Page 1 of The Romance Library

1

Jess

‘Wow!’ My eyes bulged as I scanned Mrs Davis’s cramped living room. ‘How many books do you have?’

There were floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcases across all four walls and stacks of books crammed onto every inch of the dated brown carpet.

At a guess, I’d say there were at least a thousand novels. Maybe more. I used to think my TBR was out of control, but this was on another level.

When Mrs Davis’s green eyes narrowed and her wrinkled lips pursed, I realised I’d just broken the number one rule and that my first day working here was about to become my last.

Shit.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t already been told that I needed to be careful.

‘Mrs Davis can be a little… prickly,’ Marion from the employment agency had warned me. ‘She doesn’t like questions. Or people.’

‘Not much I can do about being human!’ I’d laughed. Marion didn’t.

‘She doesn’t like going out,’ Marion added. ‘Or talking. Hence the no questions rule. You’re the fifth worker we’ve sent in five weeks. No one’s ever lasted more than one shift. Just go there, do whatever she asks and leave. Don’t engage. And whatever you do, do not comment on her stuff!’

Great.

I’d only been here fifteen minutes and I’d successfully done all three things Marion had specifically told me not to.

But in my defence, it was a valid question.

When I’d arrived, I almost tripped over the stacks of romance novels in the hallway. And navigating my way to the wooden stool directly opposite where Mrs Davis was sat in an armchair with her nose buried in a hardback was like battling through a maze.

There were books everywhere.

But the bottom line was, I’d broken the rules, so now I’d be the sixth worker she’d had in six weeks. Which was a shame, because I really needed this job.

And I genuinely wanted to know how many books she had.

‘What did you say?’ Mrs Davis pushed her reading glasses back from the tip of her nose and I swallowed hard.

‘I… er, doesn’t matter,’ I replied. ‘Forget I said anything.’

From the way Mrs Davis was glaring at me like I’d just sprouted five heads, she had no intention of letting me off the hook that easily.

Even if Marion hadn’t told me about Mrs Davis, I could tell from the minute I saw her that she wasn’t an average eighty-six-year-old.

Mrs Davis was clearly a smart woman who didn’t take any prisoners. She was glamorous too. Her blusher and red lipstick were immaculate, suiting her porcelain skin perfectly, and her white hair was professionally cut into a short bob. Whereas my brown skin was completely make-up-free and a hairdresser hadn’t touched my dark brown curly hair in almost two years.

When I was at home, I usually wore leggings and an old T-shirt. But Mrs Davis was wearing a navy-blue dress that was smarter than every item of clothing I owned. Especially the stonewashed jeans and pink jumper I had on now, which, like most of my wardrobe, came from the charity shop. I doubted Mrs Davis had ever worn second-hand clothes.

‘You’ve interrupted my reading,’ she snapped, ‘so if you have something to say, spit it out!’

Looked like I didn’t have a choice.

‘You have a lot of books.’ Doh. Talk about stating the obvious. ‘I’ve never seen so many in one house, so I asked how many you had. I wouldn’t expect you to know the exact number. I was just curious, that’s all.’

My hand shook as I reached for the floral china teapot. I poured the tea I’d offered to make when I’d arrived into the matching teacup, hoping that the warm liquid would help steady my nerves.

‘At the last count’—Mrs Davis paused and I took a large gulp, bracing myself for her response—‘seventeen thousand, nine hundred and eighty-three.’

I sprayed a mouthful of tea straight in Mrs Davis’s face.

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