Page 114 of The Wedding Forecast

‘Do you need time off from the shop to work on it?’

‘No. I don’t have a contract, or anything. There’s no timeframe.’

‘Well, that can be dangerous.’

‘It’s fine. I want to see what happens with The Scam first.’

‘And what about marketing? Are you thinking of going back?’

‘I have no plans to go back.’ This is the only thing in my life I’m certain about. I can’t. I would never write again, I know it in my bones. And my feet have finally adjusted to retail work.

‘Okay. Good. Because you’ve been doing so well and you’re a natural. And I want to float an idea by you.’

‘What’s that?’

‘There’s an opportunity for me to open a second shop, in a great location, with a very reasonable lease. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. And I wanted to see if you were interested in being the manager of the new shop.’

‘Oh. Wow.’

‘It would be full-time, with more responsibility. Higher pay. You’d need to do the ordering, a lot more of the financials. But you’d have the opportunity to really make it your own.’

‘Okay. Wow.’

I need to stop saying wow.

‘What are you thinking?’ Bobbi says, leaning forward a little, which is a lot when we’re so close already.

‘I’m thinking it sounds amazing.’

‘Really? You’ve been happy working here?’

‘I love it.’

‘Because if I commit to this new shop, I’m hoping you can commit to the manager position. For at least a year. Or longer. For as long as you want to have it. I don’t know if you took this job mainly because it allows you flexibility. Or if you were planning to stay that long.’

‘No, I took it because I love books and I love this shop. And I love working with you.’

And it’s true. Every time I walk in, I feel good.

‘Think about it overnight. Or for a few days. I love you, honey, and I think you’re so good at this. I love working with you too. But you’re young. You could be good at anything you want. Live anywhere you want. Go overseas.’ She is giving me a meaningful look. She knows I am talking to Mac, but I’ve been playing it down, saying we just chat occasionally.

‘That’s not in my plans,’ I say.

She stands up, and I do too, and I give her a hug.

‘Thank you,’ I say.

That night, I get into bed early, telling Hayley and Luke I’m going to do some writing. Instead, I reread the email Bobbi sent me, where she’s written up a proper job description for the manager role. It’s very official. Until this moment, I didn’t fully appreciate how relaxed I’ve felt in this job, how freeing it was.

But Bobbi’s right. I love working there. I haven’t dreaded going in to work a single day since starting at the shop. And the opportunity to manage a whole new bookshop, from scratch—I will probably never get that again.

But, another pathetic, snivelly, tiny voice sneaks in. It would also mean staying here longer. I have run through endless fantasies of moving to New York to be with Mac. When I picture myself there, it’s December, it’s snowing, and I’m wrapped up in his bed with him. I’m in that apartment that I fell in love with at first sight. Or it’s spring, and we’re walking around the city together, enjoying the sunshine. It’s autumn, and we’re cosy with coffee and books. We’re ice-skating, we’re in galleries, we’re lying in the park. I’m in the audience watching him on stage. I am imagining happy snapshots of our life. Singular moments of a few minutes at a time. Little fairy tales. I am not picturing me working or the logistics of living there legally or where I am living, exactly, or how I am affording the move, or what it feels like being so far from everyone and everything I know, or what I truly want, for myself, for my future, what I might be giving up. I am just picturing being with him. Slotting into his life, watching him. Making my life about him. Accommodating him. Which is what I was doing all those years with Joel, in a lot of ways.

My head hurts. I have to stop thinking about it all.

Hayley knocks on my door, and climbs into bed beside me.

‘Hey,’ she says.