Page 81 of The Breakup Bookshop

‘We could get you a good return on your investment, if you decided to rent it out now,’ he observes, as he wanders around. ‘Given all the media interest. You should capitalize on it. People would love the idea of staying above a bookshop for a week or two. How romantic, et cetera. You’d make your money back and more, Ava.’

It is the one piece of financial advice that Eilidh has avoided giving me, even though we both know it would make sense.

‘I’m not renting it out, Seb. I live here.’

God, I wish I could sound more confident. Does my voice give away just how in the red my spreadsheets are right now?

‘Come on, Ava.’ He walks ahead of me to peer into the kitchen and makes a face at the small space. ‘Now’s the time. You’ve proved your point. Let’s learn our lessons and move on.’

I shake my head and yawn. I don’t have the energy to think of twenty new ways to say ‘no’ to him.

‘I need to go to sleep, Seb,’ I say. ‘You can crash on the couch in the bookshop.’

‘You’re kidding,’ he replies, as I hand him a cover and pillow from my bed. ‘I’ll be like Buddy the Elf on that thing.’

‘It’s either that or your car. You’re not sleeping with me.’

‘Fine.’ He turns around to stomp downstairs. ‘We can continue this conversation tomorrow.’

I roll my eyes as I brush my teeth in the bathroom. This evening has been a roller coaster of emotions and the beginnings of a hangover are already starting to creep in.

I’ve been doing fine without Seb. In fact, I’ve been doing well. Now he is back and pretending it never happened, in a ploy to lure me back to London. He knows which strings to pull, too, talking about financial sustainability and all sorts of corporate mumbo jumbo that I’ve tried to block from my memory.

As I climb into bed, my body and mind feel utterly exhausted. I’m not thinking clearly. Things will be clearer in the morning. They have to be.

28

The smell of bacon and eggs wafts seductively through the air as I wake up with a dry mouth and a sinking realization.

Seb is here, in my kitchen, making me poached eggs just the way he knows I like them. I have to put a stop to all this. I can’t have him parading around, pushing my panic buttons, making me doubt my life choices. I am perfectly capable of doing that all on my own.

The wedding is over after what felt like the longest day and night in history. I check my phone, but there’s nothing from Rory.

‘Breakfast’s ready!’

I groan, slide out of bed and walk into the kitchen. Seb stands there, dressed in his boxer shorts and the white shirt he’d worn the night before, nudging the bacon around the pan before switching off the gas. He’d set up the folding table, placing a small flower in the tiny vase that had been empty since I arrived.

‘Voilà, m’lady,’ he says, dishing it up as I take a seat. ‘Breakfast is served. God, it’s tight in here, isn’t it?’

‘It’s not any smaller than your flat in London.’

‘Our flat,’ he says.

I groan.

‘So, guess what? Red Letter has an opening for a social media strategist,’ he says with a smile. ‘And they want you.’

I stop and put my fork down, my mouth hanging open. Damn Seb. He’s always known how to push all the right buttons.

‘What do you mean they want me? How do they know about me?’

‘I sent them your CV,’ he says. ‘I had it saved on my computer. They think I’m a recruitment agent working on your behalf and replied to my email this morning. The salary is insane, Ava, much better than what you were on at the last agency. You have an interview this afternoon for the senior strategist job.’

I take a sip of water, trying to steady my nerves. I’ve always wanted to work for Red Letter. I applied for a junior role there when I first started out but didn’t even get an interview. Then, when I had some more experience under my belt, I sent my CV in for consideration if anything came up but didn’t hear a thing. They are renowned in the industry for excellent pay and benefits, but, more importantly, they have the best clients on their books, including some high-profile authors and literary festivals.

Here I am, trying to get my own bookshop off the ground, praying for the funding application to be approved so I might just be able to pay my mortgage, when I have the chance to walk into a senior role running the social media for the people and organizations I admire most.

Trust Seb. He never forgets, like a bloody elephant.