Kit’s lips were as soft as I’d imagined they’d be.
They parted slightly as he stared while I had some weird crisis over his mouth being near to me for less than a second. Blush that was nowhere near as bright as mine tinged his cheeks. His brown eyes widened.
I stepped back. Space between us felt important. I wished I hadn’t when Kit frowned, but I needed to breathe air that wasn’t so close to him.
I adopted what I hoped was a perfectly normal smile. ‘You have news?’
Kit blinked, like he’d forgotten the reason he’d been giddy moments before. ‘Um, yeah.’ He swallowed, then the corners of his mouth ticked upwards. ‘Yeah, I do.’ He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and brandished a folded letter at me. ‘Island Books has been nominated for the Indie Book Awards.’
I hadn’t heard of them, but Kit didn’t have to explain that this was a big deal. His smile had returned to full volume after my weird interlude. He bounced up to the toes of his boots as he unfolded the letter.
‘Enough people nominated Island Books to get it straight onto the longlist.’ His eyes darted back and forth as he read. ‘To get through to the next stage, I have to make a video explaining what’s special about this bookshop, and I have to take loads of pictures they can use to promote it.’ Kit lowered the letter and breathed deep. ‘Even if the shop doesn’t get through to the shortlist, the attention we’ll get from being nominated is going to be such a boost.’
Kit hadn’t said anything, but a frown often creased his face as he counted up the day’s takings. He wouldn’t sniff at the opportunity for more business. I suspected only half of it was the extra sales the award would bring in, though. The other half would probably be the thought of all the new readers who would enjoy his books.
Touching Kit had become so natural over the last couple of weeks that I didn’t think before stepping back into his space and reaching for the hand not gripping the nomination letter.
As soon as his fingers linked through mine, a weird jolt of energy sprung up my arm. I kind of wanted to tighten my hold, to spread my thumb over Kit’s palm and across the delicate skin of his wrist, but the feeling was so alien that I flinched away on instinct.
For the second time today, I’d wiped the joy from Kit’s face. He stared at me, his teeth digging into his lower lip.
I wanted to press my thumb there, feel his hot breath on my hand.
I was saved from doing or saying anything so embarrassing that even Kit wouldn’t be able to handle it by the opening bars ofSingle Ladieschiming from my pocket. Mum made me change her ringtone when the divorce was finalised.
‘I’ve got to take this.’
I didn’t look at Kit’s face, sure he would figure out I was having weird fantasies about pushing my thumbs into various parts of his anatomy if I looked him in the eye. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I rushed out of the shop.
‘Hey, Mum.’ I walked over to the seawall, putting as much distance between myself and Kit as possible without hurling myself into the ocean or running off into the mountains. ‘I’m glad you called.’ She didn’t need to know my gratitude was for extracting me from an awkward social situation entirely of myown making rather than purely because I missed her. ‘What’s up?’
‘Everything’s fine,’ she said.
Immediately, all thoughts of my weirdness in Kit’s bookshop fled. No one said everything was fine if everything was actually fine.
‘What’s wrong?’
Mum sighed and for the first time since I’d moved to Doughnut, I sincerely wished I was hundreds of miles south where we could have this conversation face to face and I could give her the cuddle she clearly needed.
‘Your father’s been in touch.’
I turned to sit on the seawall, all the strength abandoning my legs. I could hear shuffling on the line, like Mum had sat down too. I could imagine her; the wild hair I’d inherited fluffing around her face where she’d run her hands through it too many times, sitting on the sofa we’d chosen together on a trip to IKEA Aster had gate-crashed to satisfy his meatball fix.
‘How much does he want this time?’
Ever since Mum had finally ousted Dad, he’d randomly called to demand whatever he decided we owed him. The amounts of money varied, depending on how much he’d been able to earn before he was booted from another job when they realised what a total shit he was.
‘That doesn’t matter.’ Mum’s voice dropped the slow sadness that came over her whenever we talked about Dad. ‘He doesn’t have your number, but if he does manage to get in touch with you, you’re not to give him anything.’
I didn’t reply. We both knew that if Dad messaged me on my private Instagram or hunted down the phone number of the vet’s surgery on Doughnut, I’d transfer the money. He was like a hound with a scent; he’d keep nipping and barking until one of us gave in or he spotted easier prey.
I’d long abandoned the belief that if I gave Dad what he needed, he might reciprocate. He wasn’t interested in anyone other than himself. Where Mum chose to stand up to him, I walked the path of least resistance. It wasn’t just that I was terrible at saying no to anyone, even walking turds. It was more that the sooner I gave in, the sooner Dad pissed off and we could go back to pretending he didn’t exist.
‘I hope he wasn’t too horrible.’
Mum hummed. ‘Not too bad. I hung up when I realised it was him, but he managed to leave a voicemail before I blocked his number. Such a pleasant message.’
Mum wasn’t as bad as me, but when she debriefed her friends about this later, they would berate her for even listening to his voicemail.
