Page 16 of Fighting Words

“Really concentrating over there,” Nate comments.

I jerk and tilt my phone away from him as if I’m embarrassed by what he might have read.

“Oh…just getting everything ready to send once I get cell service.”

“For your family?”

“Yeah, and work. And…”

Nate’s gaze slides to me like he’s curious about what I’m leaving off.

I change the subject. “Thank you,” I say, trying to initiate some semblance of conversation. “For taking me.”

“It’s fine. I needed to head into town for a few things anyway.”

“How often do you go into Sedbergh?”

I need to know when to expect another trip.

“It depends. At least a few times a week, when the weather allows it. I’ll be glad to take you whenever you need, though.”

I nod, knowing I won’t take him up on that unless it’s a life-or-death emergency. For some reason he’s had a sudden change of heart about me staying to help him work, and I still don’t fully understand why. Until I know his motives and how flimsy they might be, I’m going to be on my best houseguest behavior.

“I’m surprised you don’t drive something else.”

He furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

I shrug, not sure how to say it without offending him.

He suddenly understands what I’m hinting at. The man isloaded, probably embarrassingly so. I’ve heard rumors about his contract terms and how much they exceed every other author on our roster. “This car works fine.”

“Except for when it breaks down.”

“Except for when it breaks down,” he concedes, seeing the humor in my point.

“Do you ever walk into town?”

“No, but I have a bicycle I use a lot in the summer.”

I make a mental note to check where he keeps it. It’d be nice to know in case I’m in a pinch.

Last night, I was turned around in the dark, but I’ve been keeping careful watch on our drive this morning, and I realize it’s pretty much a straight shot to town once you leave the cottage and take a left. Ten minutes later, we’re on Main Street, a narrow one-lane road that cuts through the heart of Sedbergh. Though small, the historic market town is charming and packed full of old architecture. Most of the buildings are constructed from gray and brown stone, though there are a few Victorian and Tudor-inspired shopfronts sprinkled in.

A few pedestrians walk along the ancient-looking cobblestone sidewalk, and Nate slows the car, not wanting to unintentionally spray anyone with snow. We pass The Green Door Sweet Shop with its sign:Tobacconist, Greeting Cards, Toys, Maps. A few restaurants are open for the late lunch crowd: Smatt’s Duo Cafe, Al Forno Italian Kitchen, The Dalesman Country Inn, and The Red Lion Pub.

I’m surprised. The way Nate was going on about everything, I thought Sedbergh would be a total ghost town. We pass a local book shop, and then another. I turn back in disbelief. How can a town this small keep one bookstore in business, much less two? I’m still wondering when we come across athird.

“There are so many bookstores,” I say, my voice filled with wonder.

Nate nods. “Sedbergh is England’s official ‘Book Town.’”

I lean toward the window, curious. “What does that mean? What’s a Book Town?”

Sounds like my dream place to live honestly.

“They’re small rural places—like Sedbergh—where secondhand and antiquarian bookshops are concentrated. Last I checked, we have five official bookstores, but most shops on Main Street have a section of secondhand books for sale, even the pharmacy. On top of that, there are annual literary festivals too. It brings in a lot of tourists in late spring and summer.”

My jaw is on the floor. “That’s amazing. What a cool place!”

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