Page 4 of Strawberry Moon
“Why? You’re only thirty-seven.”
“Well, after two months of dating James, I feel closer to sixty.”
“Someone kind,” my grandad says, blithely ignoring my stare boring into his head. “Remember that the next time you look.” He nods at both of us. “Well, I must be off. Demelza will be shouting if I don’t change these library books for her.” He leaves, and the shop door bangs behind him, letting in a gust of hot, dusty air.
As usual, I rush to fill the silence. “Well, that was my elderly relative who I’m packing off to a home forthwith. Please feel free to ignore him and forget you ever met him.”
Harry gives his warm, sexy chuckle. “I don’t mind,” he says softly. “He’s like you. Forthright and honest.”
I stare up at him, getting lost in his sea-glass eyes. “Really?” I breathe. “That’s how you think of me?”
“Of course. You’re w-wonderful, Clem. Like a breath of fresh sea air.”
I can’t contain my smile. It beams up at him, and I know it’s too bright and bold, but I just can’t help it. He’s so fuckinglovely.
For a second, he almost looks dazzled, and I realise how close we’re suddenly standing. My heart picks up speed.
Then he steps back and the moment is gone. “Well,” he says. “Time for lunch.”
“Pardon?”
“Lunch. You can get off for yours.”
“Chance would be a fine thing.”
“Pardon?”
“Oh, nothing.”
He smiles at me. “I’ll cover you. Take your time.”
“Okay,” I say, trailing after him as he walks towards the till.
The shop’s door opens, making the bell ring.
“Hello, Mrs Morrison,” Harry says, giving her his warm, slightly shy smile. “How lovely to see you.”
“Ah, Harry, good boy. I’ve brought some books back for a refund.”
I pause in grabbing my bag from under the counter. “Oh my god,” I say.
My boss shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he whispers.
“She’s read those books more times than I read my sister’s copy ofThe Song of Achillesas a teenager. I only stopped because the pages stuck together.”
He inhales and begins to cough, so I pat him on the back. His muscles are clearly defined, and I might rub them for a bit too long. He’s very fit, as he loves to run, his long legs regularly eating up the town’s steep streets.
He stiffens and I become aware that I’m still rubbing his back, and we probably passed helpful and headed into creepy a few moments ago. “Sorry,” I say, stepping back.
I could swear he looks disappointed, but then he smiles at Mrs Morrison as she sets her bag on the counter, and I dismiss the notion.
“Right, I’m off,” I say. “Mrs Morrison, how lovely of you to have made this shop into a lending library without any grants from the council.”
“Pardon?” she says, her hearing aid squealing.
“Nothing. Harry, I’m bringing you back something.”
“Oh, I’m not hungry, but thank you.”
