Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Fern woke to the feeling of an empty bed. She stretched, feeling a little disappointed that Daniel wasn’t still there. She reached for her phone and checked the time, and was amazed to see it was already past nine o’clock. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept in this late.
Normally, on a Monday, she would have been up around seven for a run, followed by Pilates, then breakfast at her local juice bar, a little hidden spot in Fulham where she always ordered the same thing: an acai bowl and an oat flat white.
Then it would be straight to her laptop to start transcribing an interview or working on a feature for Sound & Fury, the music magazine where she had made her name in the industry.
Her phone beeped, and she felt a shiver of excitement as she saw the reminder that had popped up.
Two weeks from now, she’d be in London at the hottest gig of the year, standing backstage with exclusive access to the biggest bands on the planet.
It was the kind of event she lived for: the rush of the crowd, the electrifying energy, the post-show drinks in VIP lounges where music legends spilled their secrets.
She needed that night. Needed to remind herself who she was, that she wasn’t some shopkeeper on a sleepy island but a journalist in demand, with a career people envied.
She had worked hard to get where she was.
Growing up, she had devoured every issue of Rolling Stone and NME, sneaking into indie gigs with a fake ID, determined to one day be part of that world.
A journalism degree and years of hustling later, she had done it.
Now, she spent her life at gigs, had the ears of the industry’s biggest names, and had become a name in her own right.
The next step in her career was to secure a position of editor, and soon she’d be back in London making it happen, sipping cocktails in some exclusive after-party, far away from dust-covered antiques.
Fern swung her legs over the side of the bed and headed for the shower.
She knew in time that Daniel would see things her way.
The shop wasn’t bringing in any revenue, and it was time to face up to the fact that it was at its end.
She padded over to the tiny bathroom, where the shower seemed determined to either scald her or freeze her, but after some careful negotiating with the taps, she managed something lukewarm.
Ten minutes later she was wrapped in a threadbare towel staring at her reflection in the mirror.
She had survived a second night in the flat, and having someone in her bed for the first time in a long time had felt very comforting.
Most of her relationships, if you could call them that, had been built on convenience and little else.
Late-night drinks that turned into rushed kisses and tangled limbs, always ending the same way: either she’d kick them out before dawn, or they’d vanish without so much as a goodbye.
There was no room for vulnerability, no space for comfort.
That was the deal, and she’d never questioned it.
But this, sleeping next to someone, feeling their warmth still lingering in the sheets the next morning, felt startlingly different. It unsettled her how much she liked it.
After she said good morning to the moose’s head like it was the most natural thing in the world, she followed the aroma of something sizzling in a pan downstairs and stopped in the doorway of the long, narrow kitchen, taking in its assortment of cabinets in varying shades of green, some doors hanging slightly askew, others proudly displaying their mismatched ceramic knobs.
A farmhouse sink sat beneath a window, the glass fogged up from the steam from whatever Daniel was cooking.
Pots and pans hung from a rack that swayed slightly whenever a breeze caught it.
The walls were cluttered with vintage signs advertising long-forgotten brands of tea and biscuits.
The back door stood wide open, leading onto a small, stone-paved yard.
Beyond it, rolling green hills tumbled towards the edge of a cliff, where the vast, glistening expanse of the sea stretched endlessly into the horizon.
This was the first time she had properly seen the view and it was breathtaking, so much so that Fern found herself walking towards the open doorway, trying to process the fact that she was here, on an island, in a crumbling antique shop, watching a man she barely knew fry bacon and sausage in an ancient-looking pan.
‘Wow! Look at that!’ she couldn’t help but exclaim.
‘Morning, sleepyhead,’ Daniel greeted her without turning around, flipping a sausage expertly. He was barefoot, his hair messier than usual, wearing another old T-shirt. ‘Were you meaning to say that out loud? I know I’m a catch, but—’
Fern rolled her eyes and cut him off. ‘I meant the view.’
‘It’s perfect, isn’t it?’ he said, turning to look at her properly.
She screwed up her eyes, wondering for a second if he actually meant her. He was definitely flirting, she decided, and she liked it.
‘You’re making breakfast again?’
‘Full English today,’ he declared proudly. ‘Figured you might need some sustenance before you start plotting your escape back to London.’
She laughed but didn’t deny it. Instead, she busied herself laying the table. As she placed the knives and forks down, Daniel turned, eyeing her with mock seriousness.
‘This is important,’ he said. ‘Brown sauce or ketchup?’
‘Brown sauce, obviously.’
He let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. ‘This relationship isn’t going to work.’
‘Oh, please,’ she replied, shaking her head and laughing as she slid into a chair. ‘I should be the one reconsidering this whole arrangement. Who puts ketchup on a full English?’
‘People with taste.’ He grinned, setting down a heaped plate in front of her before taking a seat across from her. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing.’
She simply raised an eyebrow and dug in. As she chewed, she found herself thinking about London, about her sleek, minimalist flat and the constant hum of the city. She should be missing it, shouldn’t she? But instead, she felt oddly settled here.
Daniel watched her for a moment before clearing his throat. ‘So, I know you’re still set on selling the shop…’
She swallowed, glancing up warily. ‘That’s my plan.’
‘Right… But I’ve been thinking.’
‘Definitely dangerous.’
‘What if … now, hear me out…what if you don’t put it up for sale? Not for a month.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I think I can make it work. If I can bring in enough sales to keep this place afloat, would you consider keeping it?’
Fern hesitated, studying him. He looked serious, hopeful even, but there was something else in his expression … determination.
‘In the past few weeks you’ve sold one porcelain doll.’
‘Give me a chance! Matilda gave me a chance. I want to do this for her. I know how much she loved this place.’
Fern studied him closely. He was deadly serious. ‘You really think you can make a difference in a month?’ she asked, watching him closely as he tucked into his breakfast, which she had to admit was probably the best breakfast she had ever tasted.
Daniel wasn’t like anyone she had ever met before.
She thought about the type of men who usually crossed her path, the ones she dated.
Their apartments were sleek, they booked tables at exclusive restaurants, ordering expensive bottles of champagne without even glancing at the price.
Conversations revolved around stock markets, property investments and the latest tech start-ups they were backing.
They were ambitious, successful and utterly predictable …
and usually only lasted a couple of dates.
Jax Devlin was the exception to the rule.
With him, it was something that just happened every time he was in town.
‘But then what? You make it work for a month and then…’
He shrugged. ‘And then we have another chat.’
Fern couldn’t see anything changing enough in a month to make her change her mind. She wanted the property sold and money in the bank.
‘Give me a chance,’ he pleaded.
It had only been a couple of days, but the more time she spent in his presence, the more she felt herself being drawn to him in a way that both intrigued and terrified her.
There was a rawness to him, a kind of natural charm that didn’t come from wealth or status but from simply being Daniel.
She tried to think of the least snooty boyfriend she had ever had, and even he had owned a Rolex and once argued about a wine pairing he disagreed with at a Michelin-starred restaurant.
She sipped her tea, watching as Daniel smothered his entire plate in ketchup with reckless abandon.
‘I know I can do it.’ He smiled. ‘And, I mean, worst case scenario, you get to watch me fail spectacularly, and you still sell the place.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ she promised.
‘You will?’
‘I will.’
They carried on eating, but Fern had an important question she needed to ask. Trying to sound uninterested, she dove in. ‘So … have you got anyone special in your life?’
He paused and looked up at her. ‘Nah. Why, you volunteering?’
‘Hardly,’ she scoffed. ‘I was just wondering what she’d think of us sharing a bed.’
He smirked, taking a sip of his coffee before speaking. ‘Well, considering she doesn’t exist, I reckon she’d be surprisingly chill about it.’
Fern rolled her eyes. ‘You’re impossible.’
‘No, I’m just saying. If I had a girlfriend, she’d obviously be cool as hell and totally fine with me shacking up with a stranger in my haunted museum of a home. Probably even encourage it.’ He grinned. ‘That’s how I’d know she was the one.’
‘Oh, of course. That would be the test.’
‘Exactly. But you know, it’s a shame you’re not volunteering.’ He tapped his fork against his plate, pretending to be deep in thought. ‘I mean, this time next year, we’ll probably be married anyway. Might as well get a head start.’
She gave him an exasperated look. ‘I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you’re deluded.’
‘We’ll see,’ he said, utterly unfazed, going back to his breakfast as if he hadn’t just confidently predicted their future together.
Fern shook her head, but she couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips.
Maybe he was deluded. Or maybe, just maybe, he was onto something.