Page 69 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
‘No,’ Sophie said. ‘I don’t want you walking back to the manor on your own, in the dark.’
‘I’m a forty-two-year-old man.’
‘Great. What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Sophie.’ He laughed. ‘You really want to come back?’
‘I want to see you home safely. And I’m not … expecting anything.’
‘But you’re not walking back to your flat once we’ve reached the manor.’
Outside, the fog had thickened and the temperature had dropped, and the thought of walkinganywherewasn’t that appealing. But Clifton was having a sleepover with Poppet and Jazz, and the thought of being alone in her silent, empty flat after such a fun evening made her spirits sink.
‘You must have a spare room I can use,’ she said. ‘Even if it’s not been refurbished yet.’
Harry swallowed. ‘I do. Right, come on then.’ They headed up Perpendicular Street, her arm laced tightly through his.
‘Tell me something about Mistingham,’ she said. ‘Something I wouldn’t know already.’
‘That’s a vague request.’
‘You must have hundreds of stories like the one about Delores.’
‘OK.’ He was quiet as they walked through the village, their footsteps echoing. There weren’t that many people out, the weather sending everyone scurrying indoors, and only occasional sets of headlights passed them, picking out whorls of fog. They left the built-up area behind, turning onto the country road that would take them to the long, tree-lined driveway of Mistingham Manor, and Harry took out his phone and put the torch on. He’d obviously forgotten his Maglite, or perhaps he hadn’t expected to be out this late.
‘When Delores opened the sweet shop,’ he said eventually, ‘there was an old man here – Mr Trayton, he died about a decade ago – who started a petition to get her to drop the e’s at the ends of the words.’
‘What?’ Sophie laughed. ‘No!’
‘I’m completely serious. He wanted it to bethe Old Sweet Shop, no additional e’s. He was adamant.’
‘But he didn’t get his way?’
‘Of course not. Everyone liked how country cottage the name was, and Delores would never have backed down. Even if they’d come back 100 per cent in agreement with Mr Trayton, she wouldn’t have changed it.’
‘You don’t love the e’s, do you?’
‘I do not,’ Harry confirmed, as they turned onto his winding driveway. ‘But even though we owned the building, it was Delores’s shop. People can be as reckless with their vowels as they want.’
‘If I was staying, I’d take over the old sweet shop and call it Ye Olde Notebooke Emporiume. E’s on the end of everything – maybe two on each word.’
‘Ifyou were staying. You’re definitely leaving, then?’
Sophie swallowed. She didn’t know any more. Tonight – so many things, recently – had made her question what she was doing. She wished she hadn’t brought it up, made a dent in this fun, carefree evening.
Harry stopped walking, and Sophie thought he was going to turn them around, make her go home. Instead, he slipped his phone into his pocket, the torch shining out a blue-tinged light through the fabric, and took both her hands. ‘For what it’s worth,’ he said quietly, ‘I would be fully behind Ye Olde Notebooke Emporiume. You could have as many e’s as you wanted, and I wouldn’t grumble.’
She smiled. ‘You’re only saying that because I’ve told you I’m leaving.’
‘I would say exactly the same thing if you told me you were staying. I wish youwouldstay – you must know that, Soph.’
This time when he kissed her, it was gentler, his lips caressing hers, his fingers sliding through her wind-tangled hair. They didn’t linger for long, instead hurrying the rest of the way to Mistingham Manor, where the lights were glowing and the Christmas wreath was twinkling, and the fire was crackling in the hearth in the large hall, with two dogs and a goat lying contentedly in front of it.
May must have heard them come in, because she appeared in the doorway, dressed in black joggers and a long red jumper, her dark hair in a messy bun.
‘Sophie!’ she said. ‘It’s so lovely to see you. How did the game testing go?’
‘It was great,’ she said, ‘but not as much fun as paddling.’
