Much Ado About You(52)
Roane was the one to break the moment. He turned to Caro and kissed her forehead. “You were amazing today. I hope you sleep well. Call me if you need me, but I’ll be in tomorrow to check on you.”
“I’m fine,” she assured him.
“Even so.” He squeezed her shoulder and then looked at me. “Night, Evie.”
I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice through the choking emotions building inside me. “Good night, Roane.”
Caro and I were silent as we made our way upstairs. Exhausted, we said good night, and I was just about to disappear into my room when the sound of my name on Caro’s lips stopped me.
“Yeah?”
She seemed to straighten her shoulders, as if readying for battle. “I . . . I want you to know that I’m very grateful for everything you’ve done for me but . . .” She exhaled heavily and tilted her chin up stubbornly. “I-If you hurt Roane, I’ll come for you.”
It might have been funny, this young, shy woman half my size threatening me, but it wasn’t. There was sincerity in her voice. These two cousins, they were more than that. They were like brother and sister. “I believe you,” I whispered.
“He—” Caro took a tentative step toward me. “He would never hurt you, Evie. You must believe that.”
The thing was that I did believe that. I trusted Roane Robson.
And it scared the shit out of me.
Fourteen
Viola seemed to be on a mission to keep Caro occupied. She’d shown up at the store, insisting on driving Caro to Berwick-upon-Tweed for a shopping day. Berwick-upon-Tweed was about an hour north of Alnster, and only a few miles south of the Scottish border.
As I had a shop to run and it was now open Tuesday to Saturday, I couldn’t tag along, and Caro, remembering our discussion about Newcastle, didn’t want to shop without me. Which was sweet. However, I remembered how little she’d brought in the way of clothes and encouraged her to go.
Life in the store was restful. After discussing some changes I wanted to make with Penny, I had the go-ahead to implement them. For others, scrolling through sales and stock history might not sound fun, but for me it was invigorating. I discovered stock that hadn’t moved in years, and with Penny’s permission I decided to donate them—children’s books to children’s hospitals, fiction to literary programs, and our local nonfiction to a charity store on the main street in Alnwick.
I really wanted to order beach reads for the summer display, something Penny was wary of doing. It was one thing to lose money on old stock, but new stock was a different story. Especially when she might be selling the store in a few short months. Still, I convinced her to let me order enough copies for a window display.
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.”