Twenty-seven
Greg had spent the entire week being nothing but a total grump. He’d moped around like a lost sheep and other than on the evenings he had visited Laurence, he’d gone home every night and sat in front of his TV, knowing Jemma was just a wall away. But she might as well have been on a distant planet in a far-off galaxy for all the good it did him.
He had considered knocking on her door so many times all week. But he had talked himself off that particular ledge and had kept his distance. He wasn’t sure how they had gone from getting on so well to not even speaking, but it seemed they had.
Now though, he needed to see her to give her the money that she’d made from her participation in his Indie Bookshops Event. He could just drop it through the letterbox, but it didn’t feel right somehow.
He knew she was home because he had heard the TV earlier and now he could hear her singing. At least someone was happy. She must be in the kitchen and have the back door open, as he had, or he wouldn’t be able to hear her so clearly.
He took several deep breaths and told himself repeatedly that it was simply a matter of knocking on the door, handing her the envelope, explaining briefly how he had arrived at her share by using exactly the same per centages he did with Laurence, and then he would just thank her again for her participation, and come home.
Then he could drink himself into oblivion tonight and hope that one day soon, he would be able to come home without desperately wanting to go and bang down the door of Oak View Cottage, pull a certain someone into his arms and kiss her with all the passion that was burning inside him, and had been since almost the moment they’d met.
She was only here for June so she’d be leaving in two weeks. Could he cope till then?
Did he have a choice?
‘Stop being a wimp, Greg,’ he told himself. ‘Just go and give her the envelope. What’s the worst that could happen?’
He spent the next half hour thinking of several things.
She could slam the door in his face.
She could laugh at him and tell him to get lost.
She could tell him to keep his pittance and go and get a life.
Worst of all, she could be in there with someone else.
There was no point in putting this off.
Was he a man or a mouse?
He made a little squeaking sound and then gave a loud tut.
‘For God’s sake, Greg. Pull yourself together.’
He grabbed the envelope and marched to Oak View Cottage, thumping his fist on the door.
She looked both surprised and possibly a little anxious when she opened it.
‘Greg!’
‘Jemma!’
‘What’s going on? Why are you thumping down the door?’
He held the envelope out to her.
‘To give you this.’
‘What … what is it?’
‘It’s your share of the monies earned for your participation in my Indie Bookshops Event.’
She gasped. ‘Have you been talking to Molly?’
He frowned. ‘Molly? No. Why?’
