Page 115 of The Sugar and Spice Bookshop Bakery

After the big clear-up, Louise and Jack sit in the glass dome, wrapped up in fleeces, coats and blankets, because it is November after all. Somewhere, fireworks are going off overhead.

‘It’s nearly Bonfire Night,’ Louise says, leaning back on the cushions. The coloured lights burst and fade in the sky above them. The dome was buzzing with people just a few hours ago, but now feels like their own private world – separate from the bookshop, from the village, from everything.

‘Well, that’s it,’ Jack says. ‘The hard work is done.’

‘Your hard work is done. I have a feeling mine is just beginning. I’ve agreed to be Sheila’s editor on a freelance basis alongside running the bookshop bakery. And it’s not just the day-to-day management of the shop either – there’s going to be book tours and book launches. I was even wondering about running a writing group. Applethwaite seems to have more than its fair share of aspiring writers.’

‘Babbo would like that. He writes long, maudlin poems. And Railway Andy would probably come along.’

‘Railway Andy?’

‘The guy from the pub. You know, who went on about the signal boxes on the Settle to Carlisle railway?’

Louise laughs. ‘Or maybe a book group.’ She shifts closer to him, pulling the blanket up nearer her chin. ‘I overheard your father earlier, telling people that it was all your idea to create these magical little spaces in the garden rather than build a fancy extension.’

Jack is quiet for a moment. ‘He said that?’

‘He did. And he meant it, Jack. You should have seen his face. He looked so proud.’

Although actually Louise hadn’t seen his face. Not clearly anyway, as Maddie had put so much snow on the window, but she had heard the pride in Richard’s voice.

‘My mother would have been proud too,’ Jack says. ‘She’d have loved this place. She’d have loved you.’

‘I’m sad that I never met her.’ Another firework explodes above them, streaks of red and gold cascading down the sky like a waterfall.

‘It’s gone well, hasn’t it? I was worried no one would come,’ Louise says. ‘Or that people wouldn’t like the book nooks. Or that Miss Anderson would somehow ruin everything.’

‘You worry too much. You can relax now.’

‘I’m not sure I can. The adrenaline is still coursing through my veins.’

‘I can relax you,’ he says.

‘Oh yeah?’

There is a definite twinkle in his eye.

‘Si, mi amore. I know just the thing to relax you, Luisa. Wait there.’

He stands up and disappears into the night.

Louise turns and watches him weaving his way between the little collection of outbuildings, his silhouette dark against the fairy lights. She wonders what he’s gone to fetch. A bottle of wine? Red red, of course. Or massage oil? Or perhaps more blankets so they can get naked and make love right here in the glass dome like they’d almost done before?

If Jack talks to his father, if he decides he can stay in Applethwaite after all, there’s no reason why they shouldn’t rekindle their romance.

When Jack returns, he’s carrying a tray. He kneels down carefully, placing it in front of her. There are two glasses of milk, two slices of ginger cake, and a book.

Louise stares at the tray.

‘Now this wasn’t what I imagined,’ she says.

He shrugs, settling back down beside her, close enough that their shoulders touch. ‘Well, I don’t know what you imagined, but I’m going to read you a bedtime story, of course, my book-loving queen.’

Thirty-Eight

If Louise’s life was a romance novel, Jack would challenge his father about his lies and Richard would apologise – not just to Jack, but to the whole village – for misleading everyone, and Jack would set up his business here in Applethwaite so they could both live happily ever after.

His business would fly because, having seen the book nooks, everyone for miles around would be clamouring for him to build them a summer house or a home office, or, even better, a little library for their back garden, to house all the books they plan to buy from The Sugar and Spice Bookshop Bakery.