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“Ah, right,” said Ash. “Um, George?”

“What now?” George yelled back from the cellar.

“Publishing rep?” shouted Ash. She turned and smiled at the man. “I’m new here,” she said by way of an explanation.

“Got it,” he said, giving her a friendly smile back. He seemed nice, comforting in a way that Ash didn’t really understand.

George trotted up the stairs. “Ah, right then, shall we go and sit in the kitchen, have a cup of tea while you show me what you’ve got?” He turned to Ash. “Unless you want to…?”

“No, no,” Ash said. “Go right ahead, don’t mind me.”

The two men disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Ash alone with her thoughts.

Her thoughts that were rapidly turning to signing paperwork. Maybe she should just go ahead and do it, maybe Pen was right. Probably Pen was right. After all, no one else had shown up by now, had they?

She’d prefer to talk to her mum about Aunt Mary first, but time was ticking and Snythe had left three messages for her by now, each one slightly more irate than the one before. So maybe she should just go and sign the papers, make the shop really hers.

And then what?

She’d come here all confused about the shop but certain about her life. Now here she was more or less certain about the shop but confused about her life.

She could live here, that was the truth. She’d been here only a few weeks and Tetherington had grown on her in ways shecould never have imagined. Just this morning she’d plucked yet another book from the shelves and begun reading, finding that she was seeing more and more of herself in the pages, finding that it was nice, safe to read something where the ending was pre-ordained and the story was simply the journey of how two people reached that ending.

The community was pleasant, she could see that now. Could see how sacrificing a little privacy, a little independence for the support and strength of a group of people could be a fair exchange, a nice one even.

She could live with people banging on her door if those same people were the ones that helped her pick up broken pieces.

And then there was Pen. Beautiful, odd, forever happy Pen.

What was she supposed to do about a woman that made her feel weirdly complete and yet exasperated? All of the books here said that all she did now was wait for her happy ending and… and she was starting to believe them. Starting to think that Pen was what had been missing from her life.

It was easy. So easy. Too easy perhaps. The way they’d fallen in together, the way Pen made her smile, the way she didn’t feel embarrassed or shy or any of the other things in front of her. Did that mean that Pen was the one?

Maybe.

Ash would like to think so, but she wasn’t naive. She was well aware of the fact that this was her first experience with a woman and maybe she was blind to flaws and faults that would appear over time.

Time was the issue though, wasn’t it?

She and Pen needed time to see things through, time to build something or destroy something. Time was what all the books on the shelves could skip over so easily. Flick a few pages and months had passed and lovers loved each other.

Ash didn’t have pages to flick. She had to actually put the work in, actually change things. But, she thought, if the possibility of the shop weren’t there, she’d still feel the same way. Even if she had to go back to London tomorrow, she’d want to see where things went with Pen. Which made her think that this was serious, that she really did want to figure out where things were going.

She was about to call Snythe to make the appointment when George and the rep came back out of the kitchen, George thanking the man who stopped in front of the counter.

“Yes?” Ash asked politely, phone still in her hand.

The man cleared his throat and his darker skin blushed a little. “I, uh, I was just wondering when Mary would be around? You see usually I deal directly with her, there must have been some mix up, I mean, I’m sure I’m in her diary, I just…” He slowed down, seeing the look on Ash’s face.

Ash swallowed. “Yes, I see, unfortunately, I have to say that Mary passed away a few weeks ago.” She was about to say more, but the man’s face crumpled, the lines around his eyes joining up, tears spilling, his lips shaking.

“Oh,” said George. “Oh, dear.” He took the man by the elbow, steering him back toward the kitchen.

Ash stepped to the front door, turned the sign to closed, locked it, and followed them in, wondering just what the hell was going on.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the man said. “Lo siento. I’m sorry.” He took a tissue that George offered him and blew his nose. “You must think that I’m some kind of mad man,” he said, smiling waterily at Ash. “Let me start at the beginning. My name is Jesús Delgrano. I was Mary’s… partner.”

There was a click in Ash’s brain as the pieces started to come together. Jesús. Jesus. Mary wasn’t religious, Pen had assured her. But Pen had asked someone, hadn’t she, an old woman, andthe woman had said that Mary was alone until she found Jesus. Except she hadn’t found Jesus. She’d found Jesús.