‘Hotel California, remember?’
‘Right.’ The resort is amazing, but my real life is in London. This is a stopgap while I regroup and figure out what my future will look like. It’s crazy how much I miss Bookstagram; chatting to friends online, sharing excitement over book mail or the latest teaser pic of an upcoming release and trying to get my hands on an advance review copy. I miss the community. Miss framing each Instagram post in the hopes it’ll inspire a reader to pick up the same book and love it just as much as I did.
‘Oh, game face on,’ I say as I spot Xavier standing in front of a curved white rendered building with porthole-like windows. A sign sways back and forth in the salty breeze: Barefoot Bookshop, shoes optional. On the terrace are plush day beds lined in a neat row. Further down on the sand, hammocks are strung between palm trees.
The façade is gorgeous, like the rest of the renovated areas of the resort, so why then is my gaze drawn firmly to Xavier who wears a more casual outfit today of a polo shirt and cargo trousers that fit like they were tailored for his shape? The man seems effortlessly stylish which irks me for some reason. I’d label my fashion style bookworm chic. In London it consists of an oversized woollen cardigan (with pockets big enough to fit my eReader) and stretchy yoga pants well equipped to handle the various reading poses I do.
I’m not exactly a fashion-conscious type, but Xavier is making me rethink that, and why? Why would I want to invest money in fancy clothes that could be spent on books? I’m a little worried that I’m losing my marbles, to be expected when your once-happy life falls down around you like a house of cards. Or is it that I want to look as good as he does so we look good together? Absolutely not. The humidity is getting to me.
Mariola slows the golf cart before coming to a stop. ‘Where’s Joji?’ Xavier barks.
The man is a bully. Look good together? What was I thinking! He only cares about bossing people about like some kind of megalomaniac. ‘Good morning to you too, Xavier,’ I say, giving him a sweet smile to take the sting out of my not-so-subtle rebuke.
He blinks at me as if seeing me for the first time. ‘Good morning, Harper. I trust you slept well.’
Not exactly but I’m not going to risk telling him that and get the staff in trouble. Imagine if their parties get banned on my account. ‘I slept very well, thanks for asking. It must have been all that fresh air and the sound of the ocean lulling me to sleep.’
‘Mariola,bonzour.’
‘Bonzour.’
He returns my saccharine smile, which is also as fake as anything, but hey, he’s trying I guess. ‘If Harper doesn’t think it too forward, may I politely enquire as to the status of my staff member Joji who is meant to be ferrying staff around today?’
And… then he ruins it! ‘My staff member’, like he owns him or something. I try and fail to supress an eye roll, which seems to amuse him from the way his eyes glitter in triumph. Can eyes really glitter in triumph? I swear this guy is a romance novel hero come to life. That or I’m reading way too much into every gesture of his. I sense we’re going to have a summer of parrying lightly veiled insults at each other. More likely I’m a few eyerolls away from being fired. It’s hard to tell which way things will go.
‘Joji is’ – Mariola freezes up, clearly not wanting to expose her friend for having a lie-in – ‘running a bit behind this morning, but I’ll make sure that the time is made up.’
Xavier nods but his lips are a tight line. Does he need to be watchful of staff if they’re taking advantage like Mariola suggested can be the case? Or could it be because he’s an ego-tripping capitalist tyrant, and their small rebellions are like a silent protest?
‘I’ll see you both later,’ Mariola says with a wave and speeds away on the golf cart like she’s escaping a fire and leaves me alone with him to fend for myself.
21
Xavier is all business as he unlocks the bookshop, leaving the double doors open for the breeze, and gestures for me to enter. ‘The bookshop opens at 10a.m. and closes at 4p.m. on weekdays and half a day Saturday. You can order lunch at Kiosk Coco Loco or the Creole Kitchen and they’ll bring it over to you so you don’t need to leave the bookshop unattended for long periods of time.’
Inside, I pause on the spot, awed at the aesthetic of the bookshop. The white shelves are wavy and curve around the elongated space. There are nooks filled with striped beanbags and oversized plush swivel chairs perfect for lounging in. The décor is beachy and relaxed, as if to be inviting for people coming straight off the shore. Huge skylights in the ceiling make it light and bright so all the colourful spines stand out, patiently waiting for readers to take their books poolside.
‘It’s all been renovated! You kept that on the down low.’ Last night he was so mysterious about it: it’s best seen in sunlight, painting a picture of some gloomy bunker bookshop hidden away at the back of the resort.
He smiles, and I swear it’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen on the man’s face. ‘We had this renovated first. You can’t have a proper holiday without a beach read, it’s just not possible.’
‘Bookworm?’
‘For my sins.’
There goes any hope I had of not self-sabotaging with a guy like Xavier. The old zingometer dings when a guy is a reader. I skip off to fantasyland, imagining us swinging lazily on a hammock under the shade of a palm tree, books forgotten as we gaze into each other’s eyes and…
‘…not to mention KPIs.’ OK, maybe there is hope he won’t hypnotise me into love. I’m coming to learn the man likes an acronym and is quite fond of talking facts and figures. Makes sense, since he’s running a resort and all, but it’s not quite as alluring on the zingometer.
KPIs? What, pray tell, is that when it’s at home? ‘Ah, yeah sure, um, KPIs. Got it.’
He gives me a long look, his lips quirking as if I’ve amused him in some way. I get the horrible feeling he’s well aware I wasn’t listening to a word. Xavier drones on in minute detail about the mysterious KPIs, budgets, forecasts, expectations until I’m dizzy with it. When he mentions the annual turnover, he gets my attention. How can a bookshop this size be making so little? Now I understand the urgency and why Gus wanted to breathe new life into the place.
‘The bookshop services the whole island, so we really need to get it out of the red or there is a real risk we’ll have to close it. I’m hopeful with you running the place, we can get back to where we need to be.’
My shoulders sink. The thought of a bookshop closing is always a devastating prospect, more so here when it’s the only one on the entire island. Where will kids discover the joy of a picture book which develops into a lifelong love of reading? And island locals; where will they source books, if not here? What if they’re two books in to a four-book series and need the next instalment fast? Or guests, ready to relax with a beach read only to be told the bookshop is closed. Permanently. It can’t happen.
‘So no pressure then?’ I do love a challenge, and this is right up my alley. ‘I’ll do my best.’ Doubt creeps up and taps me on the shoulder. If Gus couldn’t do it though, what makes Xavier think I can? Do freight and budgeting factor in terms of the downfall in the profit?
