Page 10

She drove carefully and slowly down the street until she found a parking spot, parked neatly and efficiently, and got out of the car, pulling her duffle bag with her.

The bookshop was the third building along and she approached from the opposite side of the street, wanting to get a good look at it.

From down here the roof looked good, the guttering was in decent shape. The building itself was dark red brick andlooked fairly well maintained. She nodded to herself. Given the condition of the place and its positioning right on the high street, she was probably looking at a low six figure price range.

Not that she needed the money. She was an accountant, after all. Her investments and pension plans were all in order.

She let herself take in the big windows, the merry red front door. Then she cocked her head to one side. Mended Hearts. Huh. Weird name for a bookshop, but then maybe it had been something else before. Was that a good name for a pub? It sounded like a dating agency.

The thought of dating agencies made Ash feel a bit funny so she hurriedly crossed the road and fished the big set of keys that Snythe had given her out of her pocket.

Ten years ago, her mother had signed her up for a dating agency. It hadn’t gone well. Mostly because Ash hadn’t met a single person. Not that there hadn’t been interested parties, she just… she just refused to meet any of them.

In the end, life was simpler and easier the way she liked it and adding someone else into the mix, well, that just sounded like asking for disaster.

“You can’t want to be alone forever,” her mother had protested.

“Why not?” Ash had asked. “I’m happy, it’s not like I’m sitting in my flat depressed or anything.”

“But…”

“But what? Just because you’ve had eleven husbands doesn’t mean that I need eleven husbands,” Ash had said.

“Chance’d be a fine thing. You’ve barely got time for three husbands at the rate you’re going,” her mother had said.

It hadn’t hurt though. Because Ash truly couldn’t imagine having a man around the house. Sharing her intimate space with someone big and lumbering. Cooking dinner every night.Having someone mess with her things and talking all the time. She didn’t like it when people talked, for the most part.

The door creaked open and Ash got a whiff of mold and damp paper before her searching hand found the light switch and she bathed the shop in soft, yellowing light. Tall shelves lined the walls, a little cash desk sat at the back, there were a few display tables and some comfy chairs, and one large sagging couch under the window.

She let the door swing shut behind her. Not a bad space, she thought, putting her duffle down on the couch.

Something rustled and Ash’s heart began to beat double time. Surely there couldn’t be anyone here? Her mouth was dry as she searched for something, anything to defend herself with. She picked up a large coffee table book and was raising it over her head when a fat orange cat picked its way around a bookshelf and meowed at her.

“Jesus,” she said, breathing out. “Well, you’ll have to go, for a start. I can’t sell a bookshop with a cat.”

She made a mental note to call the local animal rescue to have the cat picked up.

She put down the book and picked up her bag, the shop itself was good, but what about the rest of the place?

A few minutes of exploring led her through a small kitchen space behind the shop, then up the stairs to find a tiny apartment that hadn’t been decorated since the early nineties by the look of it. There was a hatch that she assumed led to the attic, but she wasn’t prepared to deal with spiders yet, so she decided to go back down and investigate the kitchen.

Maybe there’d be tea.

She rounded the corner of the staircase to find a woman standing in the middle of the kitchen.

In the space of a moment, Ash took her in. She was small and curvy making a ball come to mind, her hair in blonde curls andher eyes deep blue and dancing. She had a comfortable body, one that didn’t mind biscuits but equally didn’t spend all day on the couch.

And she was smiling.

Which was probably why Ash didn’t look around for a coffee table book to hit her with.

Instead, she took another two steps down and then cleared her throat. The woman grinned broadly and extended her hand just as a large frying pan appeared around the door frame and a gruff voice shouted.

“I’ve called the police, drop your weapons!”

The blonde woman retrieved her hand, which was a good thing because Ash hadn’t been at all sure about taking it. “Jesus, George, you’ve got to stop watching Line of Duty. Come in here, won’t you?”

A short, dark haired young man poked his head around the door. “Oh,” he said.