Page 67 of The Breakup Bookshop

I can’t get enough of him. I try to stop myself. It is far too early to feel like this. But any time doubt creeps in, he is there, standing in front of me with a cup of coffee that I didn’t ask for but desperately need, or offering to fix the wonky shelf in my bedroom. Within a couple of weeks, he’s practically moved into my grungy flat and has drafted a list of DIY jobs to do around the place. The green tiles are top of his list, but, even though I’ve now been here three months and I won the bet, he insists I have to stay longer. He wants to change the green tiles. He wants me to stay.

‘What if I change your tiles and you leave me high and dry? Like that was all you ever wanted me for?’

‘Is changing my tiles a euphemism?’

It’s hard to keep our relationship at a slow pace with Rory right next door. I can’t seem to stop myself from popping through to The Toolbox to talk, to touch and, sometimes, just to see his face. He lines up little surprises for me, from buying books I mention I like, to dropping in with coffees and the little buns he knows I love from Fiona’s cafe.

We take walks after work around Ullapool and spend our nights by the cosy fire in the pub before he stays in my flat. I show him my Pinterest boards and ideas for the flat’s transformation, and he helps me make lists of what I’ll need for each room, once I have the money in place.

One evening, just before our shops close, a huge bouquet of flowers appears at the bookshop, with Rory hiding behind it.

‘What are these for?’ I ask, kissing him lightly on the lips before taking the flowers from his hands. They are a beautiful array of chrysanthemums and pastel roses.

‘You are cordially invited to dine at my house this evening,’ he says, puffing his chest out.

‘At your house?’ I repeat, swallowing.

Rory pointed out his house to me, from a distance, when we climbed up a hill one evening. It is in the same direction as my granny’s cottage. To get there, we’d have to pass the lane that leads there.

I’m just… I’m not sure I’m up to it yet.

‘Yes, my house. I’ll cook.’

‘You’ll cook? I mean, I’d love to, but I can’t risk it. The last thing I need is a bout of food poisoning.’

I smile, but my heart thumps in protest as panic sets in. I can’t go there, not yet. I’m just not ready. As I hold the heavy flowers in my hand, I rack my brains for an excuse not to go. It’s ridiculous, but I realize that by keeping the bookshop I’ve been trying to keep my granny alive. If I pass her house, see someone else in it, I’ll know she’s really gone.

‘I’ll have you know, I’m an excellent chef,’ he says. ‘Okay, maybe excellent is a stretch, but I can cook up a decent dinner.’

I shake my head. ‘I can’t. Sorry, Rory, not tonight. I have work to do. I need to finalize that funding application for the bookshop. Eilidh’s been nagging…’

He frowns. ‘I thought the deadline was next week?’

I bite my lip. ‘Eilidh said the earlier the better.’

‘We can have dinner tomorrow, then.’

‘Or… next week?’

It’s another piece of advice from Granny: if you don’t know what to do, kick the ball into the long grass. Buy yourself some time. I need time right now.

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Next week? Ava, we spend loads of time at your place. Why don’t you want to come to mine for dinner?’

His green eyes darken as he frowns. Shit, he looks hurt. I want to explain to him, but I’m embarrassed. Imagine being an almost thirty-year-old who can’t take a casual stroll down memory lane without the fear of bursting into uncontrollable sobs. I can’t let Rory see me like that. Being here in Ullapool means I feel close to Granny, but I’m just not ready to face the loss of her physical presence from her cottage.

I just can’t.

‘I’ve… got a lot on my plate,’ I say, my brain searching for a way to cover this up. ‘The bookshop isn’t doing as well as I’d hoped, from a financial perspective. And I’m not sure what I’ll do if it carries on like this.’

It’s not a lie. I do need to fill out the funding application. Not tonight, but now would be as good a time as any. I swallow as he narrows his eyes.

‘What does that mean? What will happen if you don’t get the funding?’

I sigh. ‘I can’t think about that just now.’

‘You’ll leave, won’t you?’

His spiky tone surprises me.