Gage’s ruddy cheeks shouldn’t amuse her, but they did.
‘I was telling Pixie we’d met and she said you were working tonight and...’ His voice trailed off, as if he’d decided the hole he’d dug was halfway to China already.
‘Pixie, Jimmy Trevail’s waiting to be served,’ said Tamara. The wizened old man propping up the far end of the bar was gesturing with his empty beer glass. ‘Why don’t you see to him and I’ll deal with things here?’
Her boss reluctantly scurried off, but only after throwing them both a triumphant look.
‘Liking village life so far, are you? I’m sure you got the full interrogation Pixie reserves for new customers?’
‘She tried her hardest, I’ll give her that.’ A smile tweaked the corners of his mouth before spreading upwards to his eyes.
Tamara foolishly met his gaze and was floored by the unmistakable flare of interest mirrored back at her.
‘Tamara, love, can we get the usual when you’re free?’
She stared at Nathan Kellow as if she’d never seen him before.
Melissa wriggled in beside her husband and grinned at Gage. ‘You must be the new guy. We want to hear all about your awesome bookshop. Bring your drink over and join us. We’ve snagged our favourite table by the fire. Another friend from our book club is there too, so it’ll give you a chance to practise your sales technique.’
‘Uh, great. Thanks.’
Gage looked like Peter Rabbit when Mr McGregor cornered him in the vegetable garden. That had been Toby’s favourite book as a child, although her soft-hearted son would cry at the part when Peter’s mother sent him to bed without any supper. She always had to reassure him that Peter’s siblings would sneak him some food so he wouldn’t go hungry.
Tamara tried to give Gage a surreptitious encouraging smile, but it wasn’t sly enough because Melissa immediately intercepted it. Her friend’s eyes flared and became greener, overriding their usual predominantly grey colour. If shecottoned on to any sort of mutual attraction, they were in deep trouble.
These days Melissa tended to think of herself as Penworthal’s answer to Jane Austen’sEmma.Admittedly with some justification. Last year she’d scored a hat-trick.
She’d prodded Josie, her old neighbour and best friend, into a relationship with the dishy Harry Bishop, a police inspector, so now they were happily married.
Melissa had also had a hand in Chloe and Toby coming together. But her pièce de resistance had come when she’d convinced Evelyn to give Quinten Moore a chance. Their book-club leader’s marriage had been anything but blissful, and her widowhood had come as a relief, so she had always been adamant that life on her own suited her. Melissa had cleverly introduced Evelyn to Quinten, Nathan’s old literature professor, which had proved a stroke of genius. The couple spent more time in each other’s company these days than they did apart, and Melissa’s next mission was to convince them to give up one of their homes and move in together. His bright yellow VW Beetle had been spotted outside Evelyn’s overnight so many times it hardly made a ripple in the Penworthal gossip machine these days.
Tamara didn’t intend on being her friend’s next matchmaking victim. She didn’t need a man in her life, hot or not, and particularly not a grouchy one like Gage Bennet.
* * *
Gage sank into the nearest chair and took a long, refreshing swallow of beer. One and All, a solid hoppy local ale, was just how he liked it. The Rusty Anchor seemed to fit all of his criteria for a decent local. Cosy, but not dark and gloomy. Unobtrusive piped music. No fruit machines. Even the motley collection ofold anchors and other nautical décor dotted around was quirky rather than tacky.
In fact, if it wasn’t for this friendly ambush, he’d say it was close to perfect. He’d made good mates in the forces, but that had come from living and working together in close quarters and a shared focus on the mission. But now he was floundering and frequently unsure how to behave around so-called ‘normal’ people.
‘They don’t bite, if that’s what’s worrying you.’ The laconic comment came from the tall, auburn-haired man who’d introduced himself as Nathan Kellow. Literature professor at a nearby college and husband to Melissa, the take-charge American who’d initiated this impromptu get-to-know-Gage session. ‘Talk books and they’ll be putty in your hands. That includes me.’ He gave a self-deprecating smile. ‘You’re doing something I’ve dreamed of for years. Perhaps it’s every booklover’s dream?’
‘Possibly. Might be stupid, though.’ He shrugged. ‘Most seem to think so.’
‘No, not stupid.’ Nathan regarded him thoughtfully. ‘You strike me as someone who would do their homework and think things through before acting.’
‘But?’ He sensed one hovered around the positive affirmation.
‘Don’t get me wrong — I love Penworthal. My family has lived here for generations, so it’s in my bones. Although considerably more people have moved in from other places recently, it’s retained a great sense of community. But ifIwere opening a bookshop—’
‘You wouldn’t locate it here.’ Gage’s less generous side cursed Becky for forcing him to lie. He gritted his teeth and trotted out the same less-than-honest story about visiting as a kid.
‘Fair enough. I hope you can make a go of it.’ Nathan didn’t sound convinced. ‘Are you planning to specialise?’
‘He’s asking because he’s nutty about Cornish authors, especially Daphne du Maurier. Aren’t you, darling?’ Melissa snuggled into her husband’s shoulder and playfully fluttered her eyelashes. From a distance people might be fooled by her feathered cap of silvery white hair, but, close up, Gage could see they were about the same age. Books and covers. The comparison appealed.
‘I’ll be selling a small but wide selection of new books in all genres. When I’m more established, I’d love to dip my toes into Cornish literature and history, so I’ll be picking your brains then, Nathan.’
‘Anytime.’
