Chapter 24
“This is you.” The taxi rumbled to a halt partway down a steep hill winding toward the harbor. “I’ll grab your case.”
Kate unfolded herself from the back of the car, grateful to stretch her legs. It had been a hot, sticky day of upheaval and last-minute changes, traveling solo rather than with Liv as she’d hoped.
They’d had everything meticulously planned out.
Nish would mind the shop and the kids were sleeping over with his parents while Liv and Kate headed to Cornwall for a girls’ trip, which had gone a long way toward keeping Kate’s nerves in check.
And then Nish’s father had fallen from a stepladder while pruning a climbing rose in his garden and ended up in the ER with a broken hip, and Liv had been left with the shop and the kids and a head full of uncharitable thoughts about her father-in-law needing to be more bloody careful at his age.
She’d handed Kate a box wrapped in brown paper before she left and told her to open it in Cornwall.
“Oh,” Kate said, more a sigh of pleasure than a formed word as she took in the postcard-worthy scene laid out before her. “Would you look at that.”
“I do, every damn day,” the driver muttered, dropping her case on the cobbles beside a sun-bleached garden gate. He looked like someone who should have retired ten years ago and still wasn’t over the fact he hadn’t.
“Lucky,” she said.
“Some might say,” he groused, not looking as if he was one of the people who might. “Key’s under the pot.”
He jumped back in his car and drove away, leaving her to look around for the plant pot. It was easy; too easy in Kate’s view, coming as she did from busier places with higher crime rates.
She’d had no idea what to expect of the accommodation Rachel had arranged for her; everything had been so last-minute they’d only confirmed the address that morning. She’d expected a hotel room or a local B her bones felt at ease inside her body.
It took awhile to identify the sensations washing over her as she watched the industry of the harbor.
Peace. Freedom. No one to please but herself.
No one to feed, no one to put first, just an overwhelm of serenity, a moment of full stop.
She watched the fishing boats come and go for a while, then lay down on the bed and slept.
—
She woke early the next morning in what was officially the world’s most comfortable bed, basking in the already light-filled bedroom.
The cottage had worked its magic on her the night before: a simple dinner from the supplies left for her in the fridge, a glass of wine as she’d read the festival itinerary Rachel had sent across.
A table had been reserved for Kate Darrowby, stocks of the book would be available for sale, and she just needed to greet readers, chat, and sign copies of the book. Totally doable.
Nerves had kicked in when she poured a second glass of wine and googled the event.
It was larger scale than she’d anticipated, the online buzz among romance readers through the roof.
Charlie had messaged last thing to make sure she had everything she needed, and she’d cracked and confided she had everything except her sister.
And now it was Saturday morning. She’d gone with a striped sundress shot through with metallic thread to elevate it beyond the beach, and light makeup that wasn’t likely to melt down her face in the heat of the festival tent.
Reaching for her phone, she found her social media jumping with reader messages, people making their way down to the festival, others wishing they could be there.
She’d gotten into the habit of spending the first couple of hours of the day replying to reader messages and posting candid pictures of her adventures in publishing, striking up conversations and friendships with people who’d read the book and were helping to spread the word far and wide.
She’d never had a big circle of female friends and the book world sisterhood was a revelation.
The brown-paper-wrapped box Liv had given her as she left the shop sat on the kitchen work surface.
Kate had been planning to save it for after the signing, but she was ready early and yearned for the boost of her sister’s company.
Reaching for it, she carried it through to the table by the window and sat down, taking her time.
Liv had tacked a note to the lid of the box.
I was going to wait for your birthday because this was a SHIT TON of work, but I wanted to give you something special to celebrate the book coming out.
L xxx
Easing the lid off and carefully folding back layers of blush-peach tissue paper, Kate peeped inside, then she started to laugh and swallow tears at the same time.
Reaching into the box, she removed the crocheted mouse orchestra one piece at a time.
They were wonky, and one had three legs, and another was half-purple.
And there were violins and trumpets and tambourines.
An intricate twelve-piece mouse orchestra, each individually styled, including a conductor with his arms flung wide and the most theatrical whiskers of them all.
“I bloody love you, Liv,” she whispered, arranging the orchestra on the table.
Reaching for her mobile, she took a photo.
You’re the most iconic sister on the entire planet
she typed, and pressed “send.” And then added
and the most talented x
Liv replied instantly.
You forgot best-looking. Break a leg, Katie xxx
Bang on time, the same cab driver as the day before rolled to a halt outside Pink Cottage, where Kate stood nervously jiggling from foot to foot.
“Me again,” he grumped, arm resting on his open window.
“Me again,” she grinned and clambered into the back, noticing a copy of her book waiting on the seat beside her.
“The wife wants you to sign that,” he said, catching her eye in the mirror.
She looked at the book, and then at him, as she pulled one of her signing pens from her bag and opened the book flat on her knees. “Is it really for you?”
“June. Her name’s June. J U N E.” He spelled it out, testy. “Like the month.”
“Pretty,” she said as she clicked the end of the pen. “Anything special you’d like me to write?”
“Yes. Dear June, get your head out the clouds and read something more useful instead. ”
She held his glare in the mirror.
“This is the first time I’ve ever signed a book for someone in person,” she said, writing June a much less offensive message. “Thanks for making it so memorable.”
She earned herself a twitched gray eyebrow in response.
“The women’s books festival at the showground, then,” he muttered, flinging the car into gear and juddering down the hill.
Kate sat on her hands for a second, then couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “Love stories are for everyone, not just women,” she said.
He didn’t even pretend to consider it. “Give me the newspaper and I’m done.”
“War, pestilence, and indigestion with your breakfast it is, then,” she said, fixing her smile in place.
It was as well that Liv wasn’t there, she’d have enjoyed a rumble with this guy.
Kate didn’t have the appetite for it; she needed to stay calm, slide Kate Darrowby on for size, and hope she didn’t do or say anything unnecessary this time around.
If she could make it back to the sanctuary of the pink cottage unscathed, she’d count today as a win.
“Just don’t see the point,” the driver said, catching her eye in the rearview mirror again. “Romance books. Pie in the sky.”
Kate let out a slow, measured breath. Why was he baiting her, today of all days?
“No?” She felt her guardian angel wings shudder, desperate to unfurl and curl around the book balanced on her lap. Or to jab the driver in the eye with the sharp end of an iridescent feather. One or the other.
He shrugged, and his face told her he was pleased to have made his point. She had two choices. Stay quiet and stay cool, or rise to the bait. Calm. Cool. Quiet. Oh no…
“Have you honestly never read a single love story?”
“I have not,” he said, resolute.
“I think it was quite romantic of you to bring the book for me to sign.”
“It wasn’t.” He scowled. “Better than being nagged, that’s all.”
“Okay.” She smiled as she glanced away out of the window at the beautiful Cornish countryside, her stomach turning over with nerves when she spotted signs for the festival. “Well, tell June I hope she loves it. Tell her I wish her the best.”
She added “of luck” in her head, and the look he gave her in the mirror suggested he’d heard her unspoken words loud and clear.
“I grow poppies in the garden because they’re her favorite,” he said, managing to make it sound like an act of sufferance rather than love as he pulled into the festival entrance and followed the signs for author arrivals.
Kate nodded. “There we are, then, I knew you were a romantic at heart.”
He didn’t smile, exactly, it was more of a resigned huff as he eased the cab to a stop. “This’ll be you.”
“Thanks.” She glanced at the busy scene outside her window, working up the nerve to get out. This was her first time among so many readers, but also among other authors too. Would they sniff her out as a cuckoo in their nest?
“Meter’s running,” the driver said, not unkindly. “They’re just normal folk. Everyone farts, even the king.”
She laughed, breaking her fear. “Everyone farts. That’s my new mantra.”
“Get out of my car.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” she said, knowing better than to ask if she could take his photo for her inevitable social media post later.