Page 8 of Breaking the Ice

Samantha gulped as her forehead grew uncomfortably warm. Just breathe. You can do this, you can do this. “Sounds like you don’t approve?”

“I approve wholeheartedly. Good on you I say. Maybe just a little puzzled as to why suddenly you would do something so… out of character.”

“I’ve just had some time on my hands to think lately and I realized that I’ve been so busy having a career that I’ve missed out on life a bit.”

“A bit? Sam, the world could have exploded into a massive fireball and I doubt you’d have noticed. Haven’t I been telling you you’ve needed a life for years?”

“Well yes… you have… which is why I’m taking your advice and living a bit. I mean, where has working hard got me? Replaced by a moronic yuppie twenty-two-year-old, with a string of beige boyfriends to my name. I’m boring, Bec. Time to make some changes.”

“Sing it, sister!”

“I’m making a to-do list.”

“Imagine my surprise,” Bec mocked good-naturedly.

Samantha knew what Bec thought of her obsessive list keeping but she couldn’t stop. It gave her the control and direction she’d craved during the unsettled years of her childhood.

“What’s on it, then?”

“Just the tattoo so far.”

“One thing is not a list, babe.”

“I know. But change isn’t going to happen overnight.”

“Okay, okay,” Bec sighed. “So… what sort of tat and where?”

“Something small.” Very small. “Maybe a butterfly on my ankle.”

“Or your shoulder?”

“Maybe a hip.”

“You could be really adventurous and go for a boob. Something that just peeks out from your bra a little.”

Samantha gulped again. Just talking about it was making her sick. “The appointment is in three days so I have time to ponder.”

“Bravo. I’m proud of you Sam. How’s the job hunt going?”

“Apparently I’m too over-qualified for temp jobs and I’m not interested in anything too permanent. I want to be able to go when Bob comes crawling back.”

“Of course. For what it’s worth, I have a good feeling about today. I bet you’re going to walk out your door and the perfect job is just going to fall into your lap.”

Samantha stopped and stared at the transformation to Birdie’s shop as she exited the building. It had been boarded up for the last three weeks and Nick had been nowhere in sight.

Trepidation had twisted her insides at the construction noise that could be heard daily.

Whatwashe doing?

Didn’t he know the charm of the placewasits old worldliness? The musty smell of the pre-loved paperbacks, the rickety metal shelves, the beanbag corner, the lurid shag carpet that Birdie had installed after floods from the seventies had ruined the old one. Surely, he wasn’t going to modernize it? Make it all shiny and new?

Birdie had a cult following; women came to her place for a dash of yesteryear. They came because they were romance junkies and searching through Birdie’s shelves never failed to turn up a gem. Birdie’s was addictive.

What if he wasn’t going to continue with selling romance at all? What if he went totally modern and refused to stock them? What if he was some kind of literary snob who poo-pooed the genre and was only going to sellnewstuff? Was he going to totally alienate Birdie’s faithful customers and ruin her wonderful legacy?

And, as she stood before the newly unveiled shopfront, all her doubts of the last few weeks were confirmed. It was horrible! The simplicity of Birdie’s clear glass had been replaced by the sophisticated elegance of a sleek dark tint.

The simple painted sign that had adorned the window for fifty years and readBirdie’s Second-Hand Romance Bookshopwas now a garish neon creation in ice blue. Beneath it more neon.Coffee, it read. And,Welcome.

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