And it was paying off. Not only were summer tourists purchasing copies, but so were the locals. Caro alone bought five different romantic comedies from the new stock.
Donating gave me an idea that Penny loved. With an advertisement on the shop door, and by word of mouth, I launched a new promotion at Much Ado About Books. If customers brought in their used books for me to donate to different charitable organizations, they’d get a discount on any new books they bought at the store. Judging by the many locals who had taken advantage of the promo, I’d say it was a success.
Running the bookstore didn’t feel like a job, especially on days I found myself lounging on one of the armchairs, reading in between customers. I liked to think customers found the sight of the manager actually reading the books she was selling a pretty charming quality.
I’d just finished Anna Karenina. Admittedly, some of it was kind of a slog, but it was quite the tale. Now I was rereading Jane Eyre. It was one of my absolute favorites. Darcy was surely the OG of book boyfriends, but Rochester came along a few decades later, and although he divided critics, I loved him. Some of the things he said to Jane . . . be still, my beating heart.
I wished men still talked like that. So poetic yet raw and heartfelt.
The sound of the bell over the door brought my head around, and I stood up to greet the customer, only to stiffen when I saw it was Tony the baker. “Can I help?” I asked, wary.
Tony glanced toward the back hallway. “I’m looking for Caroline.”
Oh, I bet he was.
But wait . . . how did he know she’d be here?
Seeing the question in my eyes, he said, “People are talking. Said she’d left Helena and is staying here now.”
My goodness, village life indeed. I wondered how they’d found out, and marveled at how quickly the rumor mill moved.
“She is staying here, but she’s out with a friend. I don’t know when she’ll be back.”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “Seems she’s quite the popular wee thing these days.”
I thought I should make my dislike for his condescending tone clear, so I crossed my arms over my chest. “Would you like me to pass along a message?”
He mirrored my body language. “You think I want to cause the lass trouble?”
“I don’t know you, so I don’t know what you want with Caro. But you should know she has a lot of people who care about her, including a six-foot-four cousin who is built like a brick shithouse and sees her as a little sister.”
The baker surprised me with a small smile. “Aye, I’m aware Roane Robson would have my head if I caused that lass any more hurt than she’s already found. I just wanted to speak with her about a work opportunity.”
It was almost on the tip of my tongue to dress him down for coming to Caro now that she’d proven herself popular on Market Day, when he’d rejected her before. I bit back the snark and gave him a sharp nod. “I’ll let her know you’re looking to speak with her.”
“My thanks.” He moved toward the door and then glanced back at me. “You seem like a nice lass, and Penny is a friend of mine . . .”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know who started the rumor, but it’s milled its way out of The Alnster Inn and found its way among the villagers.”
My heart began to race. “What rumor?”
“A lot of the village try to shop local when they can, and always buy and order books through Penny. Rumor out of The Alnster Inn is that in Penny’s absence, you’ve upped the price of books that are already more expensive than what people can get online.”
My lips parted in affront. “That’s a blatant lie. The prices are the same. Plus, I’m offering my charity discount. Everyone knows that.”
“Aye, well, I know Penny counts on parents ordering books here for their kids when they go back to school after the holidays, so you might want to see about killing that rumor before it takes on a life of its own.”
“Why would anyone lie about that?”
Tony grimaced. “You decided to settle down awhile, that makes you a villager, and you made your choice clear.”
“My choice?”
“Milly.”
Just like that it dawned on me what Tony was getting at. “The village feud?” I huffed. “Seriously? Isn’t this all a little over-the-top, immature nonsense?”
He chuckled. “Oh, aye . . . but this is also one of the smallest villages on the Northumberland Coast. If drama can be found to spice up life, you’ll be sure people will mine that stuff for decades.”
“I came here for peace and quiet.” I threw my hands up in disbelief.
Tony grinned. “Aye, you’ll find that here too. On the beach. At sunset. When no other bugger is around.” With a nod he strode out of the store, and I was left there fuming with my hands on my hips.
Had West Elliot started a petty rumor just because I failed to frequent his premises?
Well, that was about to change! That evening, when it was busy, when I knew more locals would be in the pub, I was going to march in there and set them all straight.
* * *
• • •
Truthfully, I’d felt a lot braver this afternoon when I was planning my onslaught.
As I stepped inside, some of that bravery fled. Although not as busy as The Anchor, most tables were filled and many of the stools at the bar were occupied.
The Alnster Inn was darker, more atmospheric than The Anchor. In all honesty, its low, dark-beamed ceilings and Tudor walls were very charming. The floors were dark wood, as were the simple tables and chairs. Two large circular iron chandeliers hung from the low ceiling with at least ten candle flame bulbs on each.
The lights were cool but lethal for someone of my height. I ducked my head to avoid one as I made my way across the pub floor. I felt only a few pairs of eyes on me, some of their faces familiar enough for me to recognize them as locals.
Behind the bar was Lucas Elliot. He was pouring a pint as I approached, but his gaze was trained to me like a hawk. Drawing to a stop at the bar top, I held his open stare.
There was sharp intelligence in that mossy-green gaze.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m looking for your dad.”
Lucas shook his head. “He’s not on shift tonight.” His eyes narrowed. “What do you want with my dad?”
Two men sitting at the bar turned to look at me. With suspicion.
Ignoring them, I focused on Lucas. “I heard someone at this inn is spreading tall tales about my book prices. I’d like it to stop.”
Lucas smirked. “Why the hell would anyone here care about the price of your books?”
The men snickered.
I bristled. “Look, it was just something I heard, okay? Just because I’m friends with Milly doesn’t mean my store is open to sabotage.”
“Are all Americans this dramatic?”
I narrowed my eyes on the smart-ass. “We both know I’m not the drama queen holding on to a thirty-year-old wound.”
A muscle in Lucas’s jaw twitched. “You’ve said what you had to say. You can leave now.”
“Aye.” The older man next to me looked up from the pint he was clutching. His face was haggard with lines, and if I had to guess, I would say he was well into his eighties. “On you go. We don’t want your kind round here. A sympathizer.”
What? Really? My thoughts spilled out of my mouth because, man, the melodrama!
“Aye, really.” He ran his cloudy eyes down my body and back up again. “I’ve seen you, friendly with Viola Tait. Better watch, lass, or you’ll catch something from her kind.”
I swear I felt as if the world had fallen away from my feet.
Did he just say . . . did he just say what I think he said?
Sickening rage flooded up from the pit of my gut. “What did you say?” I aske
d, my voice hoarse with the strength of my reaction.
“I said—argh!” he cried out in fright as he found himself hauled up by the fist that had tightened in the fabric near the throat of his shirt.
Lucas’s face was dark with fury as he held the old man up from his stool and bent into his face to growl, “Get. The. Fuck. Out of my pub.” He shoved the old man back with such force, he stumbled off his stool, cursing so loudly, the whole place fell quiet.
He glared at Lucas. “It’s not your pub, you little shit!”
“It is while my dad isn’t here.” Lucas rounded the bar, coming out from behind it.
“Luke.” A man at the end of the bar grabbed hold of Lucas’s arm. “He’s just an ignorant old man. Leave it be.”
Lucas strained against him, his chest heaving, but he stopped moving toward the old bigot. He pointed a finger at him. “Racists aren’t welcome at The Alnster Inn. You set foot in here again, and I’ll physically throw you out, I don’t care what fucking age you are.”
“Your da will hear about this,” the old man blustered, looking around as if for support.
Tourists were affronted by the altercation while locals looked away. I chose to believe it was because they disagreed with him and not because they just didn’t want Lucas to assault them. Finding no help, the old man spun on his heel and stumbled out of the dark pub.
I’d never seen him before, but he was obviously a local.
And now he’d do best to stay out of my way.
For a moment I stood stunned, speechless, and it was only as discomfort registered in my hands that I realized I’d clenched them into fists so tight, my fingernails were biting into my skin.
I looked from the doorway, where the racist asshole had departed, to Lucas, who was staring at me. He hadn’t moved either.
He’d defended Viola.
Vehemently.
“I thought you weren’t friends.”
Understanding me perfectly, Lucas narrowed his eyes. “Friend or not, no one talks about her like that around me.”
Hmm. Yes, the man was hateful, and anyone who didn’t know Viola would have been disgusted.
But people who cared about her would be enraged.
Lucas Elliot was still trembling with the strength of his emotion.
Quickly making a decision that dealing with the book price rumor was the last thing on anyone’s mind now, I gave the young man a nod of respect, which he returned, and I departed.
As soon as the door of the inn closed behind me, I stared across the road at The Anchor.
I could still picture Lucas straining as he held that old guy by the throat, his anger so fierce, I knew he wanted to throttle the man.
An image of Viola’s pained expression as she watched Lucas stride through the village with that mystery blonde came to mind.
Could it be . . . ?
Were Lucas and Viola Alnster’s very own Beatrice and Benedick?
As I returned to the bookstore, I considered the possibilities. Watching them interact last Saturday had been so entertaining because the air between them fairly crackled with electricity.
Chemistry.
Did they care for each other beneath the barbs and insults? Only they couldn’t do anything about it because of the feud West kept burning between him and Milly.
Like the Montagues and Capulets.
“Except these are real people and it is not a play,” I muttered, chastising myself.
These were people’s feelings and emotions and—
“I totally want to meddle.” I clenched my teeth together, expression sheepish, as I let myself back into the store.
I wanted to Much Ado About Nothing the crap out of Viola and Lucas’s situation.
But I shouldn’t interfere. I shook my head, slumping into the armchair by the unlit fire. West Elliot was clearly a giant man-child who couldn’t give a rat’s ass that he’d divided a village with something that happened decades before. A man like that wouldn’t sit back calmly while his youngest son fell in love with his ex’s only daughter.
Viola’s sad eyes flashed across my mind again.
She was such a great girl. She deserved happiness, in whatever form that came.
Moreover, Lucas Elliot had just gone up quite a bit in my estimation.
“I shouldn’t meddle,” I murmured. “I definitely shouldn’t meddle.”
Meddling was bad.
Oh crap.
“I’m totally going to meddle.”
Fifteen
A shade of angry purple had bled through the sky above Alnster, causing it to weep torrentially. Rain pounded off the road outside, and the sea rumbled its displeasure, foaming and discontent.
The damp brought such a chill, I’d lit the fire in the bookstore.
I’d woken up to the rain, and it hadn’t let up in its ferocity. Viola had braved it to join Caro and me at the store, but no one else had ventured near Much Ado About Books.
Somehow it was one of the most perfect days I’d spent in England. Caro was curled up on the armchair by the fire with a copy of The Handmaid’s Tale, while Viola lay sprawled on a faux fur blanket I’d brought down from upstairs. She lay on her side, elbow bent, head in her palm, flicking through the pages of Wuthering Heights.
I was on the other armchair, my feet tucked up under me. Still determined to make my way through every Shakespearean play during my stay in England, I was rereading Hamlet.
“I’m just going to say it.” Viola slammed Wuthering Heights closed. “Everyone in this book is unlikable. How am I supposed to care about this romance when I don’t like the main bloody characters?”
I grinned. “Maybe because you’re reading it as if it’s a romance when it’s not.”
She frowned. “I’ve seen the movie. It’s definitely a romance.”
Laughing, I lifted my legs off the counter and turned toward Viola. “Movies and TV adaptations always angle it like an epic romance, thus the misconception that the novel is a romance. If you try to read it like it’s a romance, you’ll hate it. Wuthering Heights is a book about not-very-nice people doing some not-very-nice things. It’s not about two people who are in love. It’s about two people who are obsessed with each other to the point of utter destruction. It’s gothic and surreal and addictive once you let go of the idea it’s a romance. It’s a love story. There’s a difference.”
Viola thought about this and then nodded. “Okay, maybe I’ll give it another shot. Another time, though. I’m in the mood for something a little more romantic.”
Indeed.
In fiction or in real life?
“Missing that from your life, are you?”
At my question Caro lowered her book to hear Viola’s answer. Viola sighed and sat up, curling her arms around her knees as she drew them toward her chest. “I dumped my boyfriend two weeks before the end of semester.” Her upper lip curled into a sneer. “Noah. He plays for the basketball team. He was cheating on me with one of the bloody cheerleaders.”
“I’m sorry, Vi,” Caro offered gently.
“Yeah, me too. He’s a complete moron.” I frowned at her self-conscious wince. “You’re one of a kind, Viola. Smart, funny, loyal, kind, witty, and although it’s not important, you’ve got the type of stunning beauty that stops people in their tracks.”
Caro nodded. “What she said.”
Viola smirked. “Well, when you put it like that, I sound fantastic.” She glanced between us, her expression somewhat sheepish. “If you want the truth, I think I needed the comedown Noah’s cheating gave me.” At my glower, Vi explained, “Caro will tell you that it hasn’t always been easy growing up in a small village the daughter of a white woman and a black man. Don’t get me wrong, most people are fine. They don’t see my dad’s skin color or mine. But there are some—and I hate to say it—of an older generation, who
made it clear they didn’t approve of us.” Her eyes flashed angrily. “It wasn’t just the feud that divided folks here thirty years ago. It was a white girl bringing a black man home.”
I shook my head in despair of such blatant ignorance. “I’m sorry, Viola.”
She shrugged but I knew she was hiding her real feelings behind indifference. “It wasn’t awful growing up here. It’s just I think I was made to feel different when I might not have if I grew up in the city. I was glad to leave and go to Newcastle at eighteen. And when I got there . . .” She laughed, sounding embarrassed. “Well, when I got there, aye, I found myself quite popular. Boys asked me out, girls wanted to be friends. Mam and Dad had always raised me to believe in myself, to like what I saw when I looked in the mirror, so it’s not like I didn’t already have confidence or that I didn’t like myself . . . but with all the attention I received, I got arrogant. Knew I was smart. Knew I was pretty.
“Noah cheating on me brought me down to earth a little, and I think I needed it.”
I gaped at her.
Viola’s brows puckered. “What?”
Taking a minute, I was determined to find the words without lecturing her. My indignation, however, won out. “Did you tear other people down or make them feel inferior to you?”
She looked rankled. “Of course not.”
“Then why on earth do you think you needed to be brought low by Noah’s cheating? Viola, you’re allowed to be confident and to think that you’re smart and pretty and deserving of the best. Unfortunately, we live in a society where we tell our kids to be confident and successful and then as soon as they are, we tell them to shut up about it and be humble. Especially women. Guys can get away with cockiness until the end of time, but if a woman is cocky, she’s arrogant and superior.
“Even worse, women are just as likely as men to condemn a confident woman for not being modest enough. The only way we can change that attitude is to change it among ourselves. If you’re successful at something, celebrate that success. If you know you’re smart, then demand that other people treat you as someone of intelligence. If you look in the mirror and you like what you see, then halle-fucking-lujah!” I exclaimed. “Believe me, I spent way too much of my youth, and still do, picking apart my appearance instead of being grateful for what I have. Grateful that all my limbs are intact and that my body is healthy.” I leaned toward Viola, who was wide-eyed as she listened to me. “Do not ever apologize for liking who you are. It’s a beautiful mindset. And that asshole who cheated on you doesn’t deserve to come in touching distance of your life.”
Much Ado About You Page 17
