Page 41 of The Breakup Bookshop

‘Keep watching, this is golden,’ he says in a low voice.

‘So, no more Lewis? Or, I mean, whatever his name was,’ Finlay says, waving his hand around and almost knocking Donna’s Prosecco out her hand. ‘Sorry. I’m sure you said his name was Lewis. I remember because I thought of Lewis Hamilton, the racing driver. And the Isle of Lewis, of course. Which is stunning this time of year.’

‘No more Lewis,’ Donna confirms, flicking the edge of the false nail on her finger. ‘What about Keira Stanley? Are you two still…’

Finlay shakes his head firmly. ‘Oh, no. That wasn’t anything to write home about. Finito. I don’t mean that, it’s just… we only went on a couple of dates. Dogging. Oh, God, notdogging, in that way, I mean we went on a few doggy dates. She has a dalmatian. Gorgeous dog. But not any more. Well, the dog is still alive, I mean…’

Rory attempts to muffle his laughter. Finlay’s face is crimson by the time he finally finishes spitting out what he’s trying to say, but Donna just chimes in with her beautiful laugh.

‘Good,’ she says after she’s recovered. ‘That she has a nice dog, I mean. I love my Bonnie, so I’m glad that other people have that in their lives. Anyway, I’d best…’

‘Yes, I’d better…’

‘Okay then.’

They each try to move around the other, but keep choosing the same way, somehow managing to lightly headbutt each other. They cringe in unison. Finlay stands still so Donna can make her way towards us.

She downs her fizz, her cheeks aflame, and blows her hair out of her face. ‘Ava, hello, you told me to let you know when it was seven o’clock for your speech. So, here I am, your walking alarm clock.’

‘Erm, what was that?’ I ask her.

‘What?’

‘You and Finlay. It’s all so… strange. The tension – or whatever you’d call it – is off the scale.’

‘There’s no tension,’ she protests. ‘Why would there be tension?’

Rory smirks. ‘Why, indeed?’

I check my watch. ‘Okay, thank you, it’s speech time. I’ll ask Richard to say something first. At least that’ll release him from Margaret’s grasp.’

I tap Richard on the shoulder as Margaret throws me a look of disdain. First Rory, now I’m stealing Richard. ‘I’m so sorry to interrupt. Richard, would you mind saying a few words now? I’ll introduce you.’

‘Certainly. It was lovely to meet you.’ Richard nods to Margaret before following me to the till area.

My palms are sweating as I call for everyone’s attention. Butterflies parade around my stomach.

As I look around the room, there is a sea of familiar faces. But my heart pounds all the same as I catch sight of Eilidh, Pete, Donna, Finlay, Fiona and the rest of the villagers I’ve come to know these past two months. And Rory. Rory, holding a glass of Prosecco that he tastes before making a face. He lifts up his glass as he catches my eye. He nods with something that could be mistaken for encouragement.

I can do this.

‘Thank you, everyone, for coming and supporting the launch of The Next Chapter bookshop,’ I say, gazing around the room.

‘Hooray!’ Donna whoops.

The room erupts into a mixture of laughter and applause. Looking around the bookshop at the eager faces, I feel the waves of support. I wet my lips, which feel like they’ve turned to sandpaper.

‘I’d like to thank the amazing Richard J. Walker for coming along to support the launch and am now going to invite him to say a few words. Richard, the stage is yours!’

I step back. Everyone applauds as Richard steps forward, looking slightly bemused at my abrupt introduction. He looks much more handsome than the author headshot from his novels. He is in his mid-forties, remarkably tall, with thick, wavy brown hair, warm, deep-brown eyes and a genuine smile that lights up the room.

Margaret swoons as his eyes sweep the room. In fact, everyone looks at Richard a little dreamily, even Pete. I wonder how many of them have read his latest novel, with several in-depth, gruesome descriptions of severed body parts. It’s difficult to look someone in the eye when you know they could be considering you as their future fictional victim. But he could be anywhere right now, and he is here in Ullapool, standing inmybookshop. And while all eyes are on him, he only has eyes for one person. He talks about the importance of reading and bookshops for all people, especially small, rural communities like ours, and wishes The Next Chapter bookshop every success in the future. All the while, his gaze keeps drifting back to Eilidh. I wonder if his next book might be about the one that got away.

‘So, I’ll pass you back over to The Next Chapter’s owner, Ava Campbell!’

I almost jump at the sound of my own name, as I smile and thank Richard, pulling my notes from the counter. What the hell am I supposed to say? My hands shake. I meant to rehearse this speech last night, but it didn’t happen, thanks to the flooding in the shop. I clear my throat and look around, muttering a thank you to everyone for coming.

My heart pounds. The Next Chapter is finally here, my next chapter is starting. A new beginning. My eyes land on the bright yellow dresser, with Granny’s recipes displayed all around it. It feels like she is here, celebrating with me. I close my eyes, just for a moment, and offer up a moment of thanks to my wonderful granny, who welcomed me to Ullapool with open arms and made me feel like finally I had a home. The whole room is still as I open my eyes again.