The Little Bookshop at Herring Cove

Natalie’s eyes had lit up, and he’d known that particular deal was done.

He turned to face Sophie and the other woman, Ginny. ‘What about Natalie from the salon?’ He reached his hand out to Ginny. ‘I’m Alexander, by the way.’

Ginny automatically brought his hand to hers and shook it with a welcoming smile.

‘Nice to meet you. I’m Ginny. And I think you’ve got your wires crossed. Natalie cuts hair, she doesn’t create websites.’

‘No, I think you’ll find she’s quite accomplished at website building. She did her own, and it’s easy to navigate and intuitive. She’s set it up so if you go to buy one product, other suggestions are made. Checkout is easy. The design is simple, modern, stylish. I was very impressed. Look for yourself. There’s a link at the bottom of the page that takes you to a business landing page. Her name’s right there.’

‘I don’t believe you.’ Sophie pushed herself up and strode over to the counter where her laptop was open, then tapped on the keys. ‘You’ve got your wires cross—‘

Alexander raised an eyebrow. Waited for an apology.

‘He’s right. She did do it herself.’ Sophie’s lower lip slackened as her brows furrowed together. ‘I’m going to have to have a chat with her about doing mine. It looks great. I can’t believe she didn’t tell me she could do that. Did she tell you, Ginny?’

Ginny shook her head. ‘No, but then she’s been quieter than usual lately. I put it down to the stress and strain of the past year.’

‘Must be that. Anyway, she’s got herself a client, if she wants one.’ Sophie clapped her hands, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

No apology then. And no thank you either. Alexander turned back to the books and faked interest in an autobiography by a marine biologist.

‘I’ve also been looking into writers who might come here to give talks. I saw that romance author, Lucille Devine, was touring the area and figured I’d see if she could fit us in. No harm asking, right? And a spruce up of this place is well and truly in order.’

So that’s what the scribbling and serious looks were for. Sophie was trying to drum up interest in the bookshop to save it from closing down.

‘Love it, on both fronts. Writer talks would be amazing – especially Lucille. She seems like a right character. And can you imagine this place painted sunshine yellow?’

‘I’d like to stick to the same décor.’

Alexander caught a hint of steel in Sophie’s voice. Interesting. Why wouldn’t she want to change things up?

‘But before you start going on about what a stuck-in-my-ways-stick-in-the-mud I am, I’ve been thinking I’d love to create a library feel to the shop, with bookshelves placed in the middle, as well as round the edges, of the room.’

Alexander twisted round and caught Sophie’s eye. Her cheeks burned red, but she held his gaze, her chin lifting ever so slightly, as if daring him to take the mickey out of her for using his idea.

The temptation to do so was there, but it would have been too easy a wind-up. He winked at Sophie, then went back to his book, but not before her eyes widened in what he swore was irritation. She’d wanted him to call her out? Was she looking for a fight? A reason to throw him out?

Good luck with that. He’d been trained to negotiate, to deal with all sorts of situations and personality types. If he’d learned one thing it was never to be drawn into a petty scrap.

‘Actually, it was Alexander’s idea.’

The fight had gone from Sophie’s tone, replaced with the seriousness of someone who had plans and wanted to make them happen.

‘Don’t suppose you know anyone with basic carpentry skills, Ginny? Someone who knows their way around a bit of timber and a few nails?’

Alexander’s heart abandoned its steady pace and began to thump against his ribcage. Not caused by the realisation that Sophie was trying to invigorate her business, to make it viable. But because he knew someone who was good – no, great – with nails and timber and building and creating. Except that person had been told in explicit terms he was not to indulge in that pastime. That there were not enough hours in the day for hobbies – for something that made his soul sing – when there were deals to be done and connections to be made. Yet his fingers automatically curled into a loose fist, as if the hammer was already in his hand. The satisfying whack on metal as he landed its head straight into the bullseye of the nail, sending it clean into the wood with one thunk, stirred a satisfaction in his gut that no amount of getting people to give up their lives for inordinate amounts of cash ever did. Ever would do.

‘I’d love to say that husband of mine could help, but he’s shocking. I still have a half-built outdoor bench cluttering up our yard. I love Mike, but he really needs to stick to fishing.’

‘Maybe there’s a local handyman who’d do it in exchange for books?’ Sophie’s fingers tapped out an erratic tune on the counter.

Alexander glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Her teeth were sunk into her bottom lip, her gaze distant, a tiny line marred the smooth area between her brows. Beneath the strain he saw a brightness to her rich, chocolatey eyes. Burning intensity. Passion. The kind he wanted to bask in. To be part of.

It was one thing to build an empire, another to build something that mattered to someone so much they’d go into battle to fight for it.

He wasn’t meant to care. To get involved. To focus on anything except expansion and returns on investment, but his heart wasn’t satisfied living that way. His heart wanted to do more. To help. To reinvigorate. And Sophie’s need for someone who had the skills that he possessed was like a sign from the universe, giving him one last chance at happiness – even for a few days – before surrendering to his destiny.

‘I can help.’ The words escaped his lips before the thought was fully formed. His stomach clenched. What the hell had just happened? What was he doing offering to help someone build the business he intended to buy in order to pull down?

‘What’s that now?’ Sophie’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘Did I just hear you offer to lend a hand? You? The guy who wants to buy my home so he can destroy it?’ She stood and strode towards him, her arms folded tight over her chest. Her jaw as tense as her frown. ‘Is this how you plan to get me to sign my business over to you? By helping me out, while what? Buying the most expensive timbers and nails and glue, or whatever it is you need to hold a set of shelves together. Spend what money I have so the business goes bust and I have no choice but to sell?’ She tilted her chin, held his gaze. Dared him to deny what she was saying was the truth.

So, what are you going to do, Fletcher? You’ve just gone and created a fork in what was meant to be a very straightforward road.

He could back out. Back off. Let Sophie try to save her shop. And probably fail if the rundown look of the place and lack of customers was anything to go by.

Or he could step up, help out. Give her what she needed to make her business work. Whether that business was in her current spot, surrounded on three sides by a five-storey resort, or somewhere else. Somewhere bigger. Better.

Like the empty shop across the road.

This was the moment he’d been looking for. The chance to explain what would happen to her village and how selling up and moving would benefit her, and what the ramifications of refusing to do so would be.

‘I’m going to be honest with you, Sophie, because I get the feeling you prefer a straight-up relationship to one that’s filled with layers of machinations. The Fletcher Group will build a resort here. We have the council’s backing. The support of the village.’

‘Some of the village,’ Sophie interjected. ‘And once they see how this market idea of mine can save the town, they’ll all want you gone.’

‘No, they won’t. It’ll just show them a taste of the success they’ll experience once the resort is built, the facilities are improved and people are here not just for one day, but all year round. Speaking of which, if you’re going to hold a market you’ll need a licence.’

‘I know that.’ Sophie smiled, tight and determined. ‘I’m planning on getting permission.’

‘It takes around three months.’

Alexander watched Sophie’s triumphant smile fall. Remorse squirmed low in his gut. He didn’t mean to burst her bubble, but Sophie had no idea what she was taking on, and he didn’t want her to get in trouble. Not when he was bringing enough distress to her door as it was. ‘Let me hurry the process up. We’re in the council’s good books. They need us more than we need them at the moment. I can sort it.’

Sophie’s smile didn’t return. A good thing considering the truth bomb he was about to lay on her.

‘Look, the reason I’m here is to spell out the reality of what’s going to happen in the coming months. Simply put, if you don’t sell we will build around you. It’s not our ideal situation, but we can make it work.’

‘You wouldn’t.’ Sophie’s jaw dropped, her eyes widened in horror.

‘I wouldn’t, but the Fletcher Group would.’ He rubbed his hand over the layer of stubble that had sprouted since he’d arrived in Herring Cove and tried to remember the last time he’d forgotten to shave, let alone allow it to grow that long. It was like the village’s laid-back vibe was getting to him. ‘I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I have to. It’s the truth. I’ve been thinking about a solution to the problem and I think there’s a way we can make this work. The empty shop across the road had plenty of potential and oozes charm. It would be the perfect spot for your bookshop. With the money we’d give you, you could have it done up and looking brilliant. Best of all, you’ll have all the money you need and you won’t have to worry about being in debt to anyone.’

Anger shimmered off Sophie. ‘You saw the email notification. That wasn’t yours to see.’

Alexander shrugged. ‘It wasn’t, but I saw it and I’m offering you a chance to be financially stable, or to put up with the consequences.’

Sophie’s lips pressed together in a way that took the wind out of his sails. His pitch seemed rock-solid, yet she didn’t look to be buying it.

‘I’m not taking the deal.’