The Little Bookshop at Herring Cove. Kellie Hailes

quaint charm of the little village she called home.

      ‘Well if you’re not going to tell me why, then could you at least hear me out? Let me explain our vision for Herring Cove? Maybe we could take a seat over there?’ Alexander indicated to the vintage bobbled-fabric turquoise sofa.

      Bathed in the summer sun, it was the perfect spot to curl up with a book. Something Sophie did regularly. A way to pass the time when the shop was quiet. Which was a lot of the time.

      She breathed out low and slow. The irritation that had her shoulders hitched up towards her ears disappeared with the whoosh of expelled air. ‘If I listen, will you leave me alone? Never talk to me again?’

      Alexander shrugged, the too-hot-for-its-own-good smile was back. ‘Can’t promise that. I have a few more people to see and it’s a small village. There’s always a chance we’ll bump into each other.’

      He had a point. Although if he hoped bumping into her would see her change her mind, he was mistaken. There was no number of pennies pretty enough to make her sell. And the pennies the Fletcher Group initially offered had been exceptionally pretty. More than the place was worth. But not enough for her to see her home, her place in the world, reduced to rubble.

      ‘Fine. You can talk.’ Sophie flicked her hand, hustling him towards the sofa and the two armchairs that flanked it. ‘You go first.’

      ‘No, you go. Ladies first.’ Alexander stood his ground.

      ‘I never said I was a lady.’ Sophie brought her hands to her hips.

      ‘Only calling it like I see it. Besides, if I don’t let you go first my mother will be disappointed in me. She worked hard on my manners. It’s a point of great pride for her.’

      Sophie’s lips twitched to the side. Do not smile. Too late.

      Seeing a man in a suit worrying about his manners because he didn’t want to disappoint his mother was… well… adorable. Even if said adorability was coming from a man she was sure was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

      ‘Fine. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for undoing all her good work.’ She crossed the room and settled into the burnt-orange armchair and indicated for Alexander to sit on the sofa. ‘So, talk.’

      ‘I know you’ve got the book club coming so I’ll keep it quick.’ Alexander leaned forward, his forearms flat upon his thighs, his hands clasped loosely together. His voice calm, collected.

      Like what he was wanting to do was no big deal. Like he made visits to people who weren’t playing ball regularly. Which, maybe he did.

      ‘The thing is, we think Herring Cove has so much potential. Potential that’s not being realised. If we built one of our resorts here, created a proper path down the cliffs to the beach, then the local economy would be revitalised. There’d be more jobs. More people. More money.’

      And a whole lot less soul. Sophie kept her thought to herself, there was no point in trying to change Alexander’s mind. It would be like trying to change her mind about selling the shop. A waste of time.

      ‘The reason I came here is that I wanted to talk to you in person about what it is you’re missing out on by not saying yes.’

      Sophie’s spine stiffened. This was what he was here for? To give her the hard sell? To guilt her into selling? Good luck with that. She’d long ago learned that listening to men with silken tongues was a bad idea. ‘Fool me once’ and all that. She wasn’t about to be fooled twice.

      ‘I’m not missing out on anything. I have everything I want right here. I don’t need anything else.’ Or anyone else.

      ‘Here. This is for you.’ He reached into the concealed pocket of his suit jacket, pulled out a folded square of crisp cream-coloured note paper and slipped it across the teak Scandinavian coffee table. ‘We’ve upped our offer.’

      Sophie let it sit there. ‘Not interested. I said it to your lackey over the email, then again over the phone, and I shall say it now – my home is not for sale.’

      Alexander sat back in the chair, his expression unchanged, unperturbed. ‘And why not? In my experience, everything is for sale… as long as the price is right. And, trust me, the price is right.’

      Sophie eyed the small square. How much was in there? Crazy money? Her fingers itched to pick it up, unfold it, and see what was on offer.

      No. She mustn’t. Besides, whatever number was written down wouldn’t make her budge. ‘All Booked Up’ was the last thread of her family. All she had left. It was her home and she loved it. Nothing could make her move.

       What if you go broke? Because that could happen. What if you can’t afford to pay the rates on the place? You won’t be moved out, you’ll be chucked out.

      Not going to happen. She’d survived all these years – even after her horrid ex, Phillip, had stolen the money she’d saved for lean times, then disappeared to who knows where. She’d find a way to make things work. She’d save ‘All Booked Up’. Bring it back from the brink. She just had to figure out how.

      ‘You’re not even going to look at the offer?’ Alexander’s head tipped to one side, as corrugated lines wrinkled his forehead.

      ‘I don’t need to. I’m not going to sell. Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do.’ Sophie stood, strode as purposefully as she knew how to the counter, then opened up her laptop and pretended to be engrossed with what she saw on the screen.

      Footfalls on the wooden floor told her Alexander was up and, hopefully, leaving. A shadow fell over the counter.

      Wishful thinking, then.

      ‘That piece of paper contains enough money for you to do anything you want in the world. To go anywhere. To start fresh.’

      Sophie fixed her most unimpressed look on her face, then looked up. ‘But what I want is to stay here in Herring Cove and run the bookshop. I don’t want to do any old thing. Go any old where. Or start fresh.’

      Despite his tan Alexander’s face paled, the hint of colour on his cheeks gone.

      She’d rattled him? Interesting. But not interesting enough for her to waste any more time on a man who wanted to take her life away from her.

      ‘Well, I’ve heard what you’ve had to say. You can go now.’ Beside the laptop, her mobile buzzed and lit up as an email notification came through.

      Sophie closed her eyes as she noted another reminder notice. This time for the power. Could she go without power? Could she run the bookshop without it? What did she really need power for? She ran through the list: no till, no cash machine, no kettle for cups of tea, no light to read books by late into the night. Conclusion? Allowing the power to be cut off was not an option.

      She glanced up at Alexander to remind him it was time to move on, but his eyes were on her phone, his hand on his chin, fingers stroking its smooth, freshly shaved skin.

      Had he seen the bill? Was he going to use it against her?

      His eyes met hers and he gave no indication that he’d seen evidence of her finances being in dire straits. Instead he pulled a wallet from the back pocket of his trousers, opened it and produced a nail.

      ‘Before I go, allow me. Please.’

      Before she could answer he knelt down, picked up the hammer and hit the nail square into the display shelf. He gave it a nudge and nodded. ‘That’ll hold.’

      ‘You didn’t have to do that.’ Sophie shut her laptop and made her way to the door, opened it. A sure sign to Alexander that it was time for him to leave.

      ‘I didn’t have to, but I wanted to.’ He gave the display shelf a pat that Sophie could almost describe as loving, then made his way to the door. ‘Well, thanks for hearing me out.’

      ‘No problem.’ Sophie waited for him to leave.