“Right, but…you’re good at talking to everyone…and Charlie always stares at you when you’re not looking…and I’m pretty sure the girl tourists hang out in the shop more when you’re around…”
I was keen for him to elaborate on this.
“Like that one earlier…who was trying to choose a yogurt for like…ten minutes? Oh, you meant Charlie? Yeah, she’s always looking at you, and finding reasons to be near you, that kind of thing…”
This delighted me far too much. With a great deal of effort, I returned my attention to Toby’s love life and suggested he could write Red a note.
“A note?” He stared at me, perplexed. “But I don’t…I don’t even know what I’d say.”
Which is how I ended up helping a nineteen-year-old write a love letter this afternoon.
And now, ridiculously, I’m off to deliver it. Toby went wide-eyed with terror at the thought of pushing it under Red’s door at the B&B, so I took pity.
I’ll write again soon, when I’m done playing Cupid with the staff.
So much for not getting emotionally involved…
Bye for now,
Charlie Jones
From:Charlie Jones
To:Charlie Jones
Subject:Day forty-eight sober (cont.)
Here’s how that went.
“Jones,” Marly said in surprise when she found me on the farmhouse doorstep.
Ginger shot out from behind her, colliding with my shins in her enthusiasm to say hello. I scratched her ears.
“Sorry, I know it’s late. I need to hand deliver a love note. Is Red in?”
“Red?No! What about Charlie? Red’s way too young for you—Charlie’s a proper grown-up. She could handle you. Here, Ginger, it’s only Jones, have some composure, girl.”
“I’m not giving Red a love note frommyself, Marly. For one thing, I’m her employer.”
“Oh. That, too.”
“It’s from Toby.”
“Oh, that lovesick little pup—I wondered why he’d stopped coming around. They had a falling-out, have they?”
Marly opened the door and let me into the hall, Ginger racing ahead of us. The fire was crackling in the living room—their first of the season, Marly told me—and there was a large cast-iron pot bubbling on top of the Aga stove in the kitchen.
“He’s not sure what happened, actually,” I told her. “Red kind of ghosted him.”
“You can’t ghost someone on the Isle of Ormer. It’s impossible. The old guy who used to own the tourist tat shop tried to do it to Rog to avoid paying him for something, and news got around so fast it was discussed at the next night’s parliamentary meeting.”
Intrigued, I asked what happened to him.
“I told you when you arrived, Jones—we look after our own here. And we have our own rules.”
“Swimming with the fishes, is he?”
“Ormer Parliament created a new law just for him. They made it illegal to sell figurines, just for a bit. Don’t laugh, he’d have rather been thrown in the ocean, I reckon. The man had a shop full of china he had to ship back to the mainland. Anyway, Red’s working at the pub tonight,” Marly went on, looking down at the envelope I was holding. “You want me to take the note for her?”
