Page 19 of The Breakup Bookshop

Rory’s face clouds over. ‘Some of us were late bloomers.’

‘Ah, I see. No one wanted to kiss teenage Rory?’ I tease. ‘Did you walk around telling all the girls how bad their business plans were and lecture them on shopping locally too?’

From the look on Rory’s face, I realize I’ve hit a nerve. I’ve never seen his face flush like this. He avoids looking in my direction, searching for some distraction in the empty courtyard.

I look him up and down. I may not get on with him, but I have eyes. He’s about my age. He is every inch the picture-perfect guy, from his tanned skin – how do you evengeta tan in the north of Scotland? – to those gorgeous green eyes. If he was in London, rather than Ullapool, he’d likely have a model on his arm. I doubt there are many models our age in Ullapool, but there are certainly plenty of girls out there who would kill for a bit of Rory action.

Maybe he was a late bloomer, as he said. But if he had gone through an ugly phase as a teenager, he’d clearly grown well out of it now,andhe obviously knew it. It would be hard to miss. He couldn’t think he was Mr Popularity just because of his excellent customer service. Donna is prepared to defend him to the death, Margaret worships the ground he walks on. Even Pete sings his praises. So, what exactly is his problem? I must have stirred up bad memories of being dumped at a school disco, or something equally traumatic.

Despite what Donna and Elle believed, I hadn’t exactly had an easy time of it at school either. Aside from my Ullapool summers, I found it difficult to make friends. Until I met Macy, I was a bit of a loner. And while Macy was my best friend, she always had plenty of other options. She played sports and her parents took her to endless clubs and activities, while I buried my nose in books and waited for my Scottish summers to roll around. And when we got older, she easily made friends with her colleagues and people she met in passing, too, while I spent what little free time I had with Seb.

Until she decided to see what it was I liked so much about Seb.

‘I didn’t lecture you,’ Rory protests, bringing me back to the here and now. ‘I was just pointing out that, as a new shop owner looking for support—’

‘Yes, I know, I get it,’ I cut him off. ‘And just so you’re aware, I am shopping locally. I do it all the time. I ordered a pizza from the new takeaway place, I buy coffee every morning from Fiona’s down the road, I’m researching local accountants that I can useandI’ve just had my hair done at Donna’s. Put that in yourshop localpipe and smoke it.’

‘Just not the DIY store next door.’

‘Sorry, did you mean to say “Oh, yes, your hair, I was just thinking how lovely it looks”?’

He blinks, without taking the bait. ‘No, I didn’t mean to say that at all.’

‘I bought nails from you on the first day,’ I point out. ‘Then I asked you to paint the mural for me and you said no. There was no discussion about it, either. I want to shop locally; I want to pay you for the mural, but you’re the one that’s blockingme.’

He shrugs, placing his rubbish in the bin. ‘I’m not an artist.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Stop fishing for compliments! You’re good and you know it. I will keep asking until I break you.’

‘Like you’ve been trying to do the whole time you’ve been here?’ He gestures at his ankle.

‘Mishaps,’ I say, with a wave of the hand. ‘Anyway, stop avoiding the subject. Will you paint the mural for me?’

‘Nope.’

I exhale, walking back towards my shop. If he is hoping that I’ll beg for his help, he’ll be waiting for a very long time.

What would Granny have called someone stubborn?Thrawn.

I call it being an arsehole.

7

Slapping on the factor thirty suncream before an early evening walk makes me realize that high summer in Ullapool has crept in while I’ve been working behind closed doors.

The mornings usually start off dry but overcast, and as the day progresses, the sun starts to break through the fluffy white clouds. By the time evening lands, the whole village basks in sunshine along the shoreline where the ferries go out to the Outer Hebrides. Children cycle along the streets, just as I did when I was younger. I’d barely been able to ride when I first arrived here as a child, but Granny borrowed a bike for me. I was a pro by the end of my first summer, whizzing around the grassy fields and streets near her house, and growing in confidence with every turn of the pedals.

I can still picture the faces of the other kids. The endless stream of boys who’d jeer at us from their bikes. I think of how few young people there are in the village now. Those kids must have all grown up and left. Just like Rory’s siblings. More than likely he and some of his brothers were part of that faceless gaggle of boys I was afraid of.

There was one boy, though, I remember more clearly: Mackie. A self-proclaimed geek who vowed to travel the globe once he’d had his braces taken off and had laser eye surgery to correct his vision. I’d loved chatting to Mackie, who was less intimidating than the rest of the lads. He’d been sointeresting, and interested. In our shy childish way, we spoke of the places we wanted to go. Me, I wanted to come here, to Ullapool. He wanted nothing more than to leave.

I told Macy about him when I returned home after the second summer, after we’d developed a secret handshake. She teased me that I’d landed my first boyfriend, which instantly shut me up. Mackie wasnotmy boyfriend. My cheeks flushed at the accusation. I had seen him the following year, and all those after until Granny passed away. We’d slip back into light conversation about our studies and his travel plans. He wanted to backpack as soon as he finished school, which I’d never even considered, though it sounded amazing. I told him my plans to study marketing and move to London, like my parents wanted, before I made my millions and could see more of the world. Looking back, I can admit that I had a bit of a crush on him, as nerdy and lanky as he was. I looked forward to seeing him every year, but nothing ever came of it. He was far too awkward for anything like that. And then, I didn’t return. He’s probably long gone by now, off travelling the world like he always wanted.

As I walk along the pebbled beach, I scan the ground for a good skimmer. It’s just like when I was a teenager. I can picture us lined up along the seafront, lukewarm cans of cider clasped in our hands. We’d spend hours trying to get the stone to jump out two, three or even four times. I do it now, too, alongside families who are soaking up some sun before eating their picnics. I breathe in Ullapool’s magic before progressing with my exploration of the surrounding area, captivated by the beauty of the rugged landscape.

Just when I’m most at peace, a thought enters unbidden into my mind. I remember that the only person I’d been sad to leave for my Ullapool summers is the reason I am here now.

Macy.