Chapter 23
We talk. We laugh. We touch. We kiss. We repeat, right into the early hours of the morning.
As the sun starts to stream through the blinds, I open one eye and smile at the sight of Rory sleeping soundly next to me.
I study the curve of his jawline, the stubble on his chin, his muscular chest and strong arms.
My alarm begins to beep insistently, and he groans, his hair skewed to one side.
‘Make it stop,’ he begs.
I laugh and find myself kissing him on the forehead without hesitation. ‘We have to get up. What will people say if they see the bookshop and DIY store standing shoulder to shoulder with no one in charge? The whole village will demand an explanation.’
Rory grins. ‘They’d probably say, “Looks like those two finally got their acts together and admitted they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.”’
‘Who would say that?’ I ask, pulling his arm over my head and snuggling into his chest.
‘Finlay, for a start. He’s been on at me to make a move since you moved back here.’
‘Really? He never said anything to me. I’d forgotten he and Donna used to date. Did you know they had a recent rendezvous?’
‘Aye, one or two,’ Rory says. ‘He never really got over her. But I’m not sure what Donna thinks. She keeps her cards close to her chest when it comes to Finlay. Has she ever mentioned it to you?’
‘Not since we were young. She used to wear her heart on her sleeve. I wish she would open up a bit more. She’ll talk the hind legs off a donkey, but when it’s something she cares about, she seems to struggle.’
‘Aye,’ Rory agrees. ‘And Finlay can be a donkey. I overheard him delivering a TED talk about dog flea prevention to her the other day. Insightful, but not the best when it comes to foreplay. Speaking of which, how many minutes do we have until we absolutely have to get up?’
He turns to kiss me as my alarm begins to buzz again.
‘We have to get ready,’ I protest, reaching for my phone. ‘Oh, shit, hold on.’
‘Did you just roll over and check your phone?’ he teases. ‘I told you, that’s not how we do things around these parts.’
*
Rory and I pop in to see each other frequently through the day, in between customers, and go for an evening walk by the sea. I invite him to stay at my flat again.
Repeat.
We repeat for days on end. Time passes quickly and I am walking on cloud nine. I am, dare I say, happy. Happier than I’ve been in a long time. Longer than I can remember.
I can’t get enough of him. I try to stop myself.
It is far too early to feel like this. But any time doubt creeps in, he is there, standing in front of me with a cup of coffee that I didn’t ask for but desperately need, or offering to fix the wonky shelf in my bedroom.
Within a couple of weeks, he’s practically moved into my grungy flat and has drafted a list of DIY jobs to do around the place.
The green tiles are top of his list, but, even though I’ve now been here three months and I won the bet, he insists I have to stay longer.
He wants to change the green tiles. He wants me to stay.
‘What if I change your tiles and you leave me high and dry? Like that was all you ever wanted me for?’
‘Is changing my tiles a euphemism?’
It’s hard to keep our relationship at a slow pace with Rory right next door.
I can’t seem to stop myself from popping through to The Toolbox to talk, to touch and, sometimes, just to see his face.
He lines up little surprises for me, from buying books I mention I like, to dropping in with coffees and the little buns he knows I love from Fiona’s cafe.
We take walks after work around Ullapool and spend our nights by the cosy fire in the pub before he stays in my flat. I show him my Pinterest boards and ideas for the flat’s transformation, and he helps me make lists of what I’ll need for each room, once I have the money in place.
One evening, just before our shops close, a huge bouquet of flowers appears at the bookshop, with Rory hiding behind it.
‘What are these for?’ I ask, kissing him lightly on the lips before taking the flowers from his hands. They are a beautiful array of chrysanthemums and pastel roses.
‘You are cordially invited to dine at my house this evening,’ he says, puffing his chest out.
‘At your house?’ I repeat, swallowing.
Rory pointed out his house to me, from a distance, when we climbed up a hill one evening. It is in the same direction as my granny’s cottage. To get there, we’d have to pass the lane that leads there.
I’m just… I’m not sure I’m up to it yet.
‘Yes, my house. I’ll cook.’
‘You’ll cook? I mean, I’d love to, but I can’t risk it. The last thing I need is a bout of food poisoning.’
I smile, but my heart thumps in protest as panic sets in.
I can’t go there, not yet. I’m just not ready.
As I hold the heavy flowers in my hand, I rack my brains for an excuse not to go.
It’s ridiculous, but I realize that by keeping the bookshop I’ve been trying to keep my granny alive.
If I pass her house, see someone else in it, I’ll know she’s really gone.
‘I’ll have you know, I’m an excellent chef,’ he says. ‘Okay, maybe excellent is a stretch, but I can cook up a decent dinner.’
I shake my head. ‘I can’t. Sorry, Rory, not tonight. I have work to do. I need to finalize that funding application for the bookshop. Eilidh’s been nagging…’
He frowns. ‘I thought the deadline was next week?’
I bite my lip. ‘Eilidh said the earlier the better.’
‘We can have dinner tomorrow, then.’
‘Or… next week?’
It’s another piece of advice from Granny: if you don’t know what to do, kick the ball into the long grass. Buy yourself some time. I need time right now.
He raises an eyebrow. ‘Next week? Ava, we spend loads of time at your place. Why don’t you want to come to mine for dinner?’
His green eyes darken as he frowns. Shit, he looks hurt.
I want to explain to him, but I’m embarrassed.
Imagine being an almost thirty-year-old who can’t take a casual stroll down memory lane without the fear of bursting into uncontrollable sobs.
I can’t let Rory see me like that. Being here in Ullapool means I feel close to Granny, but I’m just not ready to face the loss of her physical presence from her cottage.
I just can’t.
‘I’ve… got a lot on my plate,’ I say, my brain searching for a way to cover this up. ‘The bookshop isn’t doing as well as I’d hoped, from a financial perspective. And I’m not sure what I’ll do if it carries on like this.’
It’s not a lie. I do need to fill out the funding application. Not tonight, but now would be as good a time as any. I swallow as he narrows his eyes.
‘What does that mean? What will happen if you don’t get the funding?’
I sigh. ‘I can’t think about that just now.’
‘You’ll leave, won’t you?’
His spiky tone surprises me.
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘But you might?’
I frown as his face flushes a deeper shade of red.
‘That’s why I have to do the funding application, Rory. I can’t just sit around hoping things improve. I need to make things happen. I haven’t been handed a successful business, you know.’
The sides of his mouth turn down. ‘What, like me?’
‘Your business is well established. You don’t have to worry the way I do.’
‘Oh, okay, great, thanks for letting me know.’
He turns around to leave.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Home. You’re welcome to the flowers, if you decide to stick around long enough.’
He’s gone before I can protest.
Our first fight. Well, hardly our first fight.
Just the first one where it feels like a punch to my gut.