Guilt squished around inside my ribcage. I hated leaving Aster, but I didn’t want to stay here. I loved my best friend, would always care for him deeply, but there was someone else calling to me. I needed to go down to the village, to see and hold and live with Kit.
‘Aster.’ Callum gently eased his boyfriend’s arms away from my backpack, then passed it to me. ‘Lucas has a life down in the village. You can’t demand that he stay here with us.’
‘How dare you.’ Aster huffed, then immediately deflated. ‘Okay, that was exactly what I was doing. But you don’t understand what I suffer with my best friend so many millions of miles away.’
I slung my bag onto my back, then pulled Aster into the tightest of hugs. ‘I love you and I’ll miss you, but remember; with me gone, you can have sex with Callum whenever you like again.’
Aster sniffed into my jumper. ‘That’s an excellent point. You’re lucky that humping Callum is such a glorious experience because it very much will distract me from you leaving.’
I pulled back. ‘Don’t tell me about it?’
Aster laughed as he leant into Callum’s broad chest. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’
‘Bye, Lucas.’ Callum smiled softly at me over the top of Aster’s head.
I raised a hand, then turned and set off at a jog down the mountains. Callum could have given me a lift on his quad bike,but they seemed no less terrifying now I was a mystical beast than when I’d been a puny human.
I breathed deep, my smile growing with every step that brought me closer to Kit. Dad being an arse and the sadness that had lingered on Aster as he’d waved goodbye faded as I sped along. Those concerns felt wildly secondary compared to the moment when I’d pull Kit into my arms drawing nearer.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
KIT
Istared at my laptop and didn’t allow myself to cry. I’d thought checking my emails for any last minute orders before closing Island Books for the day was a good idea. I couldn’t have known what waited in my inbox.
We regret to inform you that Island Books hasn’t been shortlisted for the Indie Bookshop Award this year.
Compulsively, I read the rest of the email on repeat, like the words might magically change if I pawed over them enough. But no. They remained the same. I was commended for my community spirit. The creativity of our window displays was specifically praised. I was lauded for my commitment to reading diversity and championing authors from a range of backgrounds.
None of it was enough. A small paragraph at the bottom of the email secured the bulk of my attention.
Although there was a great deal to commend Island Books, we didn’t feel there was anything particularly special to setit apart from the other brilliant long listees. We are sure that you will be nominated in the coming years, and we would encourage you to make sure to flaunt what makes your bookshop different from the rest. In particular, use the video to accentuate what makes your bookshop unique.
They’d gone around the houses to say it, but Island Books’s failure to place on the award’s shortlist was because of me. I’d been so fixated on how much I’d hated being on camera and how cringy it was to read from a script that I’d not properly thought about how to make sure my bookshop shone. The place I loved more than anywhere else on Earth, and I’d let it down because I thought my voice sounded weird when I listened back to it.
I clicked away from the email, to a spreadsheet of the bookshop’s costs and profits. There had been a steady increase in custom this month. That had to be because of the longlisting.
I couldn’t depend on that anymore. My dream of a more comfortable profit margin was gone.
‘Kit?’
I slammed the laptop shut. I wasn’t sure what my face was doing as I looked over the counter at Hamish, but his didn’t change from its usual frown. His hands were shoved into his jacket pockets.
‘It’s closing time, right? You can go. Sorry. I was checking on the orders. Nothing you need to know about. Nothing important.’
I babbled myself into silence. Hamish glowered at me. I didn’t know if his expression could grow any more belligerent, but it would certainly try if I told him what I’d actually been doing. I wouldn’t be able to hide our non-shortlisted status from him forever, but I could for a little while. At least until it stopped feeling like the award committee had punched me in the gut.
I was, once again, fixated on the wrong thing. If I’d thought past my misery over the rejection email, I would have been vaguely prepared for what came next.
Hamish never said goodbye at the end of the work day.
‘I’m leaving,’ he grunted.
I placed a hand on top of my laptop, like that would supress the bad vibes leaking out of it.
‘Yup. That’s fine. Good work today,’ I blathered, ninety per cent of my mind rehashing the email and only ten per cent aware of the conversation I was currently a part of.
‘No,’ Hamish growled, like he was the werewolf and I was the clueless human. ‘I’m leaving the island tomorrow.’
