Chapter Seven
I wish I didn’t feel this way about you. Life would be so much easier if I didn’t. But, if I said I felt nothing, that would be a lie. And I can lie to anyone but you.
C
KATE
That night, I sit cross-legged on my little sofa with my laptop on my knees and compose an email to Lisa Underwood.
We haven’t corresponded for a while and I don’t want to immediately barge in with a request for a favour, so I keep it short, more of a ‘Hi, how are you, what are you doing?’ kind of thing. When she emails me back I’ll ask about visiting Wychtree, and would she like to come to our festival.
I feel a bit awkward about asking her for a favour, a little bit like I’m cashing in, which is exactly what I’m doing, of course. And she gets those requests all the time, and I know, because I used to chat to her publicist at lunch back when I worked in publishing.
Requests for panels and talks and interviews from every tiny, two-bit literary festival all over the world. Lisa is generous and attended quite a few, but in the end she decided she didn’t have the energy for all of them, so, nowadays, she only attends the big-deal festivals.
I’m hoping she’ll decide to come here because of our personal connection. I’m also hoping that the money Sebastian was going to use to pay James Wyatt will be enough to entice her. It might not, but that’s where the personal connection will come in. Hopefully.
I stare at the screen and the email I’ve half written, wondering if I’ve made a mistake. Wondering if I shouldn’t have blurted my great idea straight out to Sebastian without checking if Lisa was even interested first.
He’d been so angry, and for some reason I’d wanted to help him, and . . . okay, yes, I admit it: I kind of wanted to impress him too. Show him that I had literary connections, that I wasn’t just romance novels and fluff and dogs.
Jasper used to say that about my editing job. He’d poke gentle fun at the books I used to edit, tease me about the ‘girlie books’ and ‘mummy porn’. And when I’d protest, he’d tell me he was just joking and that I needed to stop being so sensitive.
I suppose that’s why I’ve been so aggravated by Sebastian’s disdain. Then again, he’s never poured actual scorn on the books I stock or teased me about my shop. In fact, when I mentioned Lisa, the look in his eyes flared as soon as I suggested her and . . . ugh. It’s galling to have to confess, but I liked the way he looked at me. As if he was truly seeing me for the first time.
I scowl at the laptop screen in response, irritated with the shiver that passes over my skin. Okay, he’s hot, and when he looks at me that way, he’s even hotter, but he’s still snobby and rude. And I didn’t appreciate the way he got all bristly when Doctor Dan said hello to me. As if Dan was encroaching on his territory or something.
God, men are stupid.
Not that I’m any better, to be fair, since I did get a petty sort of satisfaction at Sebastian’s face when he’d realised Dan had signed up to the Portable Magic newsletter. Mean of me, considering it’s clear that the two of them are friends. Still, that’s their problem, not mine, and I’m definitely not going to tell Sebastian that Dan has ordered quite a few thrillers from me over the past couple of months already.
Dan’s a nice guy. I haven’t had much to do with him since coming here, but he’s always very pleasant. Which makes it weird that Sebastian seems to be his friend. I can’t imagine Sebastian having friends, if I’m honest.
I finish up the email and send it, shut the laptop, then pick up my phone, ready to text Sebastian to tell him that I’ve sent the email to Lisa, when I realise I don’t have his number. Damn. I thought I had it. And I’m going to need it if I’m going to be part of his festival.
It could wait until tomorrow, I guess, but as you might have noticed, I’m impatient. Also, I remember that he and Doctor Dan arranged to meet for a pint tonight. I could quickly pop along to the Arms, tell him about Lisa and grab his number off him.
I don’t want to know what he thought of the gift I left on his counter. I really don’t. And I wasn’t watching through my front window to see his reaction. I definitely didn’t feel a single thing when I mouthed ‘for you’ at him, and he stared at me as if I’d done something extraordinary. Even when he nodded back in silent thanks, I wasn’t actively thrilled . No thrills happening for this girl, nope.
So me wanting to go to the pub right this minute has definitely got nothing whatsoever to do with any of that.
Still, I can’t resist a quick glance in the mirror to make sure my hair – loose again today – looks good, and the flouncy, pretty blue dress I’m wearing (another favourite of mine) doesn’t have too many wrinkles in it.
Stupid to care about my appearance when there’s no one I’m trying to impress, but, you know, a girl’s got her pride. Also, I’m secretly pleased with how un polished I look, since Jasper was not a fan of OTT femininity. He thought it looked vapid.
Well, I wasn’t a fan of his laid-back, friendly-verging-on-unctuous manner. I thought it bordered on sleazy, so I guess we’re even.
I slip out into the warm evening and make my way to the Arms.
It’s Friday night, which means it’s darts night and there’s a good crowd of people all clustered around the dartboard and cheering. Mrs Bennet is up and she’s the darts champion of Wychtree, eyeing up the bullseye as she gets ready to throw.
I’m not here for darts, though, so I take a look around, trying to spot Sebastian and Dan, and I see them in the snug by the fire. They both have pints in front of them and Sebastian is doing his usual glower, sitting back in his seat with his arms folded across his broad chest.
I suddenly realise that he’s wearing jeans tonight, and a plain black T-shirt, instead of his usual trousers and business shirt, and I’m abruptly gripped by the most intense wave of . . .
No. No. It’s definitely not hunger. It can’t be.
I’ve seen a man in jeans before, plenty of times. Jeans are great, big fan. But I never feel as though I’ve been punched in the gut at the sight of them the way I do now.
The cotton of his T-shirt is pulled over his muscled chest, making it clear that there isn’t an ounce of fat on him, while the denim of his worn jeans clings to his powerful thighs . . .
My face flames. I look away, fussing with the strap of my bag, trying to get control of myself.
Good God, he’s just a man and I don’t like him, even if I respect his commitment to books. Really, it’s only been a few months since I left Jasper, and then I swore to myself that I was going man-free for life. My heart was already cracked after Mum died, and when I realised how stupid I’d been to let such a bastard as him into my life, it shattered completely. These past two months, in the healing space of my bookshop, it’s been slowly mending, but I want to limit all the ways it could break or crack again. Most especially when Sebastian Blackwood has heartbreak written all over him.
Fully in command of myself again, I turn back to the two men and make my way over to where they’re sitting.
Dan sees me first and smiles, then darts a glance at his friend, who tenses the moment he spots me. His blue gaze narrows, but he doesn’t move.
‘Hello again,’ I say to Dan. ‘Sorry to interrupt.’
Dan grins hugely, as if something about my presence is amusing. ‘Oh no, not at all, Kate. It’s a pleasure to see you again. In fact, I was wanting to ask if you’ll have dinner—’
‘Yes, Miss Jones?’ Sebastian barks, sending Dan a vicious glance. ‘What is it?’
Dan leans back in his chair, looking smug.
Clearly some kind of guy thing is happening, so I ignore it.
‘I’ve emailed Lisa,’ I say to Sebastian. ‘Thought you should know. Also, I don’t have your mobile number and I’ll probably need it. You know, for the festival.’
‘It couldn’t wait till tomorrow?’
I give him a look. He’s still very grumpy and I get it: not having James Wyatt is a blow. But I’ve got my idea, one that’ll be even better if we manage to pull it off, and while I know Lisa isn’t exactly the literary star of his dreams, she’s not no one either. Also, he said my idea was brilliant, so what is his problem?
‘No.’ I give him a saccharine smile. ‘It couldn’t.’
‘Fine,’ he says irritably. ‘What’s your number? I’ll send you a text.’
I tell him and my phone duly chirps with a notification.
‘Oh, look,’ Dan says suddenly. ‘There’s Gerry. I need to speak with him about . . . um . . . Arsenal in the semis.’ He gets up from his seat. ‘Here, Kate. Why don’t you sit and keep Heathcliff company?’
‘Don’t you dare,’ Sebastian growls, whether to Dan or me, I’m not sure.
Dan doesn’t seem to hear, striding off towards Gerry, who owns the butcher’s and who apparently supports Arsenal, which is weird because I thought he was a Spurs fan.
Still, I plonk myself down in his seat, regardless of the hostile expression on Sebastian’s face. ‘Also,’ I say, before Sebastian can get a word in, ‘I saw you pick up the Martha Wells. Have you read her? I thought you might like it.’
‘I’ve read her,’ Sebastian says in clipped tones. ‘Not the new one, though.’
‘You like the Murderbot books?’
His hard mouth twitches slightly.
‘You do,’ I go on, because I’m sure that’s what that twitch signifies. He does like them and he doesn’t want to admit that to me. Silly man. ‘In that case you’ll love the new one. It’s great.’
There’s a moment of silence and I watch the visible effort it takes him to dredge some politeness up from somewhere.
‘Thank you,’ he says, as stiff as he was this morning in his shop. ‘I’ll try it.’
‘There,’ I say, twinkling at him. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’
The politeness is instantly gone, leaving behind it that blue-eyed glower. It shouldn’t look so good on him, but it does, and I’m the most basic of women that I find it as sexy as hell.
‘So, what did you say to her?’ Sebastian asks, blunt as the end of a spade. ‘To Lisa. In your email.’
‘Oh, I didn’t ask her about the festival straight away. It was a more “Hi, how are you?” kind of thing. When she responds, I’ll ask.’
‘And how are you going to get her to come?’ He pauses a moment and that fascinating muscle in his jaw leaps. ‘I don’t have any money to pay her.’
‘What? But I thought James—’
‘I was going to pay him. But now he’s pulling out, the marketing will have to change and his fee will have to pay for that, and for the other debts I’ve already got.’
My heart sinks, not going to lie. ‘I didn’t know you were that cash strapped.’
‘Festivals are expensive, Miss Jones.’
That I did know.
‘Well,’ I say brightly, because he’s starting to look like he should be haunting the battlements of some castle somewhere, given the amount of brood pouring off him. ‘I’ll ask her if she’ll come as a favour.’
‘Oh? Is she that much of a good friend that she’ll come to this tiny village festival for absolutely zero payment?’
‘Take it down a notch, Hamlet. It’s not that bad. Maybe we can think of other things that would make her come here. Writers like inspiration and Wychtree’s got a lot of character, a lot of history.’
Sebastian stares at me a second then leans forward, his gaze pinning me. ‘What’s she like?’
I’m taken aback by his sudden intensity and I’m aware my heart is beating a little too fast for comfort. I try to ignore it. ‘You mean as a person?’
‘Yes.’
‘I know she does like history and she’s an incurable romantic. I think she’d like Wychtree quite a bit if she came.’
Sebastian is still staring at me, but I have the feeling that this time he’s not seeing me. Whatever is going on in his beautiful head, I can virtually see his brain ticking over.
‘You have an idea?’ I ask him.
‘I do. But I’m not sure if it’ll be enough to tempt her.’
‘What is it?’ I realise only belatedly that I have leaned in too, my elbows on the table top.
‘I read Colours ,’ he says. ‘She wrote it after finding a bunch of old letters in an antique shop. Love letters.’
‘Yes, that’s right. She had to get them translated because they were all in French. Hence her setting it in Paris.’
He nods. ‘I have a box of letters in the attic of the shop. They’re my great-grandfather’s. I wonder if there might be something in there that might be used to . . .’
‘Encourage her?’ I finish.
His gaze glitters and I catch a hint of his aftershave. Warm spice and something else I can’t identify, something musky and male and utterly delicious.
Oh dear. This is bad. This is very bad.
‘I’ll need to go through them,’ he says. ‘I don’t think anyone’s looked at them since he died, so there might not be anything useful. But . . .’ He pauses again. ‘There were rumours that he was having an affair with someone.’
Well, this is fascinating.
I lean in closer, drawn by the glitter in his eyes. He’s not grumpy now and he’s not glowering. He’s intense and as interested in this as I am.
‘An affair? With whom?’
‘It was only a rumour. No one knows for sure.’
‘But you think there might be . . . what? Letters or something?’
‘Could be. Nothing’s certain. After he died, my grandfather refused to talk about him. I tried asking him what he was like a couple of times, but he wouldn’t say a word. Dad wouldn’t either, I don’t know why.’
Wow. I’m even more intrigued. There’s nothing like rumours of a forbidden romance and a hint at a tragic, possibly dark past.
Like his, really. Losing his mother so young. And now he’s got hints of family secrets . . .
Steady, Kate. Steady.
‘Was he horrible?’ I sound almost breathless. ‘Did he do something awful?’
Sebastian shakes his head. ‘No. At least not as far as I know. Village gossip doesn’t indicate he was a terrible person. I asked a couple of people, actually, who might have known him when they were kids, and they said he was just a quiet bookseller. Kept to himself. Then again, those are recollections of kids. All the adults who might have known him have passed on now.’
‘What about your dad?’ I ask. ‘Does he really not know anything?’
This is clearly the wrong thing to ask, because Sebastian’s expression abruptly closes down. ‘No,’ he says shortly. ‘Dad doesn’t live in Wychtree. He’s in Bournemouth.’
This is a touchy subject judging from his expression, and, inevitably, now I’m curious. I want to know what’s going on with his dad and why he’s so angry about it, but I don’t know him well enough to push. Also, we seem to have a détente and I like it. I don’t want to ruin it.
‘Okay.’ I let the subject of his father go. ‘So, what about these rumours of an affair, then? Are they true, do you think? Was it . . . illicit or something?’
‘I’m not sure. I’ll need to check through those papers and see what’s there.’
Instantly, I straighten and get to my feet, because there’s no point in wasting time. ‘Well, don’t just sit there. Let’s go and have a look at them, then.’