The Secret Christmas Bookshop (The Secret Bookshop #1)

Chapter Twenty-One

A s they headed in the direction of Sophie’s flat, Harry told her the background to the empty sweet shop. ‘Delores, who ran it for twenty-five years, ended up running off to Italy with a man thirty years younger than her. I was in London when she absconded, but it was a big enough scandal that I heard about it through Dad’s carer, and his care home was five miles outside Mistingham.’

‘I wish I’d met Delores,’ Sophie said. ‘She sounds like a proper character. Fiona said she was thin as a rake – if I worked in a sweet shop, I’d eat at least a pound of sugar a day.’

‘She probably got sick of it. I wish she’d got sick of the bloody e’s in the name, too.’

‘If you were Simon, would you get sick of fish and chips?’

Harry was silent for a moment, then said, ‘I don’t think that’s possible.’

They carried the bags of craft materials up to Sophie’s flat, the tension sparking between them once they were inside, just metres from her bedroom. She took a step towards him, saw the moment his breath stalled, but then he grabbed her hand and led her down the stairs, to where Batter Days was waiting.

‘Jason told me you were out and about,’ Simon said, when they walked into the warm shop, the air thick with the scent of fried chips and the sharp tang of vinegar.

‘You make it sound like I’ve been in a coma,’ Harry said with a smile.

Simon laughed nervously. ‘I just meant that it’s great to see you.’

‘I knew what you meant,’ Harry grinned. ‘It’s good to see you too. I’m giving Sophie the full Mistingham experience, and we’re starting with your fish and chips.’

Simon looked mystified. ‘Haven’t you been here nearly a year, Sophie?’

‘I have,’ she said, smiling.

‘And you live right above here.’ He pointed to the ceiling.

‘Everyone needs an evening at the seaside now and then.’ Harry rested his forearms on the glass counter.

‘A cold, misty evening in December?’ Simon shovelled chips into cardboard trays, selected crispy pieces of cod and placed them on top.

‘Mistingham’s great all year round,’ Harry said mildly. ‘You know that, Simon.’

‘Of course! I just—’

‘Ignore him.’ Sophie squeezed Harry’s arm. ‘He’s teasing you, which I know is an unlikely prospect, but—’

‘Hey,’ Harry said with a laugh. ‘Sorry, Simon – she’s right. Ignore me.’

‘Oh no, that’s fine,’ Simon said. ‘Do you want salt? Vinegar?’

They both answered in the affirmative.

‘Shall we eat these in my flat?’ Sophie asked, once Harry had paid, they’d thanked a bewildered Simon and were back outside.

‘That’s not what we’d do if we were visiting Mistingham for a perfect evening out.’

‘Where, then? I don’t think the village hall is open.’

‘The sea wall,’ Harry said.

‘It’ll be freezing!’

‘We’ll huddle together for warmth.’ He was undeterred, and Sophie could do nothing but follow him.

She hadn’t seen anything more befitting a ghost story than Mistingham seafront shrouded in fog. The waves beat their steady rhythm against the sand, and through the dense swirls she could see the white foam of the breakers, luminous against the impenetrable black water. Along the promenade, the streetlights were quaintly old-fashioned, like something out of a Dickens novel.

‘Here.’ Harry patted the concrete wall, then winced.

‘Is it as cold as it looks?’

‘You can sit on my coat.’ He started to take it off, and Sophie put a hand on his shoulder.

‘We’ll soon warm up.’ She sat down, and the cold seeped instantly through her jeans. Harry sat next to her, and she felt, rather than heard, him sigh.

‘I have a sneaking suspicion that this was a stupid idea.’

‘Not true.’ Sophie unwrapped the parcels from Batter Days and handed him one, along with a wooden fork. ‘Fish and chips is never a bad idea.’ She bit into the first chip, and it was delicious. A slight crunch on the outside, fluffy in the middle, the sharpness of the vinegar that went so well with the salt-fresh air, the heat of the parcel on her knees contrasting with the cold of their chosen pew. ‘This is … actually perfect.’ She laughed.

‘It is?’

‘It’s delicious,’ Sophie said. ‘And I look out of my window at the nothingness of the sea when it’s dark, but it’s so different being right next to it.’

‘From my bedroom windows, I can see lights on the horizon – fishing trawlers or container ships – and I wonder what it would be like to be out there, in the middle of somewhere so vast and unknowable, so dark. How aren’t they terrified?’

‘I have no idea,’ Sophie said. ‘Do you sit on your window seat a lot?’

‘The one at the top of the stairs?’

She nodded.

‘I only put that in a few weeks ago. The window needed a clean, and it’s got such a good view. It was crying out for a bench.’

‘What will you do with it?’

‘What, the window seat?’

Sophie tore a chunk off her fish and bit into it, delighting in the crunchy batter. ‘The manor,’ she said once she’d finished chewing. ‘When you’ve fixed it all, made it beautiful again. Are you just going to live in it, you and May and the dogs?’

Harry’s laugh sounded tired. ‘May can stay as long as she likes, and I’m dedicated now to making it shine again. Too many old buildings fall into ruin, or get turned into fancy hotels with the soul stripped out of them. Dad loved the manor – Mum too, when she was alive – and I’m glad I was able to save it. But I know we’re fuelling the rumours: May’s a good friend, but everyone thinks it’s a strange set-up.’

‘So … what? You’d like a family?’

Harry didn’t say anything for such a long time, Sophie thought she’d gone too far. ‘I’d love a family,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m forty-two now, and I don’t necessarily want children. But … love.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Soph.’ Her name was a sigh, and she felt a sharp twinge in her gut, remembering how May had counted Harry among the lonely people in the village.

‘Did you ever have someone, in London?’ she asked.

‘I had several someones.’ He gave her a small smile. ‘There was one, Maya, who I thought, at the time, I would be with for ever, but things didn’t work out. What about you?’

‘I was with someone – Trent – for two years when I lived in Bristol.’

‘Things didn’t work out for you, either?’

‘They didn’t.’ Sophie speared another chip. ‘But …’

‘What happened?’ Harry asked gently.

She chewed slowly, buying herself time. ‘I couldn’t commit to him as much as he wanted me to,’ she admitted. ‘Two years into our relationship, I was still reluctant to move in with him. I had a toothbrush at his, a few clothes, but that was it. I needed my own space.’

‘That’s understandable, though.’ Harry’s voice was soft, hesitant, and Sophie wondered if he really believed that.

‘He also said my job was … weak. Making and selling notebooks wasn’t future-proof, wasn’t a solid enough career . And I know on some level he was right, because until Mistingham and Fiona’s concession stand, I’ve always had to supplement it with other things.’

Harry frowned. ‘But you love it: you’ve made it work, and what’s wrong with supplementing your passion so you can keep doing it? It’s much better that way, than giving your whole self up to something soulless and abandoning what you care about.’

‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’ Sophie’s whole body warmed as she realized how much he understood her. ‘And I do want to work harder on building a brand, but …’ She stopped, because the struggles she’d had were all of her own making: it was hard to build something without stable foundations, and she was the one who kept destroying them. ‘Anyway.’ She forced a laugh. ‘Isn’t this supposed to be our perfect night at the seaside? Why are we talking about this stuff?’

‘You’re right,’ Harry said. ‘Nearly finished?’

‘Nearly.’ The fish and chips had gone down easily.

‘Excellent. Want to paddle?’ He stood up and gestured to the dark sea.

‘You’re not serious.’

Harry didn’t reply, just held out his hand.

It was, without a doubt, a stupid idea, but it was also Harry. And, Sophie realized, as she grabbed the empty wrappers and pushed them into a bin along the wall before running back to join him, she really wanted to be a little bit stupid with Harry.

‘Holy shitting shit, that’s freezing!’ Five minutes later, Harry was in the shallows, his boots off and his jeans rolled up, acting like he was walking on coals. The tide was coming in, and they had picked a section of the beach with solid steps down to the sand, a streetlight providing a weak glimmer of light that, despite the fog, just about reached them. Sophie had made Harry promise not to go in deeper than calf-height, but seeing his reaction she didn’t think she needed to worry about them drowning.

‘Get out then,’ she said with a laugh.

‘I can’t get out until you’ve come in.’

Sophie pulled off her boot, hovering on one foot so she didn’t put her sock on the damp sand, then pulled that off too. Even the sand was cold, and she grimaced. ‘We could just say we’ve done it.’

‘Nope.’ Harry was adamant. ‘Come here.’ He held out his hands again, and Sophie caught her breath. He was so commanding, standing in the shadows, with the black gulf of the sea behind him. He was Poseidon luring her into the waves, and the problem was, she would go gladly.

She took her other boot off, pushed the sock inside it then tiptoed towards him, her eyes on the lapping water.

‘Here, Soph.’ Harry took her hands. His skin was warm and, a second later, her feet were ice. She sucked in a breath at the contrast. ‘OK?’ he asked.

Sophie met his gaze. ‘It’s not as bad as your stupid lake,’ she said.

Harry laughed, the sound loud on the empty beach, then he pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her, letting her nestle against his chest. She could feel her feet turning blue, perhaps preparing to drop off, but as for the rest of her – well, she didn’t really want to move at all.

‘What’s your score again?’

The paddling hadn’t lasted long, despite Sophie’s reluctance to leave Harry’s arms, and they had soon pulled their socks back onto damp feet, relaced their boots and left the dark beach behind.

Now they were back in Penny For Them, Sophie relishing the warmth even though the doors remained open, and they were standing next to Whack-A-Crab, Harry hefting the foam hammer like he was about to knock in several hundred fence posts.

‘Thirty-six,’ she said. ‘You think you can beat it, even though all our extremities have been numbed by the North Sea?’

He laughed. ‘It’s my toes that I can’t feel, not my fingers. Ready?’

‘Oh, I am so ready.’ Sophie folded her arms as Harry put a pound coin in the slot and pressed the Start button. A cartoon soundtrack burst into life and, a moment later, one of the beady-eyed crabs popped its plastic head out of its hole, and Harry brought the hammer down with a whack . Sophie grinned and settled in to watch.

He was, upsettingly, really good, and nothing like the furious attack dog she’d expected. He was calm and methodical, wielding the toy hammer with precision rather than force. She was tempted to distract him, considered sliding her hand into the back pocket of his jeans, but she wanted a fair fight. The music soon came to an end, and his score flashed up on the display: 33.

‘You beat your top score,’ Sophie said, as he tipped his head back and groaned.

‘I haven’t beaten you , though. Three behind, still.’ He held out the hammer. ‘Go on. See if you can do even more damage.’

‘I’m a little rusty,’ she said, wrapping her fingers around the handle.

‘Starting with the excuses already.’ His voice was silky, and when she met his gaze, her stomach flipped.

‘Don’t distract me.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ He made a big show of stepping back.

But it was too late. As he put in another coin and the music started up again, all she could think about was his low voice and how safe she’d felt tucked up against him on the beach; the moment she’d realized, as he had stood in front of her, chest bared in his bedroom, that he was going to kiss her; the taste of his lips against hers, and how she’d felt the liquid heat of it everywhere. The crabs popped up and she went for them, often a fraction too late, sometimes swinging wide so she didn’t get that satisfying squeak as she hit one squarely on the head.

All too soon the music came to an end, and her paltry score flashed up: 18.

‘What happened?’ Harry sounded mystified rather than smug.

Sophie let the hammer drop. ‘You distracted me.’

‘I didn’t.’ He held his hands up.

‘You’re always distracting me,’ she admitted. ‘You’re a very distracting person, Harry Anderly.’

‘Hey.’ He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him, so they were only inches apart. ‘You’re not exactly forgettable, yourself.’ Then he was kissing her, his fingers lightly grazing her jawline, setting off a tingle that sparked through her entire body. He tasted of vinegar, his skin smelled like the dark, unknowable sea, and in this garish place with its flashing lights and victory noises, Sophie lost herself in him.

She trailed her fingers through his hair, feeling how soft the strands were. He anchored her to him with a hand against her lower back, and Sophie almost moaned at the feel of their hips pressed together, how he managed to be firm and gentle all at once. A sound penetrated through her fog of desire, the door banging hard against the wall and then flapping closed, and Harry broke away and looked towards it.

‘The wind’s getting up.’

‘Maybe it’s time to call it a night.’

‘I’ll walk you back to yours.’ He took her hand and led her to the exit.

‘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 walking anywhere wasn’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 be the 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.’

‘ If you 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 you would stay – 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.’

‘You went paddling ?’ May sounded horrified. ‘Are you mad?’

‘Very likely,’ Harry admitted. ‘We survived though. Fancy a nightcap?’

‘Perfect.’ May smiled. ‘If you’re sure it’s OK for me to—’

‘We’d love you to,’ Sophie said, at the same time as Harry said, ‘Of course.’

The dogs and Felix followed them into Harry’s study, and Sophie wondered if his goat was a permanent indoor resident now.

There was a sideboard over by the chess set, and Harry poured brandy into three glasses. May hurried to the far corner of the room, where the bookshelves reached up to the ceiling, and Sophie heard a loud click. The light in the room softened, as if she’d turned off a lamp hidden amongst the shelves.

‘Have the bookshelves got inbuilt lighting?’ she asked, as May pulled Harry’s desk chair over to join the armchairs by the fire.

‘What? Oh no,’ May said with a laugh. ‘Nothing that fancy. I borrowed one of Harry’s books – The Last Remains by Elly Griffiths – and wanted to make sure I’d put it back.’

‘Not everyone’s happy lending out their books so freely,’ Sophie said. She got the sense that May looked after Harry in a lot of small, almost invisible ways. She didn’t want to feel envious, because Harry had assured her they were just friends, but somehow she couldn’t quite get rid of that little green goblin.

‘Here we go.’ Harry handed out three generous glasses of brandy, then dropped into one of the chairs.

‘Thank you.’ Sophie stretched her leg out and nudged Felix’s fluffy bum. The goat bleated, but stayed focused on the flames. ‘That’s a strange-looking dog,’ she said.

‘Oh, he’s completely given up,’ May said with a grin. ‘Harry’s not the Dark Demon Lord of Mistingham – Felix is.’

‘It’s cold outside,’ Harry grumbled. ‘He doesn’t understand why he’s not treated the same as Darkness and Terror, so I decided he didn’t have to be. He comes outside with us, does his business when they do.’

‘I have never met anyone so defensively besotted about a pet goat.’

‘He’ll be taking Felix to bed with him next,’ May said.

‘That is not the plan.’ Harry’s gaze was fixed on the fire, and Sophie shivered. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him what, exactly, the plan was. ‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘why are you two ganging up on me?’

‘Because it’s fun,’ May said.

‘It’s like poking a bear who’s getting softer by the minute,’ Sophie added with a grin.

‘Getting softer?’ Harry sounded outraged. ‘Not a chance.’

Sophie pointed at Felix and raised her eyebrow.

Harry lifted his glass to his mouth, but she saw him smile behind it, and her stomach flipped.

‘Right.’ May drained her drink. ‘I’m pooped after a long shift of remote technical support, telling people to turn their devices off and then on again, so I’m heading to bed. Sophie, it was great to see you.’

‘You too.’

‘Night both.’ She took her empty glass and stepped into the hall, closing the door quietly behind her.

Sophie could feel her cheeks warming, drowsiness creeping over her after the cold night air, the shock of the icy water earlier followed by the ferocious warmth of the fire.

‘I should show you to your room,’ Harry said quietly.

‘What?’ She sat up straighter. ‘No, I’m fine. I …’ She noticed how everything about him was softer in the fireside glow; his skin and hair tinged with gold, his posture in the armchair relaxed. The only thing that was sharp was his gaze, his intense focus leaving her no room to hide.

‘We should probably go to bed,’ he said, his voice impossibly lower.

‘We should.’ Sophie swallowed.

‘The best spare room is opposite mine.’ He finished his drink and stood up, not taking his eyes off her. ‘It’s got an en suite, and there should be fresh towels.’

‘OK.’ Sophie got to her feet, and they stood, looking at each other while the fire crackled and the silence grew between them.

Then Harry took their glasses and put them on the table. He whistled, and the two dogs and Felix raised their heads. ‘I’ll take them outside before I go up, then I’ll come and check you’ve got everything you need.’

‘Great,’ Sophie said. ‘Thank you.’

He led the way to the door, his pets at Sophie’s feet. In the hall, he pulled on his coat, and she climbed the stairs, able to enjoy the soft carpet now that she wasn’t covered in mud.

When she got to the landing, she hesitated. He’d told her where her room was, but was that really what he wanted? She’d suggested the spare room and Harry, being considerate, hadn’t questioned it. She went to the beautiful window seat under the arched window and sank onto the soft cushion, the moonlight fractured through the tree branches outside, her heart in her throat while she waited.

Ten minutes later she heard the front door click open, the sound of clawed feet and hooves tapping on the tiles, Harry’s low murmur as he said goodnight to his animals.

Sophie’s pulse pounded as she listened to the soft tread of his footsteps, and she wondered if it was too late to escape into the spare room. But … no. Harry was here, she was here, and—

‘Sophie?’ he said, reaching the top of the stairs. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘Yes, of course. I’m … I’m fine.’

‘Is there something wrong with the room?’

She stood up. ‘There is, actually. One big thing.’

‘Oh?’ She must have let something slip into her voice, because his concern dissolved, and when he stepped closer, an eyebrow raised, it was pure seduction. ‘What might that be?’

She gave him a whisper of a smile. ‘It doesn’t have you in it.’

He bent his head towards hers. ‘I was thinking the same thing about my room,’ he murmured. ‘That it didn’t have you in it. Maybe we can change that.’

‘We could certainly try,’ she said, and closed the gap.

Sophie let herself sink into the kiss, let him wrap her up in his arms until they were pressed together, tasting and touching each other, Harry’s skin still cold from outside. Pulling apart felt impossible, but Harry managed it, only enough to open his bedroom door and lead her inside. He closed it and pressed her up against the wood, continuing their kiss.

He trailed his lips along her jaw and down her throat, and Sophie gasped, the heat at her core unbearable. She slid her leg up, anchoring it around his hip, and he groaned into her mouth.

‘Sophie,’ he murmured. ‘God.’

He leaned back enough to pull her jumper over her head, and she waited for the nerves to overwhelm her, for her thoughts to put a stop to it. But instead they urged her onwards, in tandem with her body, tingling and scorching and desperate. She had been thinking about him, wanting him, for so long, and all she cared about was getting closer.

She slid her hands to the brass button at the waistband of his jeans, and Harry walked backwards, leading her over to the bed. They undressed each other, Sophie’s breath catching when his fingertips grazed the soft skin of her stomach, trailed a silky path up her back.

Then his lips were on hers again, and she slid her hands around his waist, pressing her palms against the warm skin of his back, then lower, down inside the waistband of his boxers. She felt herself turn to liquid, warm and pliable. Everything felt so good: all the places where they touched, the bounce as they landed on his bed, the soft weave of the bedspread luxurious against her bare skin.

The room smelled of sea air and the woody, vanilla scent of his aftershave, as Harry kissed his way across her body, taking his time, exploring every inch of her. Sophie closed her eyes so she could do more feeling, so she could catalogue every sizzling, delicious moment. She couldn’t help wondering why it had taken them so long to reach this point, when it was clearly what they had been destined for all along.