Chapter 4
Four
NOAH
Insomnia, thy name is Kingsbarns.
I spent the night lying on a mattress that felt like it had opinions about me, listening to the old house breathe. Radiators hissed and a floorboard squeaked every time someone crossed the hall.
By morning I’d achieved that special level of tired where your shadow looks hungover.
Showering in hot water that alternated between “glacier melt” and “hell mouth,” I made a mental note to sneak a look at Skye’s boiler.
My old man had been a plumber, and though it had been years since I’d done any work like that, I could still remember the basics.
I still hadn’t turned my phone on, but one glance at my email on my laptop was enough for me to slam it with a resounding thud.
Bloody Glen.
He’d swept me away when I was too green to know any better, and though he’d delivered on his promises to make our band famous, he’d also, apparently, done a lot of shady things along the way.
I’d given Glen too much signing power, believing that he’d always look out for our best interests, and it turns out, he’d had other motivations all along.
News of which, I was just finding out about.
Along with the rest of the world.
Too tetchy to face Skye this morning, I slipped past the lounge full of lodgers eating breakfast, a hat pulled low over my face, and stepped into the wintry morning sunshine.
The faded light fell upon a place that held some of my happiest memories, and I headed for the bookshop that had once been my sanctuary when I wasn’t fiddling around on my guitar, teasing out notes and avoiding chores.
Tucked down a small, sheltered lane, Highland Hearts Bookshop had a bell over the door and Christmas garlands strung along the edge of the roof.
It looked like it had been freshened up recently, with a bright coat of paint on the door, and an intricate window display of woodland fae building a Christmas tree from a stack of books.
“That’s inventive,” I said, admiring the work, and pushed inside.
The smell of books, a hint of cinnamon, and smoke from a woodburning stove greeted me and I sighed, feeling some of the tension that banded my shoulders ease.
Bookshops had always been a refuge for me and Highland Hearts had been one of my first loves where I’d disappear to read about knights and elves and warriors on a quest.
A plush stag wearing a Santa hat stood on the counter next to signs that offered Storytime with Rosie: Elves Who Make Bad Choices and Harper’s Holiday Romance Recs: Heroines that move abroad and fall in love.
Two women turned as I entered, Harper from the pub, and another I hadn’t met yet.
Harper had a fresh-faced beauty that only came from being wildly in love, and she smiled cheerfully at me.
“Oh, hello,” Harper said, nudging the woman next to her whose smile made you want to hand over your secrets and your wallet. She wore a jumper that read BOOKS > BOYS, which I decided not to take personally. “Come meet, Rosie, the new owner of Highland Hearts.”
“Good morning,” Rosie said, with a tone that implied she’d had a lot of coffee. “If it isn’t John Smith?”
I winced.
Harper snorted. “Sorry, Noah. Your secret’s out.”
Their eyes sized me up in a way that only women protective of their friends could do and I found myself hunching my shoulders.
Before I could reply, the bell chimed behind me.
Esther barreled inside, eyes glittering with either mischief or caffeine, wearing a jumper with what looked to be one reindeer mounting another.
Behind her were the rest of the women, most I’d known since childhood, all in various lewd jumpers.
The Book Bitches, assembled, the unofficial government of Kingsbarns.
They didn’t look at me. Not at first. They were hunting bigger game.
“Where is Skye?” Esther demanded. I straightened. Skye was here? Shouldn’t she be manning breakfast at the inn?
“Back room,” Rosie said. “We’ve got her on wrapping gifts for the charity Christmas tree. She’s been arguing with the wrapping paper for ten minutes now.”
“Good. We’ll corner her there. Harper, you’re with me. Shannon, get the biscuits. Meredith, give Gregory’s calendar to Rosie to place by the till—no, not that photo, we don’t want to get shut down. Cherise, fetch the donation tin.”
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“Intervention,” Harper said, grabbing a roll of tape like a weapon. “Cozy, small-town, book-clubby, heavy-on-the-meddle intervention.”
“For Skye?”
“For you,” Rosie corrected sweetly. “By way of Skye.”
Esther turned at the back doorway. “No running, Noah Byrne. We run faster.”
There are a few sentences you don’t hear backstage. That was one of them.
I followed because, apparently, I had misplaced bravery or debilitating fatigue. Or both.
The back room was controlled chaos. Strings of different colored twine had been placed next to bins of baubles and a stack of boxes waiting to be wrapped.
Skye stood at a long table, hair twisted up, hands braced, looking at Highland coo paper like it had personally wronged her.
She didn’t see me at first. She saw the Book Bitches. Which, to be fair, is a lot to see.
“Absolutely not,” she said, her instincts clearly on point. My mouth twitched. “Whatever it is.”
“We haven’t asked anything yet,” Esther said, amused. “But since you’re warmed up, why don’t you come out and have a seat?”
Skye’s gaze flicked to me then, sharp as flint. I held up my hands. I am a hostage. Her mouth pressed flat, and her head swiveled between the Book Bitches and Rosie and Harper.
Skye sighed and stormed past us, Rosie and Harper flanking her like charming bodyguards, and chose a seat by the fire. The Book Bitches arranged themselves opposite, a tribunal in knitwear. I took the far corner and tried to look like furniture.
Esther steepled her fingers. “Right. Business. Noah, if you intend to hide out in our town—”
“I’m not—”
“—and if we are to keep our mouths mostly shut about it—”
“That would be ideal, aye,” I said.
“We don’t work for free, dear,” Meredith said. “We are community-minded. And the community is most emphatically interested.”
Shannon plopped a chunky tin on the table. It had a slot in the lid and the words KINGSBARNS WINTER WARMER FUND written in gold marker, slightly smudged. “So you’ll buy our silence.”
I blinked. “You’re blackmailing me for charity.”
“Precisely,” Esther said. “It’s called leverage for good. All proceeds go to the food bank, the library roof, and keeping the hall heated for the pensioners’ dance. Also, we’d like nicer fairy lights for the green, but that’s tier two.”
Skye rubbed her temples. “You can’t just shake him down.”
“Oh, we can,” Harper said cheerfully. “We’re small business owners. We shake for a living.”
Rosie nudged the tin toward me, smiling like she was selling me happiness in a jar. “Think of it as a community nondisclosure agreement. The more you help us with our Christmas fundraiser, the less we talk.”
“And if I don’t help?”
“Then we’ll describe your jawline to the tabloids from memory,” Rosie said, syrupy sweet. “We’re very good with detail.”
Skye made a strangled sound that I was choosing to believe was a laugh. “Leave him alone.”
Esther’s look softened when she turned to Skye, though her voice didn’t.
“Lass, you know we love you, which is why we’re doing this.
He needs a task, otherwise he’s just going to be mooning about the inn bugging you.
Which, from your emergency text message this morning begging us to get you out of there, this will get him out of your hair.
The town needs the money. This is fate wrapped in glitter. ”
“I hate glitter,” Skye muttered, but the fight had gone out of the line of her shoulders. She was also looking everywhere but me.
She wanted to get away from me? The thought saddened me, even though I could understand why.
I’d been a first-rate arsehole to her, drunk on fame, and allowed Glen to produce the song he’d found written in my private notebook.
While I’d been touring, making money, and enjoying its benefits, she’d been reminded over and over again that I’d used her for my own win.
Selfish, Byrne. Unforgivable, even if I’d not known how successful the song would be.
“How much do you need? I could just transfer funds,” I said, finally speaking.
“We accept.” Cherise beamed at me.
“But that still doesn’t keep you busy and isn’t enough to buy our silence,” Esther jumped in, glaring at Cherise.
I put my palms up. “Fine. What, exactly, are we talking about here?”
Six women and one bookstore owner leaned forward as one.
Harper tapped a marker on a sheet of paper. “Event ideas, go.”
“Acoustic set,” Shannon blurted. “Small. Intimate. Secret.”
“Storytime with a rock star,” Rosie said. “You read a romance book. We all fan ourselves and faint.”
Skye rolled her eyes. I smiled. Even though I’d just met several of these women in the pub briefly last night, it had been enough to make quite the impression. Resistance was futile, it seemed.
“What? It’s brainstorming.” Rosie shrugged.
“Open mic but you have to be the judge,” Meredith offered. “Also, you have to go last and blow everyone’s socks off.”
“Massage classes,” Cherise suggested, then flushed when the women turned to look at her. “Sorry. That one escaped.”
“A charity single,” Esther said, eyes gleaming. “We’ll call it Kingsbarns at Christmas and make the choir kids sing the chorus and release it on the internet.”
“No,” Skye said flatly.
“No to which?” Esther asked.
“All of it.”
“Why?” Meredith asked, disappointed. “The tiny children in elf hats would be adorable.”
Skye dragged in a breath and turned to Harper and Rosie, who were watching her expression closely. “Because he doesn’t need more attention. Because I don’t want this to become a circus. Because the last time a song got between us, it burned the house down.”