Page 60 of The Breakup Bookshop

‘Rory?’

We ignore the voice calling his name.

‘Rory!’

The voice again. Surely they will go away.

‘Shit,’ Rory whispers. ‘It’s Margaret.’

‘You were supposed to come over after work,’ she calls from behind the courtyard wall. ‘To look at the lump in my carpet.’

‘Fuck,’ Rory murmurs as he pulls away from me. He holds me close, leans in again, and pecks me lightly on the lips before moving to open the courtyard door. I bite my bottom lip, still feeling the warmth of his kiss.

‘I’ll be right over,’ he calls. ‘Just had a few bits to finish up here.’

‘Well, I’m usually in my bed by now,’ she calls accusingly. ‘What’s kept you?’

‘I’ll be there in two minutes.’

I arch an eyebrow as he moves back towards me. I think he’s going to give me a light peck on the lips again and say goodbye. Instead, he cups my face and pulls me towards him for a deeper, more sensual kiss. I sink into his arms until he pulls away.

‘That’s one way of killing the mood, thinking of Margaret and her lumpy carpet. Look, I’ve got to go,’ he breathes, stroking the back of my neck with one of his fingers. ‘But I’ll be back.’

‘Tonight?’ I respond, my voice croaking.

He isn’t about to leave me hanging like this, is he?

Rory shakes his head. ‘I can’t. I’ve got to get back to Piper. I’ll see you tomorrow, though. And the day after that.’

I nod, while my body screams inwardly. ‘To be continued.’

20

That kiss, though.

How am I supposed to run a bookshop when all I can think about is Rory MacGregor’s lips? I have a business to keep afloat. Deadlines to meet. As I brush my teeth, I gaze in the mirror. And the support group? How am I supposed to wipe this manic grin from my face while I listen to people talk about their heartbreak and grief? I can’t hide the damn thing. My cheeks are flushed. I barely slept last night. Rory and I were on the phone until past midnight. We even had a ‘you hang up’, ‘no, you hang up’ back-and-forth at the end of the conversation.

I haven’t felt this way in such a long time.

Since Seb.

Screw Seb.

I can’t think about him. I can’t let myself think about the last time this happened, because that ended in the worst possible way – in a pain so intense I had to move hundreds of miles away, back to the only place I’d ever truly felt at peace. Comfortable. Happy. And now, the grumpiest, sexiest Scottish guy in the village has made everything much better – and more confusing.

I check my phone for the millionth time: 8.30 a.m.

He will be on his way to work next door to me right now. I bite my lip.

I skip, literally skip, down the stairs, grabbing my jacket to head across the street to Donna’s salon, where she’s just opening up.

‘Morning, my lovely,’ she calls. ‘You look like the cat who got the cream. Something to report?’

‘Oh, you know, just wanted to tell you I followed your advice and made up with Rory’ – I grin – ‘with a big fat snog!’

Donna’s mouth forms an enormous ‘O’ before spreading into a wide grin. ‘You did not!’

‘I did! But I’m only telling you. It’s a secret, okay? I don’t want every person getting their hair done today knowing about it, okay?’