A voice murmurs in reply, and then the office door bangs open so hard that it hits a box of books. Sadly, it just avoids rebounding and smacking James in the face. I sigh. You can’t have everything. He marches through the shop, his jacket flapping behind him, his handsome face contorted into its usual spoilt expression.
“Spying again, Clem?” he sneers as he passes us.
Grandad bristles, but it’s water off a duck’s back for me.
“Shelving actually,” I call after James. “But I wouldn’t expectyouto recognise that. The closest you come to anything book-related is the paper you wipe your arse on.”
My grandad snorts, and James whirls to face me. “Enjoy my sloppy seconds,” he hisses.
I raise my eyebrows. “I have no idea what you’re on about, but I wouldn’t touch your sloppy bits if the good Lord came down and commanded me to take the extremely minuscule handful.”
My grandad sighs.
James’s eyes flare as he starts to spew another insult, but a quiet voice comes from behind him. “Enough, James.”
I look up as my boss appears, and honestly, I’m not sure why an angel choir isn’t serenading him down the aisle.
He has thick, wavy, dark hair and his eyes are a translucent green, like the glass that my sisters used to forage for on the beach. He’s tall with wide shoulders and long legs. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Okay, that’s a bit of hyperbole on my part, because his nose is crooked, he has a permanent furrow between his thick eyebrows owing to the fact that he’s constantly squinting at books because he won’t get glasses, and his lips are a bit on the thin side. But he’s beautiful to me.
I’ve worked here since I was at university. And it’s Harry’s fault that I’ve had the position for so long. Someone else owned the shop when I first began to work here in my uni holidays. I love books with a passion, so a bookshop was an easy and enjoyable way to earn some cash. When I was coming up to twenty-one, the owner told me regretfully that she was selling up, so I’d made excited plans with my friends to get a job in St Austell at a busy restaurant where, apparently, they had the most gorgeous Spanish chef.
I’d walked into the bookshop ready to give my notice and found Harry bent over the till, struggling with changing the receipt roll. He was wearing old jeans, Vans, and a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his corded forearms. The sun shone through the window, highlighting his sharp cheekbones and thin face. When he looked up at me, I was lost.
“Can I help you?” the dreamboat had asked.
“Just likeHeathcliff,” I breathed, eying his wavy hair.
When he looked at me in confusion, I held out my hand. “Clemo Pascoe, to be known henceforth as Clem. Your assistant,” I added, gladly washing my hands of the Spanish chef without a second thought.
When I finished uni, I immediately took the full-time job Harry offered me. My family are tied to the sea like so many other families in Cornwall. My grandad was a fisherman, and my dad and two brothers still are. I’m pretty sure no one in my family expected me to join them, as I get seasick on the pirate ship at Flambards Theme Park, but even they were a bit surprised when I immediately took the bookshop job. Everyone had expressed loud concern that I wasn’t working in an area that would propel me up the career path. Everyone apart from my grandad, who’d taken one look at Harry and rolled his eyes at me. That evening he’d instructed everyone to lay off me with their plans for my future and that I had it in hand.
I’d very much like to have haditin my hands, but I’m positive that wasn’t the future my grandad had in mind.
But here I am, and I can’t move on. I’ve had offers of other jobs from bookshops in Truro, but I stay here, caught like a particularly fabulous fly in amber because of Harry.
He’s so lovely. He’s clever, and funny in a very dry way. He treats me with respect and fondness, even though I’m a very loud twink who’s not everyone’s cup of tea. I’m gossipy, nosy, and favour tight jeans and sparkly jumpers that wouldn’t go amiss on a senior citizen’s cruise wardrobe.
I shouldn’t pine over him. I’m trying not to. I’ve been on more dates than someone onLove Island, and I try really hard, but my dates don’t talk about books with me or discuss my Jack the Ripper theories. Other men don’t interest me. The truth is, I gave my heart to my boss, and he doesn’t know. If he did, he would hand it very gently back to me and then try to find himself another boyfriend who would unfailingly be more of a diva than Mariah Carey.
I drag myself from my thoughts as the shop door slams behind James, and Harry walks towards us.
“Jowan,” he says, greeting my grandad with his kind smile. “How are you?”
“Better than you, I reckon,” my grandparent says cheerfully.
“Grandad,” I hiss.
“Clemo, it’s perfectly obvious we were eavesdropping.” He grins at Harry. “I daresay at my age I should be ashamed of myself, but I find old age improves immeasurably if I just stick to things that society disapproves of.”
Harry chuckles, his eyes warm if a little sad. “You’re an inspiration.”
“Aye, well I expect I am.” He tips his head towards the door that James just slammed out of. “So, you’re not with him anymore?”
“Is grandadicide a thing?” I enquire.
Harry smiles in reassurance. I get lost in that smile for a second, gazing winsomely at him.
Grandad clears his throat, and Harry startles before smiling at him. “I’m not with James anymore, no.”
