Book People

Chapter Fifteen

I can’t come tonight. I’m so sorry. I miss you so much it hurts

C

KATE

I unlock the bookshop’s front door and turn the sign over to ‘Open’. Then I stand a minute, staring through the glass to Blackwood Books across the road.

He’s finally changed his front window. A large map hangs as a background and, if I’m not much mistaken, it’s a map of Middle Earth. Stacks of books are arranged artistically in front of it – multiple editions of The Lord of the Rings , The Silmarillion and The Hobbit , as well as books about the making of the movies, including a guidebook to Hobbiton in New Zealand.

It’s a wonderful window and it makes me want to do a companion piece. I’m already thinking of a sign I can put up. ‘If you loved The Lord of the Rings , you’ll love these fabulous fantasy reads too!’

I can see his tall figure moving around in the shop and my breath catches.

It’s been two days since our night together and, while I knew it would destroy me, I’m still trying not to let it. He didn’t linger that morning, even though I offered to make him breakfast. He only shook his head, kissed me hard, then left without another word.

We didn’t need to repeat what we’d already said to each other. We both knew it was only going to be for one night.

Yet ever since then I’ve felt . . . flat. I’m annoyed about it. I should have known that I’d feel shitty after he left and I do, and it’s galling. I hate being right sometimes.

He hasn’t contacted me, not for two days, and that’s making me feel crappy too. I haven’t texted him, it’s true, but I want to give him space. And I need space for me, since mooning around after him like a lovesick teenager isn’t working for me either.

I’m not a teenager and I’m not lovesick.

That night with him was the best sex I’d ever had in my entire life. It was healing after the awfulness of Jasper. But good sex doesn’t mean love. I’m not that stupid.

I turn away from the door, ignoring the complicated mix of feelings sitting inside me, and go back to the counter. I start up the computer and check my email. There’s a message from Lisa, so I open it, my heart racing.

She loves the notes. She loves the thought of Wychtree. She’s between books and has been looking for some inspiration and this might be it. She’d love to attend the festival and, no, she won’t require a fee!

A surge of adrenaline hits me and I give the air a quick punch. This is wonderful news. This is brilliant. We have our headliner.

I make for the door again, all set to dash across the road to tell Sebastian. But as I reach for the door handle, I stop.

And take a breath.

And think.

Is it really a good idea to be in his presence again? And so soon? Should I text him instead? Respect the distance he’s putting between us?

I hate these questions. I hate how uncertain I feel. I’ve felt more in charge of my life since coming to Wychtree than I ever have, yet I’m not in charge of this and I don’t like it.

I was right, he has destroyed me. Like Jasper destroyed me, but in a different way.

Jasper was sneaky and sly: he took little pieces of me away, bit by bit. Pieces I hadn’t even known I was missing until the night he wanted me to put my grieving aside for him and I realised he’d effectively deleted all my friends from my life.

Like that picture of Dorian Gray, I finally saw him for who he really was. Not the handsome, successful man I’d been living with and loving for four years, but a petulant narcissist.

Sebastian is handsome too, but he isn’t a narcissist. He’s intense and full-on, but he doesn’t lie, and not everything is about him. He doesn’t take things away from me, either; he gives them back. Calling me brilliant, calling me beautiful.

However, I can’t let my feelings about him dictate my behaviour. The festival is something external that we’re organising and it has nothing to do with any relationship we may or may not have. It’s separate.

This life I’ve built here, too, is separate. It’s mine, in a way the past four years with Jasper weren’t, and if I want any chance at staying in charge of it, I have to keep it separate.

I can’t let what happened between Sebastian and me affect the festival or our businesses, and there will always be things that we need to discuss. So to hell with a text. He should know about Lisa and I need to tell him personally.

I pull open the door and walk with determination over to Blackwood Books. The bell chimes as I go in.

Sebastian is at a shelf, talking to Lucy, one of the local estate agents. She’s tall and sleek in her white suit, her black hair perfectly coiffed. Aisling told me once that she had a crush on Sebastian and I see it in action now. The delicate blush in her cheeks. The smile. Her attention focusing on him.

Jealousy slides a needle beneath my skin, but I try to ignore it. I don’t care if she flirts with him. We had our one night together and it’s over. I have no claim on him and he doesn’t have one on me. It’s fine.

She laughs and it’s like sandpaper scraping over my skin.

I should leave and come back when she’s gone, but I’m stubborn now. What do I care if she’s here or not? She’s a customer anyway, so he won’t be that long.

As he goes to the counter and rings up the book, Lucy chats away. His gaze shifts to mine and the air crackles around us. With heat and with knowledge. With the memory of our night together. His hands on my skin. His mouth on mine. Him inside me, moving . . .

I tear my gaze away and study the spines on the bookcase nearby. I study them really, really hard.

Lucy is in no hurry, still talking.

My God , I think, leave the man alone!

Finally, after what seems like a full two hours, she leaves and I approach the counter. He watches me. His shirt today is dark blue and it makes the colour of his eyes even more intense.

My face is hot, my skin tight, and my fingers itch with the need to reach for the top button of that shirt to flick it open.

‘Miss Jones,’ he says, aggravatingly formal. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Sebastian,’ I say, hating the awkwardness in my voice. ‘I heard from Lisa today. The letters were a hit. She says she’s between books and has been looking for some inspiration and would love to come to Wychtree. She won’t require a fee.’

His face lights up and his mouth curves, and that smile hits me right in the centre of my chest, making it difficult to breathe. ‘That’s fantastic,’ he says. ‘Amazing news. I’ll get in touch with the printer for the programme this morning.’

Another smile in the space of two days. It’s a bloody miracle and even more pleasing that he smiled because of me.

‘I know,’ I say, smiling back, because I just can’t help myself. ‘Isn’t it great? It’s extremely late notice and everything, but I think having her name as the headliner is going to make a huge difference.’

For a second there is no awkwardness between us. Nothing but a shared triumph and delight that this festival might just work out after all, and maybe not just work out, but be a success.

‘Yes, given that, we might need a bigger venue.’ Sebastian looks around, his black brows twitching together. ‘This place and Portable Magic are quite small.’

‘Let’s see what tickets we sell,’ I say. ‘There’s the village hall if an event gets out of hand, but we should have the majority of events here and at my shop. This place is so beautiful. People will love being in here, and for the out-of-towners, they’ll want to come back.’

He glances at me, that smile on his face, and I feel my heart turn over in my chest. ‘They’re going to come back for Portable Magic too. You’re good with people.’

I love his praise, which is pretty stupid of me, but I can’t help it. Jasper’s compliments always held hidden barbs, and he certainly never admired anything I did, not like Sebastian does. It really means a lot coming from him, because I’ve only been in the bookselling game for a scant couple of months, while he’s been at it for at least a decade.

My face gets even hotter, which is annoying. ‘Thank you,’ I say, flustered. Then, changing the subject, ‘We should go over our schedule for the festival again. I can also help you with that newsletter, if you’d like.’

Slowly the light fades from his eyes and from his face, the warmth of his own excitement cooling. Like lava, he hardens back into stone. ‘Yes, we should do that.’ His voice is formal once again. ‘How about tomorrow evening after closing?’

The loss of his smile is upsetting, but I decide I’m not going to let it matter. We’re going to be colleagues now, which is much better than enemies, so, really, any meeting where we’re not arguing is a win.

I keep my own smile pasted on. ‘That sounds great.’

He looks away. ‘If you’ll forgive me, I have some stock I have to order.’

It’s a dismissal loud and clear, and, yes, it hurts. But I can’t let it. This was not what I promised myself. I’m not going to let a man hurt me, not again.

So I swallow down my hurt, keeping my smile as a shield between him and me. Good thoughts. Good thoughts.

‘No problem. I’ve got a few things to do myself. See you tomorrow, then.’ I turn and head to the front door.

I’m reaching to push it open when he says, ‘Miss Jones.’

I stop and glance at him, my heart racing. ‘Yes?’

‘Mrs Bennet in Wychtree Crafts might have known your grandmother. They’re of an age, I think. Why don’t we go there before closing tomorrow? We can look at the festival stuff afterwards.’

I’d thought he’d forgotten the offer he’d made, while in my bed, to help me investigate some of my own lost history. Apparently not.

My chest feels tight. ‘We?’

‘Mrs Bennet is a little . . . standoffish. You might find me being there will help things.’

He’s not wrong. Mrs Bennet is very standoffish, though I’m not sure how him being there will help, considering how standoffish he is. Maybe Mrs Bennet has a soft spot for him. I want to tease him about it, but we’re both still doing this hideous formality thing, so I only say, ‘That would be great, then. Thank you.’

He shrugs a shoulder. ‘It’s nothing. There’re a couple of other people who might know more too. I’ll conduct further investigations.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘I know I don’t.’ His gaze is very direct and intense. ‘But I made you a promise and I intend to keep it.’

He made more promises to me that night. He promised me he’d make me feel better than I ever had in my entire life, that I’d come so hard I’d scream his name. He kept those promises too.

Perhaps he’s thinking about that as well, because fire ignites in his eyes, leaping and burning, and it’s back, our physical chemistry. Burning twice as high and twice as hot. Because we know now what it’s like between us and it’s . . . amazing. Fantastic. Phenomenal.

But it’s not happening again.

I realise now the truth of that, settling down inside me like a weight.

My eyes prickle, which is ridiculous. I will not cry over him. I will not.

I will never let a man make me cry again.

I blink and turn on my brightest and bestest smile ever. ‘Thank you, Sebastian. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Back in Portable Magic, I distract myself from the ache in my chest with an effusive email to Lisa. Then I contact her publicist and send her the details of the festival. I’ll no doubt need to find her a place to stay, so I make some suggestions, including the Wychtree Arms, where all the rooms have recently had an update. Not five star by any stretch of the imagination, but they’re homey and comfortable, and I can afford to pay her accommodation expenses there at least.

I’m finishing up when Aisling comes in, her little girl Beth on her hip. I have a box of toys near the kids’ shelves for toddlers, and Aisling goes right there and gets them out for Beth. ‘Hey,’ she says, as she gets Beth sorted with a cloth book and some blocks. ‘How are you? I need you to give me an update on Tall, Dark and Brooding.’

I try to keep my face in some semblance of pleasant. ‘Update? What kind of update?’

Aisling shakes back her red hair and comes over to the counter as Beth happily paws through the cloth book. ‘Last I saw of you was you waiting to talk to him “privately”.’

‘We were only talking about the festival.’

Aisling eyes me. ‘Is that why you’re blushing?’

I don’t know what to say. Sebastian and I didn’t have a conversation about whether we should tell people we’d slept together, but . . . I’ve been here over two months now and I know there’s a village rumour mill. If people knew, the gossip would be rife, I’m certain. I’m also certain Sebastian would hate that.

Then again, I don’t have anyone else to talk to about him, not a single person, and I could use an understanding ear.

I give Aisling a meaningful look. ‘I don’t want anyone else to know, okay?’

She raises a brow. ‘Oh, so it’s like that, is it?’

‘Please, Ash.’

‘Hey, no problem. I’m not a gossip and I know gossips say that all the time, but I honestly mean it.’

I know she does, so I nod. ‘Okay. So . . . we slept together.’

She does not look surprised. ‘About time.’

‘It’s not like that. It was only a one-off.’

‘I have to say, that’s not what I was hoping.’ She puts her elbows on the counter and looks at me. ‘Was he that bad? I’ve never heard anything about his skills in the bedroom, to be clear. But . . . well.’ She smirks. ‘He looks like he knows his way around a woman.’

I glare. ‘It wasn’t bad. It was the opposite. It was . . . I don’t have the words to describe it, to be honest. But neither of us is looking for a relationship and so . . .’

‘So, what? One and done?’ She frowns slightly. ‘His decision or yours?’

‘Both of ours.’ I’m trying to sound certain.

She looks sceptical. ‘I hear wistfulness.’

‘No. No wistfulness is happening.’ I bite my lip, trying not to say the thing I really want to say, the thing I really want to ask. But it’s a battle I lose, because the next thing I know, I’m asking, ‘You knew him, right? As a kid? What was he like at school?’

‘Oh dear,’ Aisling mutters. ‘That’s not a good sign.’

‘Ash.’

‘Fine. He was serious and very reserved. A lot of girls had the hots for him, but he kept to himself. Which, quite frankly, made the general hysteria over him even worse. His father was a drunk and his grandfather almost lost the bookshop due to gambling debts. You know, the whole tragic backstory nine yards.’

Yes, so I heard. And as backstories go, it’s rough. I think again about what he said regarding his grandfather and his father, about the gambling addiction and the alcoholism that nearly lost him the bookshop. About what he said about unsuitable women.

I think of his intensity and his passion and the way he looked at me. The hunger in his eyes when I touched him. Of how reserved and aloof he seems.

He’s lonely, I think. He’s desperately, horribly lonely, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

‘Does he have any friends here?’ I ask. ‘Apart from Dan, I mean?’

Aisling screws her face up in thought. ‘Hmm. Good question. No, I don’t think he does. He’s really reserved, like I said. He doesn’t let people get close.’

I almost ask her why, but I think I know already.

When he lost his mother, he escaped into the pages of a book. And when his father was busy drinking, he escaped into the bookshop and never came out again.

He doesn’t share himself with people, he cuts himself off. He’s been hurt and he’s protecting himself, I think.

Then it occurs to me that his shop is the only common ground he has with people. It’s how he communicates. Through the pages of the books he sells.

It’s what I do too, except my shop isn’t there to protect me. I invite people in, I want them to be there. I want to share myself and my love of books. I want connections. But he doesn’t.

Even his predilection for taking his pleasures elsewhere is him cutting himself off. So he can have sex without strings. Without commitment.

As I’ve already discovered, he’s an all or nothing man and, right now, he’s decided to have nothing. No wonder he’s lonely.

We’re the same in some ways and yet so different in others.

‘I wouldn’t go there if I were you,’ Aisling advises. ‘The sex might be great, but the Blackwoods . . . Well, they’re not exactly great when it comes to relationships.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t thinking of going there. I was just curious.’

But I’m lying.

Of course I’m thinking of going there.

Maybe it’s compounding error after error, but still. I hate the thought of Sebastian Blackwood being lonely.

I hate it with all my heart.