Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
The afternoon passed slowly. Fern had spent the last three hours perched behind the shop desk watching the dust particles dance in the afternoon sun and resisting the urge to lay down her head and admit defeat.
Not one customer. Not even a window shopper.
She shifted in the uncomfortable, lumpy chair and sighed.
If this was what island life had to offer, she was doomed.
A bell chimed in the distance, probably from the bakery down the street, taunting her with its promise of human activity.
Why hadn’t she just shut up shop this afternoon and gone to find the local estate agents?
She could have had the For Sale sign flapping in the wind by the end of the week.
Daniel hadn’t reappeared. He’d taken his guitar with him and Fern thought he was probably busking somewhere, making more money in ten minutes than this shop probably did in a week.
She drummed her fingers on the wooden counter, then out of sheer desperation decided to at least pretend to be productive.
Pulling open the drawer of the antique oak desk beside her, Fern was immediately engulfed in a cloud of dust. She coughed, waving the air clear, and peered inside.
A single object sat in the drawer, a thick, battered accounts book, its corners dog-eared, the spine barely holding together.
She hesitated, then picked it up and flipped to the most recent entry.
Her stomach dropped.
The last recorded sale was weeks ago. Fern blinked and doubled-checked the date, but she hadn’t misread it. The last item sold – she squinted at the scrawled handwriting – was a porcelain ballerina figurine, for ￡18.50.
All Fern could think was: how the hell was Daniel even taking a wage from this place?
She skimmed through the previous months, expecting to see at least some sign of a thriving business.
But there was absolutely nothing. The numbers were sporadic at best. A dusty book here, an old brass key there. One month showed a total income of ￡62.
Fern shook her head in disbelief. This wasn’t just a struggling shop, it was a non-existent business.
She leaned back in the chair. She classed herself as quite an intelligent person, with oodles of common sense, so she couldn’t fathom why Daniel was so certain that this rundown, neglected shop was something worth fighting for.
Did he not realise how hopeless this was?
The bell above the shop door suddenly jingled, snapping her out of her thoughts.
She looked up eagerly; finally, a customer! But it wasn’t a customer. It was Daniel. He waved a white carrier bag in her direction like a white flag and placed it on the desk in front of her.
‘Still here then? I was half expecting to come back to a skip outside and a shop half empty.’
‘Now there’s an idea,’ replied Fern. ‘Especially after seeing this.’ She pushed the accounts book towards him. ‘The last recorded sale was weeks ago. For eighteen quid. Tell me, how exactly are you paying yourself? Or do you run on fresh air and optimism?’
‘Well, technically, I’m not paying myself,’ he admitted. ‘Matilda never did, either. Not in the conventional sense.’
Fern frowned. ‘What does that even mean?’
Daniel leaned against the counter. ‘It means that this place was never about making money. Matilda ran it because she loved it. Because she believed objects carried stories, and those stories deserved to be found by the right people.’ He tapped the book with one finger.
‘If you’re looking for a thriving business model, you won’t find it in there. ’
Fern crossed her arms. ‘So she just gave stuff away for free and neither of you took a wage? What am I missing here?’
Daniel grinned. ‘Sometimes she’d trade. Sometimes she’d wait for the right person to walk in. She told me this shop was a goldmine, you just had to believe in it.’
Fern rubbed her temples. ‘Believe in what? Miracles? That is not how businesses work.’
He shrugged. ‘It worked for Matilda.’
‘Did it?’
‘I get it,’ he said, quieter now. ‘You think this place is a lost cause, and maybe it is. But Matilda left it to you because you’re family, and she hoped you’d do the right thing.’
‘Matilda didn’t even know me. This whole situation is bizarre.’
‘Please give it a go, and don’t do anything hasty,’ he said, then smiled. ‘I mean, some girls could only dream of inheriting a shop full of trinkets and stuffed dead animals, and sharing a bed with a handsome stranger.’ He gave her a lopsided grin.
‘You’re deluded. What’s in the bag?’ She sniffed the air animatedly.
‘I’ve brought food. The best fish and chips on Puffin Island. The van only comes once a week.’
Fern inhaled. The tang of salt and vinegar filled the air, cutting through the scent of old books and antique polish. Her stomach let out a tiny, traitorous growl.
‘Curry sauce?’ she asked, narrowing her eyes.
‘A large tub of it.’
She exhaled dramatically. ‘Okay. We can be friends again.’
Daniel smirked. ‘You drive a hard bargain.’ He turned and strolled towards a dusty old suitcase stacked with mismatched crockery, and rummaged through delicate floral-patterned teacups and plates with gold-rimmed edges.
Fern frowned. She stood up and followed him. ‘What are you doing now?’
‘Getting plates.’ He pulled out two slightly yellowed dishes.
She recoiled. ‘You can’t be serious. I’m not eating off those dusty old things.’
Daniel wiped one against his sleeve. ‘There. As good as new.’
‘That’s not how hygiene works!’
He sighed dramatically. ‘Fine. I’ll wash them.’
‘What’s wrong with the ones in the kitchen cupboard?’
‘They’re in the dishwasher and I forgot to switch it on. These will do.’
As he carried the plates towards the kitchen, a loud thud behind her made Fern jump.
She shrieked, leaning back in her chair to see a glass-eyed badger had toppled off a bookshelf. The chair gave a terrible creak just before the back leg snapped, sending her tumbling sideways.
‘Whoa…’ Daniel moved fast, dropping the bag and trying to catch her, but his knees buckled and the next thing she knew, they were tangled together in a ridiculous heap on the floor, Daniel half-straddling her, his arms braced on either side of her head.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Their faces were inches apart. She could feel the warmth of his breath, smell the faint scent of salt and vinegar clinging to him.
Her heart pounded.
Daniel blinked, his smirk faltering. His dark eyes flickered to her lips for a second before snapping back to hers. ‘You seem to be making a habit of falling for me.’
Fern swallowed, suddenly aware of everything – his weight upon her, the tension in his arms, the way his stupidly attractive face was just there.
‘Get off me,’ she whispered, but it lacked conviction.
Daniel didn’t immediately move. Instead, his grin slowly returned, this time softer. More dangerous.
‘I would,’ he murmured, tilting his head slightly. ‘But I think you’re holding on to me.’
Fern glanced down, and damn it, her hands were gripping his shirt, like she had no intention of letting go.
Mortified, she shoved at his chest. ‘Move, now. And that chair needs to go.’
‘It does now you’ve broken the leg. Do you know how long that chair has been here?’
‘Probably decades, judging by everything else in here.’
He chuckled, finally rolling off her. He held out his hand to help her up and Fern huffed and took it, scrambling to her feet.
‘You can let go of my hand now.’
She dropped it immediately.
He was watching her, really watching her, as if something had shifted between them.
Fern swallowed. He gave her a heart-warming smile as he picked up the broken chair and moved it to the back of the shop before replacing it with one from the old dining table pushed up against the shop wall. ‘Try not to break this one.’
Fern playfully pushed him towards the kitchen. He was still grinning as he swooped down and picked up the bag of fish and chips from the floor.
‘Why don’t you make yourself useful and set the table?’ he suggested as he moved to unpack the food. He paused, looking back at her. ‘Feels like we’re a proper married couple, doesn’t it?’ He winked.
Fern didn’t answer, too lost in her own thoughts.
It had taken her by surprise how completely at ease she felt in Daniel’s company, and she wondered exactly what Daniel Brooks’real story was.
She’d come to Puffin Island wanting to get in and out as fast as possible, but he intrigued her.
She wanted to know more, even if that meant staying longer than initially planned.