Chapter 7
B y mid-morning, Daisy had lost count of how many times the bell above the shop door had jingled.
It wasn’t that the bookshop was especially manic, but for Pretty Beach, it was definitely on the brisk side of busy.
The counter had already seen about ten dirty coffee cups, quite a few card payments, two handwritten receipts for customers who preferred the old-fashioned way of doing business, and one toddler who had enjoyed a full-scale meltdown over a cinnamon bun.
The little reading table near the window was entirely occupied by a group of school mums Daisy recognised from the next town along.
They were loud and at first she hadn’t minded that in the slightest, but then their noise had slid into irritating her.
One of them had a baby who had kept grabbing bookmarks and two others were involved in a conversation about school fundraisers and PTA politics.
One of them, a tall woman in posh gym leggings and a sweatshirt that said “I’m Not Tired” waved Daisy over with a beam on her face. ‘Do you do birthday parties in here?’
Daisy gave her best polite smile. ‘Not at the moment, no. We’ve had a few enquiries, though. I’m still working out how the space could be used outside opening hours.’
The woman nodded and went back to her oat flat white while her toddler attempted to eat a board book shaped like a bear.
Daisy backed away towards the counter, adjusted a stack of paperbacks with one hand, checked the payment gateway app on her phone total tallied with the other and her mind skipped ahead to balancing her spreadsheets later on that day.
The front bell went again. This time, a couple in matching jackets, matching trainers, and accents that were clipped and bright.
Daisy felt just by looking at them that she ought to be offering sparkling mineral water from a local well and a glossy brochure about how many other branches she ran.
The woman’s eyes darted around to the window nook and the chair under the fairy lights. ‘Is this the shop that’s been going round on Instagram?’
Daisy was straightening a chalkboard sign on the desk. ‘Yes. The video has been shared a fair bit.’
‘Fair bit? Everyone’s talking about it.’ The man pulled his phone out. ‘I’ll show you. We saw it last night in bed and I said, we’re going to Pretty Beach tomorrow. What with the train these days, it’s a no-brainer, right?’
Daisy nodded. ‘Ahh, thanks, nice to have you. We’ve got new stock this week and there’s tea if you want to sit for a while.’
The woman gave a wide smile. ‘It’s like a dream. I want to live here! Do you do bed and breakfast?’
Daisy didn’t know what to say. She’d heard the gushing response multiple times.
All her little tweaks and pottering were paying off more and more.
The books, the library ladders, the paint colours, and the baskets had people swooning.
Sometimes, though, when someone said they wanted to live in what she’d created, it made her feel slightly off-kilter.
Like she was both the person making the tea and the person being observed in a goldfish bowl doing it.
Still, it was a compliment, a good one and she wasn’t complaining.
She moved back behind the counter, the chatter of the school mums bouncing off the walls and the couple drifted past the Penguin classics and into the poetry section.
Daisy chuckled to herself as she tidied cups away.
The social media video had done her well, but it did make her laugh because it had been filtered, captioned and made into something tidy, unreal and oh-so perfect.
It didn’t show the biscuit crumbs under the counter or the damp patch in the hallway from a leak she’d had the week before.
It didn’t show her trying to get the payment dongle to connect to the WIFI while Margot was having a meltdown about a lost ballet shoe.
The bell rang again from above the door, and as Daisy looked up, she felt her stomach do a small, very pleasant, oh-my-gosh-you-are-handsome, twist. Miles, looking very, very attractive, walked in and took her breath away, a bag over one shoulder, a takeaway coffee in one hand, and a book tucked under his arm.
The group of mums most definitely went quiet.
He beamed and glanced around. ‘Hey! Busy day?’
Daisy lowered her voice and chuckled. ‘Tell me about it. It’s been school mums, book clubs and people from the internet. I’m not far off hiding under the counter and hibernating for a bit. Show me the end of the day, a glass of wine and my feet up.’
Miles stepped in close and handed her a coffee. ‘I thought you could use this even though you have your very own machine right there. Who doesn’t love a delivery coffee?’
Daisy took the cup, her fingers brushing his. ‘Thanks. Aww, yes, just what I need. I haven’t had a chance to catch my breath.’
Miles leaned in and kissed her. Light and just there, in front of everyone, simple, quiet and as if he had been in her life forever.
Nice, just so very, nice. Daisy moved behind the counter, pretending to adjust the card machine.
The publicness of his kiss had surprised her.
Whether she liked it or not, he wanted to be part of her everyday.
The door opened again, the bell chimed and someone else strolled in.
Miles glanced over her shoulder as the door swung shut again behind the latest visitor, a man in a green wax jacket who nodded politely as he passed the mums’ table and headed for the fiction shelves.
The group of women hadn’t quite resumed their full chatter since Miles had walked in, though one was now saying something to the baby and pretending not to be listening.
Daisy lifted the lid on the biscuit tin and offered Miles one with a raise of her eyebrow.
He took it, bit the edge, and leant both elbows on the desk.
‘Do you need a hand with anything? You look like you’re five minutes away from throwing the card reader out the window.’
Daisy pressed the side button on the payment dongle. ‘Don’t tempt me. Actually, I do. These boxes under here have been annoying me all morning. If you don’t mind shifting them into the hallway by the stairs, I’d be grateful.’
‘The ones down there with the faded brown tape?’
‘That’s them, yep. They’re from Uncle Dennis’s collection. I was meant to sort through them this week, but every time I try, I get sidelined so I’m going to pop them out there for now.’
Miles grinned. ‘Show me the way.’
Daisy bent over and gestured to a stack of boxes. Three boxes, all slightly dented, all marked in the spidery capital letters her uncle Dennis had used for all his boxes of books. ‘That top one’s light. It’s mostly catalogues. The ones on the bottom are heavier.’
Miles crouched, balanced the top two against his chest and stood up in one smooth movement as if they weighed nothing at all.
The mums at the table stopped mid-sentence as he passed, one of them physically turning to get a better view.
Daisy opened the inner door and pointed into the hallway, where the light from the small window above the stairs dropped a wonky rectangle of brightness across the floor.
Daisy pointed to a space beside a shoe rack. ‘Just there’s fine. Thank you.’
Miles put the boxes down carefully, straightened up and wiped his hands on his jeans. ‘You want the third one there, too?’
‘Please. Only if your arms haven’t given out.’
He headed back into the main room, leaving Daisy standing in the hallway, arms folded, watching the light catch on the edge of the bannister. The third box came thudding down a few seconds later, followed by Miles brushing dust from his hands. ‘All done.’
‘Thank you. I’ll sort through them later. It’s mostly stuff from Uncle Dennis’s old collections. A lot of this stuff seems to be things he couldn’t bring himself to bin. I feel bad getting rid of it but I don’t think I can use them.’
‘You don’t have to keep everything.’
‘I know. It just feels like throwing out treasure. Which is daft, I know.’
‘It’s not daft. There’s enough here to keep you sorting through for years. Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got a full-on, extremely tedious and even more boring investor meeting via my laptop in about half an hour. Unless you want me to rearrange the window display or take over for the afternoon.’
‘Don’t tempt me.’ Daisy smiled as she followed Miles back out to the counter, where he picked up his bag and pushed open the shop door.
After saying goodbye, as the door clicked shut behind her and she returned to the counter, she caught the mum with the toddler staring.
Not in a nasty way, more nosy and too invested or at least that’s what it felt like being on the end of it.
Daisy picked up the biscuit tin, made sure the lid was on securely and tucked it away as she mused Miles popping in.
He had kissed her in the middle of the chaos of her morning and carried her boxes like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She didn’t quite know what to do with that, but she liked it.
She liked it a lot. He could carry her boxes any day of the week.