“A tomato and feta cheese salad from the deli,” I decode. “You always eat that.”
He gives me his sweet smile that exposes the tiny gap between his front teeth. It’s insanely sexy. “You always look after me.”
I’d like to, I think.I could take care of you like no one else. But I don’t say it. Instead, I sling my messenger bag over my shoulders and venture out.
Fowey in summer brings new meaning to the word busy. Tourists fill the narrow streets with their sunburnt noses and loud voices. The shops and pubs are heaving, and the harbour is a beautiful sight crammed with boats of all sizes.
As I head down the narrow street outside the shop, someone says my name urgently. Turning around, I see my grandad sitting on a bench.
“Alright?” I say, wandering over. “I thought you were going to the library. There’ll be hell to pay if you don’t change those books.”
My grandma broke her ankle last month, so she’s having to rely on everyone to help out, which hasn’t come easy to her.
“I wanted to show you something first.” He pats the bench next to him.
I slide onto it looking at him enquiringly. “You’re behaving a bit strangely, Grandad.”
“Look at this.” He hands me a book.
It’s got a pink cover with a picture of a dark-haired man and a blonde woman embracing. I read the title—Torridly Yours—and hand it back to him.
“What about it? You know I don’t read romance. I like crime novels.”
He grins triumphantly at me. “I know. But this has given me an idea.”
“Do you actually enjoy reading them?”
He shrugs. “Your grandma does and that’s the point. She likes reading them and I like hearing her talk, so if I read them as well, I get my two favourite things.”
I smile at him. “You’re an excellent husband.”
“And you will be too.”
I blink. “I doubt it. I’d have to find someone prepared to take all this on.” I throw my hand discontentedly down my body. I’m wearing jeans that look like they’ve been spray painted on and a very tight T-shirt that proclaims,Hot BoysRide Firemen.
My grandad frowns. “You are a bloody catch, Clemo,” he says fiercely. “And whatever man gets you will be very lucky.”
“Thank you but I think you’re a bit biased.”
“Well, of course I am. I love you. You just have to get the man of your dreams to love you too, and then you’ll be fine because he’ll treasure you the way we do.”
I pat his hand. “That’s nice.” I narrow my eyes. “Why do you look like you’re planning something?”
“Because I am.” He brandishes the book at me. “This one was about a girl who was in love with her boss, and when he needed a pretend girlfriend, she stepped in.”
“Well, that’s nice but I—” I widen my eyes. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Yes,” he says triumphantly. “Harry needs a boyfriend to take home. You can step up and do that for him.”
I shake my head. “Have you beendrinking? Harry would never do that.”
“Well, I reckon he might. I could see the desperation in his eyes.”
“Charming.”
“Oh, I don’t mean it like that, but he’s facing going on his own to this family do. He can take you. You can both do a bit of pretend boyfriending, and boom!” He claps his hands. “Withina few hours, you’ll be the real thing. It’s a well-known romance trope, so it’s bound to work,” he adds piously.
“And is that what happened to—” I pick up the book. “Jared and Fiona?”
