A Cosmic Kind of Love(113)

I scrolled somewhat frantically through the vacation listings until my eyes caught on a link.


MUCH ADO ABOUT BOOKS—A BOOKSHOP HOLIDAY!



The nod to Shakespeare made me click on the link.

The advertising copy made my hands shake with excitement.

Much Ado About Books was a small bookshop in the quaint fishing village of Alnster in Northumberland. I googled it, and that was Northern England, near the border with Scotland. At Much Ado About Books, not only did you rent the apartment above the bookstore, but the owner let you run her bookshop.

It was a booklover’s dream vacation getaway.

I could do that.

I could totally run away from my life and manage a bookstore in a little village in England, where none of my troubles or worries could get to me. And come on, someone named the bookstore after a Shakespearean play. It was fate.

It had to be.

No more men who made me doubt myself.

No more job that made me feel like a failure.

In fact, no more entire life circumstances that made me feel like a failure.

And I wasn’t just going to England for a two-week break either.

No way.

Hands shaking, I dialed the number on the ad after checking the country code for the UK. It rang five times before a woman with a wonderful English accent answered.

“Much Ado About Books, how can I help?”

“Uh, yes, hello, I’d like to speak to someone about booking a stay at the bookshop.”

“Oh . . . okay. Well, I’m the owner, Penny Peterson.”

Butterflies fluttered to life in my belly. “Hi, Penny, my name is Evie Starling, and I’d like to book the store for a whole month. Starting Monday. Please tell me that’s doable?”