Much Ado About You Page 8

  Roane smiled at me.

  I shrugged, smiling back. “When I started working at the magazine, I realized an editor got to have a part in creating something interesting and meaningful. After I started taking on fiction writers as clients, I knew I loved that more than the magazine. Not only do I get to read books before everyone else, I get to read some pretty great books and help tighten the plots, make the characters richer, guide the author a little. It’s fun for a book nerd. That’s why I edit.”

  Roane considered me with a soft look on his face that was becoming familiar. “Good. Everyone should love what they do for a living.”

  “Yeah. Except I no longer do it for a living. And book editing on the side merely supplemented my income.”

  The farmer was quiet for a second or two as we pulled out plates and put the roast chicken sandwiches onto them.

  “Coffee?”

  “Aye, please,” he said, taking a third bag I hadn’t seen out of his jacket pocket. Seeing my questioning gaze, he nodded to Shadow. “I’m quite strict about what he eats, but every now and then he gets a wee treat.” After rummaging in the cupboards, Roane produced a dog bowl. Obviously, the apartment was pet friendly. Penny seemed to think of everything. Roane opened the bag and removed slices of deli meat. “Corned beef from the butcher.”

  I laughed at the way the dog’s eyes grew huge as Shadow dug the side of his head into Roane’s waist, waiting impatiently.

  Roane broke it up into pieces and put it into Shadow’s bowl. “Good boy,” he said affectionately as he set the bowl on the ground. Then he sat down at the counter like he had this morning.

  Warmth suffused me at his proximity, and I was just about to ask him if farming made him happy, when he asked, “Why don’t you make a career out of it? Book editing?”

  The truth was I had thought about it. Especially these last few days. However, I wasn’t sure it was plausible. “It’s crossed my mind. But one, I don’t have enough clients yet, and two, I’d have to line up three full-time projects a month to make it financially viable, and I don’t know if that’s doable. Besides, I’d have to funnel money into promoting the business. Turning it into a brand. I have a website and testimonials, but not enough authors know about me just yet. So far I’ve gotten work through word of mouth.”

  “Your schedule is open now, though. Maybe if they knew this was full time, your current clients would recommend you more.”

  “That’s true. But self-employment is scary, right? And I don’t want to have to work sixteen hours a day just to make ends meet.”

  “Right you are,” he agreed. “It’s a lot of stress and responsibility. Especially when you have employees. But on the plus side it’s bloody nice to be your own boss.”

  I smiled, envious. I’d love to make editing a full-time gig, but for now it was just a nice way to keep me afloat without having to dip too far into my savings. Trying to push away my worries, I asked, “Does farming make you happy?”

  Roane swallowed the bite of sandwich he’d taken as I slid onto the stool next to him. His gaze wandered to Shadow, who had finished the deli meat and was sniffing all around the bowl as if he might magically find more. “Aye.”

  I frowned at the slight hesitation I’d heard. “You don’t sound so sure.”

  “No, I am. I’ve always liked the physicality of it. It’s straightforward, the results of your productivity are tangible, and I like going to bed physically exhausted rather than mentally.”

  “You’re never mentally exhausted?” God, I envied him.

  “Sometimes.” He looked at me for the first time since I’d asked him about his happiness. “I do a bit of maintenance for the tourist board as well. Looking after homes that are rented out to tourists. Farming and tourism aren’t easy industries. There’s a lot of stress involved.”

  I mentally berated myself for thinking he had it easy. “Of course there is. Now that you mention it, I’m sure I read somewhere that farming is one of the most stressful jobs out there.”

  Roane nodded, studying his sandwich intently. “It can be.”

  “But it does make you happy?” I pushed.

  Our eyes met, his warm with something I couldn’t name. “Aye, Evie. I’m happy.”

  I couldn’t help my wide smile. “I’m glad.”

  His eyes flitted past me and landed on the Tupperware box. Surprise flickered across his expression. “Where did you get those?”

  “Oh. Your cousin.”

  “Caro came here?”

  At his shock, I grinned. “Is that unusual? Because she’s unbelievably shy?”

  Roane nodded but then he looked at Shadow. “Mind you, she loves him almost as much as me. She cried when I told her what happened.”

  “Yeah, I got that. By the way, her cupcakes are delicious. Does she work at the bakery?”

  “No.” His expression clouded over.

  Aha!

  I sensed a story.

  Letting Roane take a few more bites of his sandwich, I pounced. “What does a cupcake master do if she’s not working for the local bakery and why is she so shy? And why is her accent different from yours?”

  He rolled his eyes. “What’s with the twenty questions?”

  “Caroline is intriguing. She dresses like my great-grandmother, is of indeterminate age, impossibly adorable, and is a shit-hot baker. I want to know more.”

  Instead of laughing at my nosiness, Roane’s gaze darkened when he turned to me. “Caro lives with her aunt on her mum’s side, so Helena’s nothing to do with the Robsons. She’s an uppity bitch from money who got custody of Caro when her parents died in the Boxing Day tsunami in 2004. Caro was only seven years old.

  “She was staying with us for Christmas.” His expression was sad. “Mum told me that Caro’s mum, Amelia, was never really meant for motherhood. She was too selfish. Amelia was a bit of a jet-setter and never wanted to take Caro with her, so she got left behind to stay with us or with Helena whenever her parents traveled. Her dad, my uncle Heath, was different from my father. Weaker, I suppose. Gave in to Caro’s mum’s demands all the time. Blinded by his love for her, Mum said. And poor Caro was the one that suffered for it.” He sighed heavily. “Though no one deserves to die how they died.”

  I remembered that earthquake and tsunami in Indonesia. I was eighteen at the time, and it was world news for weeks because of its far-reaching effects. It killed almost a quarter of a million people.

  “That’s awful.” For Caro’s parents, but also for Caro. To have had such neglectful parents, and then to lose them in such a way.

  “Aye. Our nana Robson was still alive at the time, but she wasn’t well enough to take care of Caro. Mum and Dad wanted custody, but Amelia and Heath had made it clear in their will that guardianship was to be granted to Caro’s aunt Helena. She was Caro’s mum’s twin sister, you see.”

  There was something hard in his tone, and putting that together with what I’d witnessed in Caro, I felt a little knot in my gut. “I’m guessing she’s not exactly a great guardian.”

  Roane met my gaze, and I was surprised by the anger I saw there. “I don’t hate many people, Evie, if at all . . . but I hate that woman.”

  I flinched. “Wow. That bad, huh?”

  “She controls every aspect of Caro’s life.”

  Calculating the dates quickly in my head, I replied, “But Caro’s twenty-two now.”

  “Aye. But she’s lived with that woman for most of her life. I’ve tried my best. My mum has tried her best, but she’s got this grip on Caro.” The anger dimmed from his eyes, leaving only the melancholy. “I’m the closest thing she’s ever had to a best friend . . . She’s tried but her aunt always managed to chase off her friends. And she’s never had a boyfriend. Helena takes religion to the extreme, and she’s filled Caro’s head with all this toxic stuff about purity and what it means to be a ‘good g
irl.’ It’s all bullshit. It’s all meant to keep Caro living in that house, looking after the old cow into her dotage.”

  Indignation for Caroline simmered inside me as I remembered how shy she’d been. I glanced at her beautiful cupcakes.

  “That’s just the tip of the icing.” Roane gestured to them. “The lass is a born baker. Everything that comes out of her kitchen is heaven on a plate.”

  “She should be working at the bakery then. Or opening her own!”

  His eyes twinkled at my passionate exclaim. “Aye, but you try telling her that. I’ve offered to get her a place of her own, to break away from that woman and start living her life. But she won’t. She’s trapped by guilt.”

  We fell into a companionable silence as I pondered Caroline’s situation. Maybe I could talk to Caroline. Roane was perhaps too close. Besides, he was a guy. It was presumptuous to assume a stranger could have more success than her closest relative, but maybe Caroline needed encouragement from an independent, mature woman who lived alone. I could show her how great it was. Plus, praise from a stranger about her baking was always better than support from family. The bias was removed.

  “I can practically hear your thoughts turning,” Roane commented, his gaze roaming my face. “I’m not even going to tell you not to do whatever you’re thinking about doing.”

  It was a little unnerving how quickly he was beginning to understand me. “I’ll be gentle,” I teased.

  Something dark, hot, flashed in his eyes, and he quickly looked away.

  Tension immediately sprung between us, and I scrambled to think of something to say to defuse it.

  Roane beat me to it. “What are you doing for dinner?”

  Grateful for the subject change, I replied, “Well, I was going to see what they had at the convenience store. I haven’t booked a rental yet to go to the supermarket.”

  “The convenience store doesn’t have much. Why don’t we eat together at The Anchor, and I can find some time tomorrow to take you to get a rental car? Maybe give you a lesson on how to drive here,” he added pointedly.

  “Is it that hard? I thought we just drove on opposite sides of the road.” I knew that it would be a little discombobulating at first, but did I really need a lesson?

  “Which is harder than you think. But there’s more to it than that. We have different rules of the road here. And roundabouts. Lots of roundabouts.”

  Hmm, when he put it that way. “Okay, I’d be grateful. Are you sure you have time?” I was under the impression farmers worked around the clock, and was more than a little surprised he’d joined me for lunch.

  His dark, autumnal eyes locked on mine. “I’ll make time.”

  A rush of attraction swept over me like a wave, and I tensed on my stool. Friend zone, friend zone, friend zone, I began to chant inwardly, wrenching my gaze from his. It was so unfair. If I looked into his eyes too long, I got flutters in my belly. If I stared at his mouth too long, I got tingles a little farther south than my belly.

  The only place to look was his nose, and that was just weird.

  Deciding that not to look at him at all was the best option, I studied my dwindling sandwich.

  It seemed to work, and I relaxed long enough to pepper Roane with more questions about his life. It turned out he’d taken over management of what sounded like a fairly sizable farm from his parents. They had retired to their second home in Greece, which made me assume the farm was financially successful. But I soon learned Roane had to work extremely hard to make it so.

  “We’re a commercial mixed farm,” he explained. “Meaning we farm to sell at market. Our arable farming is on the eastern part of the estate, where we grow crops of winter wheat and barley, oilseed rape, and spring beans. On this side of our estate”—he gestured to the room, so I gathered he meant “right here on the coast”—“we have our sheep farming. We also sell hay.”

  That sounded like a pretty big enterprise to me. “And you run it yourself?”

  He shrugged. “I manage and work it, but we have employees.” Suddenly he slipped off the stool. “Speaking of which, I need to get back. We’ll be here at seven for dinner. I’ve already reserved a table.”

  “That was presumptuous,” I teased.

  “Well, I figured you might need a buffer before venturing back into the local.” He chuckled before pressing a quick, surprising kiss to my cheek. “See you at seven.”

  Ignoring the flush of pleasure I felt from the kiss, I focused on his comment. Why would I need a buffer?

  “What does that mean?” I asked as he gestured to Shadow to follow him.

  Roane just shot me another boyish smile before descending the stairs out of view.

  “Roane!” I called after him. “What does that mean?”

  The only answer I got was the sound of his deep chuckle.

  However, hours later, as I walked into The Anchor accompanied by Roane and Shadow, I finally got my answer.

  A roomful of eyes met us as we strolled in, and I felt suddenly self-conscious. This only worsened when four men turned on their stools at the busy bar, saw me, shared a knowing look, and then burst out into song.

  “When you’re good to Mama, Mama’s good to you!” They gestured to me comically.

  While most diners stared on in confusion, others let out barks of laughter, including Roane, whose guffaw was the loudest.

  Realizing I’d met these men the night before and had no memory of it, I made eye contact with Milly, who was hee-hawing behind the bar.

  Mortification flooded me but so did something else.

  They were teasing me.

  Like I was one of them even though I was a visitor.

  Much like how Roane had befriended me even though Milly said he usually steered clear of tourists, I somehow sensed this was unusual behavior for the locals.

  Pleasure seeped into the mortification, and I couldn’t help but laugh through my groans of embarrassment.

  * * *

  • • •

  Evie, you can do whatever you want, pet. That’s the point.” Penny gave me a reassuring smile.

  The next day the rain had cleared, the sunshine bringing more tourists with it. A few came into the store to browse and I tried not to act giddy at my first sale. The woman had called my window display adorable and purchased a copy of A Midsummer’s Night Dream along with a few little key rings with the Northumbrian flag on it.

  Not long after, while I was pondering splitting the display with all the books and information on Northumberland so I could continue the Shakespeare theme, Penny had come to the store to see how I was doing.

  I’d told her about the sale and asked her if I could put the books on Northumberland on the bottom half of the case and more Shakespeare titles on the top half.

  Grinning at her answer, I was antsy to start riffling through stock for more Shakespeare plays.

  “So, you’re doing fine then?” Penny asked.

  “Oh, I’m doing great.”

  Her smile widened. “You’ve made quite an impression here.” She nodded to the window. “The locals love your display when it’s lit up at night.”

  People had talked about my homemade, whimsical display? Pleasure suffused me. “Really?”

  “Aye. It’s very cute. Probably the most memorable display I’ve had at the shop.”

  “Well, yay me.”

  “And everyone up at The Anchor loves you. The folks here have never been so taken with a renter before.”

  Remembering how welcoming everyone had been after the teasing last night, I beamed. Roane and I had stayed at The Anchor until closing, but this time I didn’t consume alcohol. Instead I enjoyed the company of the locals, including Penny, as they told me their life stories without artifice. I’d also learned that Roane’s closest friend from university lived in Scotland, just across the border, so his closest
friend in Alnster, from what I could tell, was Bobby Hopeton. Bobby worked with Roane in some capacity. I wasn’t sure in what way—they kind of brushed over that when we were chatting last night. He was around the same age as Roane and me, and married to a woman named Jill, whom I hadn’t met yet because she was at home with their two kids.

  Bobby wasn’t much of a drinker from what I could see, and sounded like a homebody. He gave me the impression he was only at The Anchor to get a look at me. This made me wonder what Roane had said about me.

  “Everyone is so welcoming.”

  Penny snorted. “Not usually, pet. Folks don’t want to be friendly with someone who isn’t sticking around. But they can’t seem to help themselves with you. Especially with Roane being so taken with you.”

  “We’re friends.”

  “Oh, aye.” She nodded but didn’t look convinced.

  Hmm. Let her think what she wanted to think. Let them all think it. Roane and I knew what we were and that’s what mattered.

  “Anyway, I best be letting you get on.”

  “Wait, Penny.” When she turned back to me, eyebrows raised in question, I hesitated. What I wanted to ask wasn’t really my business, but I couldn’t help my curiosity. “I heard you’re selling this place, is that true?”

  Her expression tightened.

  “Sorry, not my business.”

  Sighing, she turned fully toward me. “It’s all right. Aye, I’ve been thinking about selling it.”

  “But why?”

  Penny laughed at my nosiness. It wasn’t a happy sound. “Oh, pet, it’s complicated.”

  “Do you want to sell it? Is it not financially viable?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I cursed myself. “God, I am nosy.”

  This time when she laughed, it sounded genuine. “Aye, you are.” She glanced around at the shop. “The bookstore itself makes enough during the summer months to tide me over for the whole year. It’s the renting it out that really makes the cash, though.”

  “Then why sell?”