what to do with it.

"Have a brownie," said George, opening the box and pushing it toward her.

"Stop bribing me," said Ash. But the smell was tempting, rich and chocolatey. She took a small square. "Is there anything in these?" she asked suspiciously. "Drugs?"

"Love," Pen said.

Ash growled at her.

"Um, would we be able to persuade you not to sell the shop?" asked Pen hopefully.

"I'm an accountant, not a bookseller. I have no desire to run a shop."

"Why not?" asked George. "It's a good business, you could make money."

"And have to deal with people all day?" asked Ash. "No, thank you."

Pen shared another look with George. "Alright then," she said.

"Alright then? It's that easy?" Ash scoffed. She took a bite of her brownie and found that it was just as gorgeous as it smelled. Rich and decadent and just perfect. She relented just a little with the sweetness of the dessert. "You aren't trying very hard if you want me to keep the place."

"We can't force you," Pen said with a shrug. "I'm pretty sure that all the baked goods in the world wouldn't make you do something that you don't want to do."

"Know me that well, do you?" Ash asked, squinting at her. Good lord, that hair was almost golden in the kitchen light, sparkling like something out of a shampoo commercial.

"No," Pen said, smiling. "I don't know you well at all. Not through lack of trying."

"Hmmph," was all Ash said, taking a bite of brownie.

"But we know we can't force you not to sell if that's what you want to do," George put in.

"So where does that favor come in then?" asked Ash.

Yet another deep breath from Pen. Many more like that and she'd be hyperventilating. "Well, we'd like to ask you to, um, to give us a little time before you sell so that we can come up with a plan to, um, to buy the shop ourselves."

Ash felt her eyebrows rise so high they were in danger of shooting up off her face. "You two?"

"Not exactly," said Pen. "The community. We, um, we don't have an exact plan yet, and we want to do this properly. We just sort of want the right of first refusal when you sell. If, um, well, if you could see your way to sticking around Tetherington for a little while longer that is."

Ash looked from one to the other.

It would be easier in the long run, she thought. Having a buyer already lined up. And it was no skin off her nose. If the two of them couldn't come up with the money, she could always sell to someone else.

It would give her time to find out a little more about Mary. About her father.

She sniffed. "What's in it for me?"

"As many baked goods as you can eat?" offered Pen with a hopeful look on her face.

"And the shop practically runs itself, so you'll be making money while you wait," added George.

The cat strolled into the kitchen and hopped up on the table, giving the brownies a desultory sniff before going over to headbutt Pen.

"You take the cat," Ash said.

"This is his home," George protested.

"You take the cat and I'll give you three months to come up with the money."

Three months would be long enough. Long enough to find out what she needed to. Long enough to figure out if she could live in a town like this, if she wanted to live by the sea instead of in London. Maybe long enough for Amanda Brown and family to forget that she existed and never invite her for dinner again.

Pen jumped up from her chair and came around the table. "It's a deal," she squealed.

And before Ash knew what was happening she was being squashed against a prodigious bosom and practically suffocated in a sweet-smelling hug.