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“For now?” asked George.

The shop door opened and Ash sighed.

The irritating blonde was smiling and proffering a plate of what looked like croissants. “Morning,” she caroled.

“Room service?” Ash asked acidly.

“Just a few leftovers,” said Pen still smiling. “They’re still warm, want one?”

Ash’s stomach grumbled and much against her better judgment she took a pastry.

“What do you mean for now?” George asked again, taking a croissant of his own. “You said we’ll be open for now, what does that mean?”

Ash tore the warm croissant apart with her hands and looked him steadily in the eye. “I mean we’ll stay open for now, providing you know what you’re doing to run this place. It’s adamn sight easier to sell a going concern than it is to sell a closed one.”

“Sell?” George said.

“Sell?” said Pen. And for the first time since she’d known her, Ash saw the smile drop from Pen’s face.

Chapter Eight

“It’s a catastrophe, that’s what it is,” Pen said, holding the twenty pound note Mr. Gupta had just given her and waving it around.

“Really, I just came in for a croissant,” said the newsagent patiently. “I have no idea what’s catastrophic about that in the slightest.”

“Not you!” laughed Pen. She put her elbows on the counter. “So, the new owner of the bookshop just moved in.”

This perked Mr. Gupta’s interest. “Indeed? And what are they like?”

Pen grinned thinking about Ash. “Oh, tall, dark and attractive, now that you mention it.” She stared sternly at Mr. Gupta. “Not that you should get any ideas.”

“I should think that Mrs. Gupta would erase any such ideas from my mind,” he said. He winked at Pen. “So, are you in with a chance, as the kids say?”

Pen sighed. “I do hope so. I’ve been wooing her with cakes, but so far I’m not getting quite as far as I’d like.” She screwed up her mouth. “She does keep throwing me out.”

“I can see why that could be a catastrophe,” said Mr. Gupta, holding onto his paper bag.

“But that’s not the catastrophe,” Pen said patiently. “The catastrophe is that she wants to sell the bookshop.”

“I see.” He scratched his head. “I mean, I suppose someone else nice might buy it.”

“Or someone terrible might,” Pen said. “Or someone might buy it and turn it into a… a flower shop or an estate agents… or…” She lifted an eyebrow at Mr. Gupta. “Or a newsagents.”

His face paled a little. “Yes, I do see how that might not be quite what the town needs.”

“What the town needs is its bookshop,” said Pen. “And I’m going to save it.”

Mr. Gupta smiled at her. “That’s what I very much admire about you, Pen. Your can-do attitude, your sunny smile, the world would be a better place with more people like you in it. So, what’s your plan.”

Pen pulled a face. “That’s where I fall down. I don’t exactly have a plan just at the moment.”

“Perhaps you can use your womanly charms on this bookshop owner.”

“Trust me, I’ve been trying. I’m starting to think she might be immune. Or gluten intolerant,” Pen said with a shudder. “But never fear, I’ll think of something.”

“Well, the town is behind you on this,” Mr. Gupta said. “And I shall put on my thinking cap.”

“Very much appreciated,” Pen said, finally opening the till and making change. “Enjoy your breakfast.”