Page 19 of An Unexpected Kind of Love

“It’s not about Eli,” I acknowledge while opening up the packet of crisps for us to snack on. “Yay personal growth?”

“Start at the beginning,” she prompts, intrigue across her face.

Frowning, I try to think back to the beginning and realize only three days have passed, but it feels like an eternity that’s aged me. “I guess it was Saturday. Just passed.”

“Right.” Lily waits patiently.

“First clue something was off was that the shop was very busy.”

“That’s brilliant, Aubrey.” She hears my worries about the shop on a regular basis.

“Really not. Lately, some wanker keeps misfiling books throughout the shop and I was busy sorting that mess. Then, someone bought a stack of books—as props.” I can’t help a shudder. “After that, another customer insisted on a cash refund on a poetry book because the author was an arse on social media.” I sigh with the memory of it all. And, admittedly, the memory of Blake’s very blue eyes intent on mine as he handed over the poetry book, full of enviable easy confidence. And then I think of his social media, and the shirtless photo of him on display like a peacock on Instagram. And that grin that’s probably been the ruin of a thousand men, with me his latest victim. Shameless. Flushing, I gulp down a mouthful of ale.

Lily leans in as she studies me. “And?”

“What?”

“We haven’t got to the crisis part yet. I know disrespecting books gets under your skin but even you wouldn’t go so far to call it a crisis.”

I bite into a crisp. The crunch is very satisfying. “Mm, maybe. You’ve got a higher opinion of my limits than I do.”

“Cute. Go on.”

I study the crisps, then fidget with my beer mat. “You asked for this.” I groan. “Right, so. I ran into the poetry wanker again on Saturday. Nearly collided outside the café by the bookshop.” I spill everything: the filming chaos, the request to use Barnes Books as a location. “And—and, well, long story short…I go to their set to tell them to stuff it with their film location and instead run into this poetry wankeragainin what turns out to be his film trailer, because apparently he’s some sort of actor…”

“Who?” she demands, eyes lighting up with unreserved glee.

I glance around. We’ve our own corner of the pub in the quiet of the day. No one’s nearby. A couple of people sit at the bar. We have the section at the back to ourselves. I lower my voice to a conspiratorial whisper, not that I’m booming at the best of times.

“Blake Sinclair, actually. And then… I can’t explain it.”

“Try,” Lily encourages.

“Well…then I gave him a blow job.” I cough in a last-ditch desperate effort to save face, because obviously my mouth can’t be trusted with either words or proximity to Blake Sinclair. “As one does.”

My face is on fire as Lily stares, abruptly lowering her drink with athumpand a dangerous slosh.

There’s a long silence.

At last, she lets out a long whistle.

“Say something. Anything.” I beg before I hide my face in my hands. “It sounds like a pack of lies, doesn’t it?”

“If it was anyone else, I’d say they were full of shit, but it’syou.”

Flustered, I might die now, literally die, of embarrassment in the cool pub. That would be good because it would put an end to this story. A sinking feeling strikes. I’ve overshared. “That’s not what you meant, is it?”

“Not…exactly.” Lily continues to stare, brown eyes wide. “Shit. Blake Sinclair’s hot. And…not gay, I thought? I’ve only seen a couple of photos of him online, but he’s usually with a woman?”

“I haven’t the faintest clue who he is, to be honest. Apparently, he’s not famous like Timothée Chalamet or Hugh Grant, who are probably the only two actors that I know of.”

“Blake Sinclair’s up and coming in Hollywood. Don’t you ever pay attention to films? Or tabloids?”

“No. I run a bookshop, remember? I’m a film-free zone.”

“I walked into that one.”

“It gets worse, don’t worry.”

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