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‘His shop’s sign. It’s … gone.’

Though there was no one around to listen, nor to hear what might have been a sob. And now there was a gaping hole above Shay’s shop, where there had once been light. No more real-life adventures. No more quirky outfits or silly jokes. No more hope that he was ever coming back.

She rushed around the other shops, trying not to sound breathless as she did a particularly shoddy impression of Hercules Poirot on a fact-finding mission. But not a soul had seen Shay’s sign disappear.

Updates to Noémi’s SOB List:

Keep going.

Do not sob (again).

Chapter 51

By evening, Noémi was almost hoping the phantom signwriter’s blackboard curse had scared off customers for the Merry Singles Mingle; she was in no mood to play matchmaker when her own love life was worse than a Christmas cracker joke.

Not that she wanted to sabotage her chances of successfully salvaging her bookshop – she just wished life would stop throwing baubles at her. Though people began arriving, and thankfully Daniel and Tommaso sensed she was not the person to jolly things along at that moment.

A huge part of Noémi longed to cry off her responsibilities and flee upstairs, feigning some contagious bug that would keep her in bed until at least New Year. But there was still a fighting ounce that was not going to let some irresponsible man turn her into a wet poinsettia. In traitorous moments, a tiny sliver of her mind still fantasized about Shay sweeping in and announcing his love for her, accompanied by a troop of Irish dancers, a harp, and a herd of goats in coats. But that thought could jig right off.

‘Did you get in touch with your man?’ asked Carrie in her typical, direct fashion as she pulled off her biker jacket and flung it on the coat stand. Rumour had it she’d now sold enough cutlery creations to get her Harley-Davidson fixed. At least some people had things to celebrate.

‘He’s not my man,’ Noémi replied, flapping a hand. ‘We spent some time together, and then … well, nothing.’ She tried on a smile and busied herself rearranging her trays of festive cookies.

‘It’s not over until you read The End.’ Carrie winked, before grabbing a Stephen King novel from Noémi’s quick-selection table and taking it to the till.

Noémi knew Carrie’s choice was strategic, so she could get chatting to Texan Jim about one of his favourite authors. But being a loser in love, Noémi wasn’t judging.

When Mr Ham arrived with his nephew, Jasper, there was a lot of excited whispering. He was every bit the young Keanu Reeves lookalike that the gossip made him out to be, though he tried to hide his face behind a sweep of glossy black hair, his hands pushed deep into his jean pockets.

‘Oh. I …’ Jasper seemed startled when Catherine began measuring him up for earmuffs. But if he was sticking around (unlike some people), he’d get used to it.

Jasper seemed sweet, though Noémi was pretty sure that even if Romeo of the Montagues walked in, he couldn’t sway her from her thoughts about Shay – worse luck. So, as the great and good singletons of Hazel Blooms arrived and settled down with books and delicious bakes, some moving around to chat, others checking out their options from behind the safety of their paperbacks, Noémi found herself subtly looking at flights on her tablet screen.

Not that she was planning to fly anywhere in particular.

Simply that it was interesting to dream. Maybe she could escape somewhere hot and exotic after Christmas, to sprawl on a beach towel and read to her heart’s content. Though sunscreen fingerprints could ruin your book covers, and what was the point in travelling all that way to lie by yourself, feeling sweaty? Somewhere cooler was surely more practical. Though not too chilly. She pictured green, rugged landscapes. New places to explore.

And it wasn’t exactly planned when she clicked on flights to Ireland, discovering that Kerry had an airport and there was a flight there from Bristol the day after Christmas. Noémi tried popping a flight into her basket to see what it felt like, before swiftly removing it – her heart pounding. Woah. She had no idea where Shay might be or whether he wanted to see her. Presumably not, otherwise he would be there with her now, not avoiding her like she had the plague.

Yet, frustratingly, she couldn’t get the idea out of her mind. She locked her screen and went to grab a tray of cookies. It was her job to host, not flounce off on a whim. She’d been looking forward to this evening, before Shay had done a runner. Whatever his reasons, she didn’t have to let it ruin her enjoyment. When she saw Abi the firefighter and Delilah Day looking like they might start fisticuffs over who’d sit next to Jasper, she strode to intervene.

‘Can I interest you in a copy of A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder? And perhaps a bittersweet truffle cookie?’

They nodded guiltily and took Noémi’s offerings.

The next couple of hours trundled by, with Noémi doing her best to focus on her bookshop rather than fantasizing about trips she wasn’t going to take. Her brain was exhausted by the time she and Daniel were handing out coats and ushering people out of the door. Carrie was engrossed in conversation with Mr Ham about hardware and hammers, having got bored of Texan Jim’s talk of his mother’s latest knitting patterns for goat coats.

At the mention of yarn, Catherine had barged her way in, and two glasses of mulled wine later, Noémi had heard her whispering to Jim about the Tequila Jammers having nothing to do with Tequila or jam, his eyebrows rising.

‘Well, I’m hungry as a hound dog,’ Jim was now saying to Catherine as he held her overflowing bag of books while she wriggled into her leather jacket. ‘Care for turkey and stuffing pie at The Tipsy Squirrel? My treat.’

‘Ooh yes, though let me buy some more of these After Eight mint cookies for dessert,’ Catherine replied, apparently trying to hide her blush at what seemed like a tentative, turkey-themed date.

Noémi took a deep breath and smiled, because she was pleased for them, and for the general success of the evening. It was just taking a while for her face to get the memo.

Chai and Spirit left with new piles of books, having kept each other quiet company by the Christmas tree, Spirit glaring at anyone who dared to flirt with her and Chai insisting she didn’t believe in monogamy and was just there for the cookies.

Soon enough it was just Noémi and Daniel, Tommaso having left early with a random excuse that Noémi hadn’t quite believed. She guessed he was giving her alone time with her best friend, after her difficult couple of days. It wasn’t easy watching people leave in pairs, knowing her only recent hope of coupledom had escaped across the Irish Sea. Perhaps it was easier not to see Daniel and Tommaso leaving together too, even if she was happy for them. Being around them when she was sulking made her feel like a deflating spare tyre.