The Little Bookshop at Herring Cove. Kellie Hailes

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      ‘Get it done, Alexander. And if they still won’t sign, explain to them that they are a mere irritation in the grand scheme of things and that if we have to, we’ll build around them. We’ve already spent enough on this project that it can’t not go ahead. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

      Alexander swallowed a sigh. ‘I understand what you’re saying, Dad. I know what’s riding on it.’ The family name. Pride. Respect. Bottom lines. Profits. The future of the family business, which would one day sit squarely on his head, whether he wanted it to or not. ‘Talk tomo—’

      He tucked the mobile back in his pocket. His father had already hung up. Moved on.

      He swore under his breath. How was he going to play this? How was he going to balance his family’s expectations over his own way of doing business? Of getting the deals done without compromising his own values?

      He slipped his tie over his head and tucked it into his trouser pocket, then released the top two buttons of his shirt.

      Approaching Sophie twice in one day was out of the question. She wasn’t ready to trust him. Wasn’t ready to see his way of thinking.

      His mind churned with possibilities as he turned his face towards the sun as it dipped closer to the horizon. He leaned his head back and allowed himself a moment to enjoy its soothing warmth.

      His shoulders, bunched towards his ears, dropped. His hands, screwed up tight at his sides, unfurled. Alexander breathed in and took a moment to appreciate the intoxicating scent of the jasmine that wafted over the fence rails of the cottages that lined the street-side of the cliffs. Mixed with the salty aroma of the sea, it was a heady combination. One that made him want to change out of his formal uniform and slip into a pair of cargo shorts and a T-shirt and forego work for a barefoot walk along the beach below, followed by a spot of sand-sitting and sunset-watching.

      The shimmering water, bathed in sunset colours of golds and reds, encouraged him to shirk his responsibilities.

      There’s time enough to figure things out tomorrow. What’s a few hours to yourself? The waves shushing back and forth on the sand whispered. Take a moment. Relax while you can.

      He shook his head clear of the temptation. The Fletchers didn’t relax; they made goals and met them. They took ailing communities and improved upon them.

      What they achieved in a year did not happen by resting on one’s laurels.

      He turned back to the tiny township and began to march towards it. He couldn’t see Sophie again, but he could drop in and see the hairstylist, Natalie. She was a sure thing, he felt it in his bones.

      He reached the bookshop, and was surprised to see a light shining in the front window. He slowed his steps, acted as casual as he could as he side-eyed the window.

      Sophie was curled up on the couch, her nose buried in a book. One hand stroking a small black and white cat that had snuggled up beside her. Her petite bow-shaped pink lips moved, as though she was reading the story to the cat.

       Cute. Such a Sophie thing to do.

      ‘Such a Sophie thing to do’? What was he thinking? He’d barely spent half an hour in her presence. Sure, he’d researched her past, but that didn’t give him the right to believe he had intimate knowledge. That he knew her.

      God, he needed to get back to the nitrogen dioxide-filled London air. This ozone was clearly playing with his head. Sending him on random flights of fancy. He no more knew Sophie than he knew the hairstylist, Natalie.

      Yet the more he watched her read to the cat, curled up and comfortable on the worn sofa, a mug of tea steaming on the old coffee table, the more his brain whirled.

      She was at home in the bookshop. Yet she was in danger of losing it, if his assumption that she was in serious debt was correct. Did that debt extend to council taxes? One call to the local councillor his father kept in his pocket would confirm just how dire the situation was.

      And what if she was? Could he use that information to force her to sign? Prickles of discomfort skittled down his neck. No, that was his father’s way. So what could he do?

       Think, Alexander. Think.

      He turned his attention to the empty shop across the road. Though overrun with honeysuckle, it was a handsome building. Perfect for a bookshop. And it had a flat above. All it needed was a good water-blasting to revive the red bricks, and for someone to train the wild tangle of vines. A new sign, fresh paint job inside and it could be a fresh start for Sophie. She’d still have her bookshop, and he’d have the approval of his father. Win/win.

      He reached the hair salon’s entrance and rang the bell to alert Natalie to his presence.

      He felt good about this plan. It could work.

      Now he just had to make Sophie see things his way.

       CHAPTER THREE

      Sophie paced the length of her small lounge, hit the pastel lavender-painted wall. Turned. Paced back. Stared out over the lamp-lit lane below, not seeing the villagers strolling home from the pub, or her cat, Puddles, prowling along the path, hiding behind flower boxes, lamps and the tyres of parked cars as he stalked a mouse.

      What the heck was taking Alexander so long at Natalie’s? What business did he have with her?

      She blew out an exasperated sigh. She knew exactly what business he had with Natalie. The same as he had with her. Except Natalie wouldn’t sell. Surely not?

      Herring Cove was her home. Her hair salon was her livelihood. Her two kids were her everything; surely she wouldn’t rip them away from their home just because some man in a fancy suit flashed some money in her direction?

      She heard the click of a door closing and pressed herself to the wall, leaning over just enough that she could look down on the lane without being seen.

      Alexander filled her field of vision. Was that a spring in his step? A triumphant smile on his face? Damn it. She couldn’t tell through the late evening gloom.

      There was only one thing for it.

      She snatched up a lightweight sunshine-yellow cardigan from the back of the couch and shrugged it on. Summer may officially be here, but the nights were cool enough that an extra layer was called for. Even if you were only going next door.

      She jogged down the stairs, then locked up the shop, even though she didn’t have to. Crimes committed were few and far between in Herring Cove, and usually of the petty variety, like kids nicking off with flowers from flower boxes the night before Mother’s Day. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry. She didn’t have much, but what few trinkets she had were touchstones to her parents, and losing them would mean losing a little more of her heart.

      She walked the few steps to her neighbour and friend Natalie’s home and business, opened the door, and poked her head over the threshold. ‘Nat? You in?’

      Miniature elephants running over the wooden floorboards answered her call.

      ‘Muuuuuummmmm!’

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