The Little Bookshop at Herring Cove. Kellie Hailes

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      ‘Busy? Doing what? Trying to break your fingers?’

      His tone was gentle, teasing, which only set Sophie further on edge.

      ‘I have to ready the shop for the Herring Cove Book Appreciators’ Club.’ Which consisted of two people: Natalie and Ginny. Also known as her two best friends. And, if the truth were told, not exactly massive book appreciators. So much so that they’d cancelled the meeting for that week, both citing family obligations. But Alexander didn’t need to know that. ‘The kettle needs to go on. Biscuits need to be arranged. I can’t let my customers down.’

      ‘Well then, I’ll help. Where’s the kettle? Out the back?’ Alexander took a step towards the doorway that led to the small storeroom and office.

      Sophie shot an arm out, blocking him. ‘It is out the back but you’re not to go there. Staff only.’

      ‘Well I’m not leaving until we’ve had a proper chat. I understand that you declined our offer.’

      Sophie widened her stance, squared her shoulders and crossed her arms over her chest, hoping it would perform a dual purpose: as a blockade should Alexander try and head out back again and to show him that she meant business when she said no.

      ‘You understand right. I did decline your offer. I have no desire to sell this place.’

      ‘Can I ask why?’ Alexander’s head tipped to the side, a small furrow appearing between his brows as they drew together.

      If she didn’t know better, if she hadn’t figured out he was one of the Fletchers – a family whose fortune was built on taking small villages and transforming them into tourist hotspots – she’d have thought he might genuinely care. Except she knew better. He was here for one reason and one reason only: to get her to sell.

      ‘You can ask, but I’m not going to tell you. It’s none of your business.’ Sophie inwardly cringed at the curtness of her tone. It wasn’t like her to be so sharp, but then again it wasn’t every day that a big business tried to buy your land and that surrounding you in order to build a towering monstrosity that could only be a blight to the quaint charm of the little village she called home.

      ‘Well if you’re not going to tell me why, then could you at least hear me out? Let me explain our vision for Herring Cove? Maybe we could take a seat over there?’ Alexander indicated to the vintage bobbled-fabric turquoise sofa.

      Bathed in the summer sun, it was the perfect spot to curl up with a book. Something Sophie did regularly. A way to pass the time when the shop was quiet. Which was a lot of the time.

      She breathed out low and slow. The irritation that had her shoulders hitched up towards her ears disappeared with the whoosh of expelled air. ‘If I listen, will you leave me alone? Never talk to me again?’

      Alexander shrugged, the too-hot-for-its-own-good smile was back. ‘Can’t promise that. I have a few more people to see and it’s a small village. There’s always a chance we’ll bump into each other.’

      He had a point. Although if he hoped bumping into her would see her change her mind, he was mistaken. There was no number of pennies pretty enough to make her sell. And the pennies the Fletcher Group initially offered had been exceptionally pretty. More than the place was worth. But not enough for her to see her home, her place in the world, reduced to rubble.

      ‘Fine. You can talk.’ Sophie flicked her hand, hustling him towards the sofa and the two armchairs that flanked it. ‘You go first.’

      ‘No, you go. Ladies first.’ Alexander stood his ground.

      ‘I never said I was a lady.’ Sophie brought her hands to her hips.

      ‘Only calling it like I see it. Besides, if I don’t let you go first my mother will be disappointed in me. She worked hard on my manners. It’s a point of great pride for her.’

      Sophie’s lips twitched to the side. Do not smile. Too late.

      Seeing a man in a suit worrying about his manners because he didn’t want to disappoint his mother was… well… adorable. Even if said adorability was coming from a man she was sure was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

      ‘Fine. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for undoing all her good work.’ She crossed the room and settled into the burnt-orange armchair and indicated for Alexander to sit on the sofa. ‘So, talk.’

      ‘I know you’ve got the book club coming so I’ll keep it quick.’ Alexander leaned forward, his forearms flat upon his thighs, his hands clasped loosely together. His voice calm, collected.

      Like what he was wanting to do was no big deal. Like he made visits to people who weren’t playing ball regularly. Which, maybe he did.

      ‘The thing is, we think Herring Cove has so much potential. Potential that’s not being realised. If we built one of our resorts here, created a proper path down the cliffs to the beach, then the local economy would be revitalised. There’d be more jobs. More people. More money.’

      And a whole lot less soul. Sophie kept her thought to herself, there was no point in trying to change Alexander’s mind. It would be like trying to change her mind about selling the shop. A waste of time.

      ‘The reason I came here is that I wanted to talk to you in person about what it is you’re missing out on by not saying yes.’

      Sophie’s spine stiffened. This was what he was here for? To give her the hard sell? To guilt her into selling? Good luck with that. She’d long ago learned that listening to men with silken tongues was a bad idea. ‘Fool me once’ and all that. She wasn’t about to be fooled twice.

      ‘I’m not missing out on anything. I have everything I want right here. I don’t need anything else.’ Or anyone else.

      ‘Here. This is for you.’ He reached into the concealed pocket of his suit jacket, pulled out a folded square of crisp cream-coloured note paper and slipped it across the teak Scandinavian coffee table. ‘We’ve upped our offer.’

      Sophie let it sit there. ‘Not interested. I said it to your lackey over the email, then again over the phone, and I shall say it now – my home is not for sale.’

      Alexander sat back in the chair, his expression unchanged, unperturbed. ‘And why not? In my experience, everything is for sale… as long as the price is right. And, trust me, the price is right.’

      Sophie eyed the small square. How much was in there? Crazy money? Her fingers itched to pick it up, unfold it, and see what was on offer.

      No. She mustn’t. Besides, whatever number was written down wouldn’t make her budge. ‘All Booked Up’ was the last thread of her family. All she had left. It was her home and she loved it. Nothing could make her move.

       What if you go broke? Because that could happen. What if you can’t afford to pay the rates on the place? You won’t be moved out, you’ll be chucked out.

      Not going to happen. She’d survived all these years – even after her horrid ex, Phillip, had stolen the money she’d saved for lean times, then disappeared to who knows where. She’d find a way to make things work. She’d save ‘All Booked Up’. Bring СКАЧАТЬ