Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
It was twenty minutes later when Fern stepped out of the bath, wrapping herself in a towel as her phone buzzed on the bedside table, her best friend’s name flashing across the screen. Fern smiled as she picked up her phone.
‘Hello!’ she answered, towel-drying her hair.
‘There you are! It’s not like you to not check in.
I just want to know if you survived your first few days in Antique Purgatory.
I thought you’d fallen off the face of the earth.
’ Ella’s voice rang through, bright and full of life.
‘I’m assuming you’re home now. What are you doing tomorrow night?
We’re all going to that new wine bar in Soho, super posh, super exclusive. ’
Fern tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder as she rummaged through her suitcase. Even though it was just drinks in the garden with Daniel, she wanted to look good. She pulled out a simple but flattering dress and put it on as Ella continued talking.
‘Ella, I…’ She slipped her feet into her ballet shoes. ‘I’m not in London.’
‘Where are you then?’
‘I’m still here, on Puffin Island, in an antique shop I somehow own, with a man I barely know who insists he’s not leaving, and I’—she took a breath—‘I might actually be having fun.’
Ella let out a dramatic gasp. ‘Fern. Are you being serious? In a place that probably doesn’t even have Uber or a decent wine bar? Who even are you?’
‘I can confirm there are no Ubers,’ she replied, and recounted the horror of her suitcase bumping across the causeway when she arrived.
‘It sounds awful!’
‘The highlight of my day was dusting a shelf full of porcelain cats.’
‘Tell me everything.’
Fern didn’t leave out any details. She babbled on about the shop, the flat and, of course, Daniel – his stubbornness, his maddening confidence, the way he somehow made the whole situation seem normal. Then she shared the sleeping arrangement.
‘You’re sharing a bed? With a stranger?’ Ella shrieked so loudly Fern had to pull the phone away from her ear. ‘He could be a mass murderer.’
‘He’s not!’ Fern protested. ‘And I’m grateful for his company as the bed has a moose head looming over it. I’ve also built a pillow barricade.’
‘This Daniel, does he respect the pillow barricade?’
Fern hesitated. She thought of the moment she’d woken up yesterday morning, tangled in Daniel, his arm draped over her. ‘That’s irrelevant.’ She could sense Ella shaking her head on the other end of the line.
‘Fern. This is insane. I don’t like the sound of any of this. You’re not staying there.’
‘I never said I was staying—’
‘You need to sell that place. Quickly. Who on earth would want to own a shop full of junk?’
Fern looked around, suddenly seeing it through Ella’s eyes. The haphazard furniture, the clutter, the sheer impracticality of it all. She was a music journalist, not an antique dealer. This wasn’t her life. Ella was right, she’d just run away with herself, got caught up in the situation somehow.
‘Promise me you’ll sort it … if not today, then tomorrow.’
‘Okay, I promise.’
‘Good. And then get yourself home, where you belong.’
After hanging up, Fern mulled over the conversation.
Ella had been talking sense. It was a shop full of junk with no income.
It wasn’t a business and the whole place was in need of repair.
She was just thankful it hadn’t rained yet, because she was sure the water would leak through the roof and windows.
Fern dried her hair, put on some makeup, then sat on the bed, phone in hand.
After searching through her emails, she found the email from the local solicitor, Edgar Carmichael, and clicked the link that took her through to his website.
She was astonished to see that his office was on Anchor Way.
Her fingers hovered for a moment before she booked an appointment for ten a.m. the next day.
She exhaled. It was the right thing to do.
‘Done,’ she muttered to herself. It was pure due diligence for her to see if she could sell it even with Daniel living and working here.
She could make sure he was going to be okay.
She wandered downstairs; everywhere was quiet.
The back door was open and as she stepped out into the courtyard she stopped short.
Daniel was there, waiting for her. He had arranged plush cushions on the outside chairs, and the wine was already poured into two mismatched glasses.
He’d even scattered lanterns around the courtyard and they glowed softly.
He turned at the sound of her footsteps and smiled.
‘Took you long enough. I was about to drink both glasses.’ Then he really looked at her.
His expression shifted, his usual teasing gone.
‘You look gorgeous.’ The intensity of his gaze caused goosebumps to erupt along her arms.
‘Thank you,’ she replied, taking the compliment. She sat down and Daniel passed her a glass of wine.
‘To us, and No. 17 Curiosity Lane, and the future.’
She swallowed. Her head was telling her to hold on to the firm decision she had made to sell the shop.
This wasn’t her life, not really. But sitting here, with Daniel and a glass of wine in her hand, wrapped in candlelight, her heart was telling her something different.
She glanced at Daniel with his ruffled hair and eyes full of something she wasn’t sure she was ready to name, and she found herself wondering: should she listen to her head or her heart?