The Little Bookshop at Herring Cove - Kellie Hailes

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Sophie fixed a smile on her face, forced a lightness into her voice. ‘The sky’s the limit.’

      ‘Well, not quite. I don’t see myself buying a mansion in the country anytime soon. But we could certainly get a bigger place. In a bigger town. One where people won’t whisper about “that poor woman”.’ Natalie’s smile faded quickly.

      Sophie rubbed her friend’s arm. ‘No one ever talked about you like that. What I heard was, “That idiot, what was he thinking?” And they were right.’ She picked up her glass and took a long sip. The cool liquid soothed her nerves. Settled her mind. ‘You do what you have to do, Nat. You deserve all the good things in the world. And besides, it’ll be wonderful to have free accommodation… wherever it is that you end up.’

      Natalie took Sophie’s hand in her own. ‘You’re amazing, Soph. The best. What I’d do without you, I wouldn’t know.’

      ‘Actually, I think that sentiment needs to be switched round. You’ve always been there for me. Right from the beginning.’ Sophie pulled herself into a crouch, then stood. ‘If you need help packing, or if I can look after the kids while you sort house-finding things out, let me know. I’m only one door away.’ For the time being, anyway.

      Natalie hefted a pile of folded laundry into her arms and pushed herself up to stand by Sophie.

      ‘Thanks, lovely. There’s no hurry though. Alexander said a few loose ends had to be tied up before the project could go ahead.’ Natalie stifled a yawn. ‘Right, I’ve got to get these kids to bed. I’m not long for the sack either.’

      Loose ends? Was she a loose end? Could the resort not go ahead without her buy-in? Or should that be sell-out? And if she stuck to her guns, did that mean her friend would lose her chance at happiness?

      She stashed the questions away to mull over later. There was no point worrying Natalie now, not when Sophie had no answers.

      She fixed a smile to her face and pecked her friend on the cheek. ‘Night, Nat. Sweet dreams.’

      ‘I’m rich. Well, by my standards. My dreams will be full of golden paths and fancy cars and four-bedroom houses with solid unleaky rooves.’

      Sophie forced out a happy laugh, then traipsed down the stairs. She stepped into the cool night air and scowled at the pro-Fletcher poster someone had placed over the anti-Fletcher poster. A towering building with a bright red tick over the top.

      There was no way that offensive piece of propaganda was going to be staring her in the face all day tomorrow. She marched up to the pole and pulled it down, reinstating the anti-Fletcher poster.

      Natalie was right. She liked her routine. Thrived on it. She enjoyed knowing everything had its place, and the Fletcher Group had no place in Herring Cove.

      They could throw all the money they wanted at her, she wasn’t budging.

      She unlocked the shop and stepped inside. The musty smell of books mixed with furniture polish washed over her. Reminded her of what was important.

      Her home. And she was going to do everything she could to save it. To keep her place in the world.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      Alexander checked the lay of the land as he reached Sophie’s shop window, and readied himself to enter and spell out the reality of what was about to happen to her bookshop if she didn’t sell, and how much better her situation would be if she changed her mind and signed her land over to the Fletcher Group.

      Sophie was hunched over a notepad, her face covered by her sheet of auburn hair as she scribbled away, while a blonde-haired woman Alexander didn’t recognise sat next to her, her lips moving as fast as her hands.

      He pushed open the door, his client-ready smile fixed on his face and paused at the threshold as their heads jerked up to see who’d interrupted their gathering.

      The silence was broken by an exasperated sigh. Alexander could have had his eyes closed and he’d still have known which of the two women the puff of displeasure had come from.

      ‘If you’re not here to buy a book, then you may as well turn around and leave,’ muttered Sophie, her gaze returning to the notebook she held in her hand. ‘Where were we, Ginny?’

      Alexander stepped into the shop and mentally revised his plan. Explaining the reality of Sophie’s situation was out, for the moment. He was more interested in what she and her friend were busy discussing. From the screes of writing and the pages flipped over, anyone would think Sophie and her friend were planning to go to war. Which, considering the divide in the village regarding his family’s plans, wasn’t something he could disregard.

      ‘Charming way to greet a customer.’ Alexander kept his tone light, friendly. ‘Can you point me in the direction of the autobiography section?’ He gazed round the room and tried to figure out Sophie’s system.

      Hand-painted wooden signs, flaking with age, showed romance novels huddled up against horror. Fantasy sat next to astronomy and astrology. The travel section nuzzled up to books on philosophy. No wonder things weren’t going great for her. You’d spend five minutes looking for what you wanted, give up and leave empty-handed.

      For someone who professed to love the place so much, he couldn’t understand how Sophie had let it go. Hadn’t moved on with the times; at the very least placed the book sections in alphabetical order.

      ‘Interesting system you’ve got going.’ He ran his hand along the book spines, noting how dated they were. He’d figured her finances were in bad shape, but to not even update stock? His father had emailed him to say he would talk to his man on the council to see if he could find out anything more about Sophie’s financial issues. Alexander suspected he wasn’t going to need confirmation. The facts were staring him in the face.

      ‘You’ll find autobiographies next to the biographies, which is next to the science fiction. Just behind me.’ Sophie waved her hand in a vague direction, then resumed scribbling.

      Alexander followed her directions and made his way to the autobiographies. The selection was small, and as he’d suspected, dated.

      ‘Meow?’

      A little squeak drew his attention to the floor where the sleek cat he’d seen snuggled up to Sophie the previous evening sat on its haunches, its eyes pleading for attention.

      ‘Hey little one.’ He squatted down and patted its soft fur and marvelled at its dignified markings. Its jet-black body and face contrasted with a white bib, long white boots on its hind legs and shorter white gloves on its front paws, giving it the look of an old-fashioned butler. ‘Aren’t you adorable.’

      The cat meowed its agreement and leaned into his touch as he scratched its cheek.

      ‘Puddles, don’t engage with the enemy,’ hissed Sophie in a low whisper.

      The comment was terse but not hurtful. Simply a way for Sophie to remind Alexander he wasn’t welcome.

      ‘Puddles.’ Alexander ran his thumb from the top of the cat’s nose to the back of his head and was rewarded with a deep, vibrating purr. ‘You look more like an Alfred to me.’

      He gave the cat one final stroke, then turned his attention back to the books.

      ‘So, I was thinking I could organise a market for this Friday night. A Midsummer’s Night Market.’

      Sophie’s hushed tone caught Alexander’s attention. He pulled out a book about an old has-been television actor, flipped through to the first chapter and pretended to be absorbed in the old fella’s words.

      ‘Get some locals to sell their wares. Have music. Food. Advertise through social media to the surrounding areas. Bring the village together. Remind them what we’re capable of if we stick together.’

      ‘Sophie,

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