Aria's Travelling Book Shop Read online

  Tori – the owner of a pop-up Pimm’s van – zigzags her way to us, and I groan under my breath. When Tori approaches, it’s a sign she’s up to something and it’s usually no good. Right now I don’t have the energy for her.

  I can’t find it in me to like Tori. She circulates rumours about people and then denies doing it. According to her, I’m a fraudster on the run (which she believes is why I won’t talk about my past) and Rosie and Max have an open polygamous relationship (hence Tori encourages women to approach Max!) when they have nothing of the sort. Why she does it is beyond me but if she can stir the pot, she will, by god. It’s all so unnecessary and immature. We’re a mixed bunch of apples so there’s always bound to be a few rotten ones, but Tori is poisonous right down to the core.

  I narrow my eyes, steeling myself for whatever ploy is afoot. With one hand on her hip, diva-style, Tori blurts, ‘This party is turning into a sob-fest; time to lighten the mood! We don’t want our last hurrah to end like this.’ As she talks she stabs the air with a cordless microphone to make her point. ‘So, who’s going to sing karaoke, inspire the masses?’

  Beside me, Rosie stiffens. The limelight is not her thing – despite the amount of liquid courage she’s consumed.

  ‘Why don’t you get up there?’ I ask, knowing it’s futile. Tori’s concocted some crazy plan and we won’t hear the end of it unless she gets her way. I’ve managed to avoid her most of the route but I guess tonight my luck has run out.

  ‘I totally would,’ she exclaims again in her characteristic screech which is like nails down a chalkboard, ‘but … I’ve got a touch of a cold.’ Her eyes dart all over the place. ‘I’m too nasally with it or I would be the first one up there.’

  Rosie scoffs. ‘Yeah, right.’

  I cast my gaze around one last time and still can’t see Jonathan so I say, ‘Fine, give me the microphone,’ and shake my head ruefully. In truth I’d rather remember our last night together as a happy occasion, and not everyone crying into their wine glasses. And I’m used to hiding behind laughter and pretending life is grand. It’s what I do best. ‘What should I sing?’ I ask Rosie.

  Tori shoos me away. ‘I’ll choose something appropriate, don’t you worry, but make sure it’s a real performance – dance, sing and really rally the troops.’

  Could it be as innocent as all that? ‘Fine.’ It might be the wine, but I feel completely at ease. It’s just singing and swaying to a little music, right? Something we’ve done almost every night around the campfire anyway. I hop up on stage, and wait for the music to start, grateful I chose to wear skinny jeans rather than the short skirt and black tights I’d been toying with, so those below don’t get a flash of anything they shouldn’t.

  Tori gives me a thumbs-up and bellows, ‘Make it count!’

  As soon as the familiar tune starts I want to wring her scrawny little neck. I should’ve known she had some ulterior motive that involved making me look ridiculous. I can’t exact my revenge from up here so I settle with shooting a poisonous look her way.

  She smirks. ‘We had to get their attention, somehow!’

  Jittery, I sway to the opening bars of ‘Pony’ by Ginuwine while desperately wondering how I can dance to it without looking like I’ve come straight from the strip club. A chair appears and I burst out laughing. ‘Is that my prop?’ I ask and the stranger nods, grinning.

  What the hell, I figure I’ll look sillier holding myself tight, so I let go and channel my best inner Channing Tatum and use that chair in the most lascivious of ways. The nomads go wild, they wolf-whistle and clap, their screams drawing a bigger crowd. My heart pounds, and the music thumps. I’m not sure if it’s the way I’m dancing or the eyes on me, but my body feels electrified and I find I’m actually enjoying it.

  Some of the girls jump on stage with me, and before long I’m totally lost to it, enjoying every single syllable I belt out. I smile even more when I see Tori’s thunderous expression because her plan backfired.

  More people spring up to join in; it seems ‘Pony’ speaks to them on some wild primal level and I’m shoved forward. I stumble and the chair tips over, before I right myself just at the edge of the stage. The show must go on, but the gyrating behind me reaches fever pitch and there’s no stage left and suddenly …

  I’m flying, arms out ready to soar …

  Until reality hits and holy mother of cliff hangers, I’m not flying, I’m falling! As the ground comes screaming into view, I let out a yelp and brace for a hard landing. I scrunch my eyes closed and hear the softest of oomphs as I land, not on the parquetry, but into the pillowy bed of someone’s outstretched arms. I peel an eye open – the man holding me is none other than Jonathan!

  ‘Is this heaven?’ Maybe I hit my head on the way down and this is a prelude to the pearly gates?

  He laughs, exposing his shiny white teeth, like he’s the hero in my very own romance novel. Of course. ‘It’s so lovely to see you again, Aria.’ His voice is like velvet.

  I can feel the strength in his arms as he cradles me. Exhilaration sends a shock down my spine, a sensation I haven’t felt in such a long time, it stuns me quiet. He stares so deeply into my eyes the noisy room falls silent and all I can see is him. My very own hero sent to save me from an untimely fall, just like in the books.

  He lifts a brow ever so slightly and somehow I sense it’s an invitation to kiss him, so I don’t overthink it – I just follow my heart. I press my lips against his and let every delicious sensation wash over me. It’s electrifying, as if I’ve been zapped back to life after a long slumber. We kiss as if we’re the last two people on earth. It’s everything I imagined it would be and I’m only disappointed by how woozy I am. Is it him, the fall, or the wine making me feel such a way? Really, I should be more … The thought floats away as our kiss deepens. He’s stealing the breath from my lungs in the most enchanting way but worry pushes at the edge of my subconscious which I duly ignore, instead revelling in the touch of his lips against mine. When our lips finally part, the room spins and I’m quite lost for words. I double blink, as the noise slowly returns and the spell is broken by people jostling past.

  Woozy, I see Tori glaring at me, revenge written all over her face. I still haven’t forgotten she chose ‘Pony’ of all songs for me to ‘rally the troops’ with, thus practically making me catapult off the stage and into the arms of this delectable hottie – evil thing she is!

  ‘Jog on,’ I say to her. ‘Before I blurt out that secret you shared not so long ago.’ I arch a brow and try to look fierce.

  Her eyes widen and she says, ‘You wouldn’t!’

  ‘I would!’

  As far as secrets go it’s not very juicy; she’s in love with musician Axel but won’t do a damn thing about it – strange since she’s so keen to meddle in everyone else’s life.

  With one last withering glare at me, she taps Jonathan’s shoulder and says, ‘Don’t listen to a word she says, Aria suffers from liarbetes …’ With a cat-who-got-the-cream smile, she saunters away and if I wasn’t bound by Jonathan’s strong arms, I probably would have given her a word walloping. What is her problem with me?

  ‘Did she say …?’

  ‘Sorry,’ I say as all reason falls away and I picture myself the heroine and Jonathan the gorgeous hero. He did just save me from all manner of broken bones and bruises. I realize he’s still cradling me in his arms – he must have the strength of ten thousand men!

  ‘Why are you sorry?’ He probably thinks I’m regretting the kiss.

  I can’t remember why. ‘You can put me down if you want?’

  ‘Do you want me to?’

  Yes. No. I don’t know.

  His deep blue unfathomable eyes mesmerize me. I could get lost in them but that niggle is still trying to break through the haze. Rosie’s been onto me about opening my heart – as if it’s as simple as putting a key to a lock. And staring into Jonathan’s twinkling eyes, I wonder why I haven’t even tried? There’s a good reason, but it’s ephemeral,
whisper-thin and just out of my grasp – I must be punch drunk, or love drunk or maybe just drunk drunk?

  Rosie wanders over, her skirt swishing. When she sees us she lets out a gasp, a sharp odd sound. She gives me a look I can’t decipher, but I gather I’m acting strangely, still being held aloft in his arms like he’s just rescued me from a burning building or something, so I wiggle my way out, still feeling wobbly. This whole scenario has bad choices written all over it.

  ‘I fell,’ I say, my voice too loud. ‘Off the stage. Jonathan caught me or else … I’d have been seriously injured. Possibly dead, in a very bloody gory way.’ I picture CSI chalking the outline of my body and know a gruesome picture will distract Rosie. She’s always picturing her imminent death.

  ‘I’m glad you’re alive,’ she says. ‘I’m ah … going to find Max. Back soon.’ She flounces off but not before acting out a bunch of dramatic charades meant to imply what the hell is happening, I leave you for two minutes! or thereabouts.

  Jonathan and I stand close and silence descends. I can’t form words; I can’t even think of any. My mind scrambles with the inane, but I don’t want to look completely socially inept. Well, more than I already do, that is. ‘It’s cold outside.’ Way to go, Aria! ‘What I mean to say is, we’re having a cold snap.’ Brilliant! ‘But it’s warm in here.’

  He grins and it lights up his lovely face. ‘Spring in the UK, eh?’ He’s teasing me. Of course it’s spring, and of course it’s cold. We’re bloody well in England.

  ‘Quite.’

  He saves another painful silence by saying, ‘Are you staying in London for a while?’

  I shake my head. ‘No, not for long. France is next for us.’ Surprise lights up his eyes, but it’s not like France is the edge of the earth, is it? ‘This is our goodbye party. What about you? Do you live in London?’

  What do I really know about the man? Could I have been so selfish I didn’t ask him a single question back then? As I recall we got very animated about books, and I know I can lose days when that happens, literally days, but we didn’t delve much past that.

  ‘No, I live in St Albans. I came to London for a meeting.’

  ‘A meeting for what?’

  He doesn’t get to respond as the room darkens and that can only mean one thing. Max. He’s big enough to block out the light. ‘Jon, my man!’ He takes his hand and does that macho, fist pump thing, and I internally cringe thinking he’s going to break every bone in poor Jonathan’s hand. ‘What brings you to the Squeaky Pig?’

  ‘I had a meeting near London Bridge. Got the shock of my life when Aria literally fell into my arms. What timing, eh?’

  ‘You fell into his arms?’ Max doesn’t hide his surprise.

  ‘I was pushed.’

  Max shrugs. ‘Let me get you a beer,’ he says to Jonathan and then does the big, manly backslapping thing.

  Can he not just use his words to communicate? As much as I like Max, we bicker like warring siblings half the time. He’s an enigma and I’m still figuring him out but one thing I adore about him is his love for Rosie and the way he treats her like she’s a goddess come to life.

  ‘So, your meeting was for—’

  Rosie interrupts as she walks back over. ‘It’s so lovely to see you again, Jonathan!’

  I roll my eyes. ‘So I was just asking Jonathan—’

  ‘Here, my main man.’ Max hands Jonathan a beer. ‘Get that down you. Looks like you’ve had a long day.’ I’m never going to get an answer and suddenly I find the whole situation hilarious.

  I give up and listen to my friends instead. They met Jonathan that same evening way back when, and it was a raging success. That night raced by and before we knew it, it was over. As the best things always are.

  And here we are now. I do love the fact that Max acts as though it’s totally natural to run into Jonathan again whereas for me it’s feels like I’ve been struck by lightning.

  Though, I suppose Max hasn’t been thinking about him off and on like I have. Jonathan and I made a connection back then and I haven’t forgotten him no matter how hard I’ve tried to.

  Max pulls Jonathan away to introduce to him to someone and Rosie takes that as her cue to grill me.

  ‘Did I see you kissing him?’

  I let out an awkward laugh. ‘He stared into my eyes like we were long-lost soul mates and I just reacted. Wow, that boy sure knows how to kiss. This is going to sound ridiculous but it gave me the strangest feeling, as if I’ve been in a daydream for years and suddenly with his lips against mine … I’m awake again.’ I touch a finger to my lips, remembering the sensation.

  ‘Wow, that’s great, Aria. That’s really great. Great.’

  ‘Why are you saying it like that?’

  She blinks. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Great. Great, great, great.’

  She hugs herself and says, ‘It’s just that you were so adamant you’d never fall in love again. I think this shows real courage.’ Her eyes go glassy. Poor Rosie has been secretly worried about me and my spinster status more than her jokes have let on.

  ‘Are you crying?’ I ask. Rosie doesn’t do tears. Especially not in front of people if she can help it.

  ‘A little. You guys just look so perfect together. Like a couple on the cover of one of your romances. Except he has his shirt on.’

  ‘That’s very sweet, but I’m not falling in love.’ I remember my husband TJ’s sweet face, his big laugh. I remember my promise and I curse white wine and its bad-choice-making qualities from here to kingdom come. That was the god damn niggle!

  I forgot about my own bloody husband!

  My gut roils with my betrayal but I try to remain cool. ‘It’s nice to know that my heart isn’t frozen over, but nothing can happen with Jonathan.’

  Time to run. Time to change the subject swift as anything.

  ‘And stupid Tori said I had liarbetes while insinuating that I liked him, and as you know I most certainly do not have liarbetes …’

  A frown appears. ‘She said you had liarbetes?’

  ‘Because her plan backfired. And then I got distracted and now I’m confused and I need to leave.’

  Rosie tuts. ‘Come on, Aria. You’re the one always looking for signs and here’s a big, fat, flashing neon one. It’s Jonathan, in the flesh! Jonathan! A man who you admitted made your heart flutter and then he was gone and you didn’t swap numbers or contact details, and he just so happens to visit this bar and save you from untimely death falling from a stage … I mean you’ve got to admit this is even better than any of your romance novels because it’s real!’

  She’s so animated my heart tugs, even if she is being far too loud. ‘So?’ I’d have never confided all that to her if I thought I’d see him again. And if anything, the chemistry we had before has ramped up a notch. If I didn’t have any baggage, I’d still be in his arms now.

  ‘So …?’ Her eyebrows pull together. ‘So what now? What happens in chapter two?’

  I shake my head. ‘Now I depart back to the Little Bookshop of Happy Ever After, make a steaming pot of tea that will hopefully ease tomorrow’s enormous hangover and then I sleep like a log.’

  Her mouth falls open. ‘You won’t even exchange numbers with a guy who previously spent almost twenty-four hours in your company listening to you talk about romcoms like they were the most fascinating thing on earth?’

  ‘You can stop with all the emphasis because romcoms are the most fascinating thing on earth.’

  She tuts. ‘You know what I mean.’

  I consider Jonathan as he stands off in the distance with Max. ‘Last year he really did seem enthralled about the many nuances of romance tropes and the paths to happy ever after.’ It’s not often you find a guy like that, is it?

  We sip our wine thoughtfully as we study him and once again confusion bubbles up to meet me.

  ‘He’s lovely in a very bookish sort of way,’ Rosie says.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  Gesturing around t
he room she says, ‘Well, he’s so different to all the other guys here, isn’t he?’

  Jonathan stands out among my nomadic friends, dressed in what looks to be high-end clothes, not as shabby as the rest of us who live in tiny spaces and don’t own a lot of anything because there isn’t room. But it’s more than that – he gives of an air of being slightly aloof and lost in thought that makes him instantly fascinating.

  ‘He looks like an accountant,’ I say. ‘That’s what you mean, isn’t it?’ Hide behind humour, isn’t that the way?

  We fall about laughing because he most certainly doesn’t look like an accountant. ‘I bet he’s a creative of some sort,’ I muse, agreeing with Rosie’s earlier description. ‘It’s the way he listens, as if committing things to memory. And those eyes, those deep reflective pools, hold a sort of sadness, an angst. He gives off the vibe that he’s a little lost among so many people, don’t you think?’ I recognize that trait because I am the same except I can put on an act that will fool even the most discerning.

  ‘Wow, Aria, is that all?’

  I blush. ‘Well, I guess I prefer the types who fly under the radar rather than ones who spectacularly announce themselves.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah I can see that. But what does he do?’ she asks.

  I think back.

  ‘I don’t think he mentioned it.’

  ‘He’s got a Kit Harington vibe, right?’ she says, surveying him.

  ‘So now we’ve got Jason and Kit? How lucky are we!’ I laugh. When we first met Max I was convinced he was Jason Mamoa, the big hulking star from Game of Thrones. I put the question to Rosie but she’d never heard of such a beast. I soon fixed that by making her binge watch GOT and even she admitted the resemblance was uncanny. Now I look to Jonathan and see if she’s right about the Kit thing. She is – it’s the broody eyes and the sensual pout.

  I double blink myself back to reality. Leave, Aria, before you regret it.

  With a deep sigh I say, ‘He’s too lovely for the likes of me. I’ll just end up hurting the poor guy when I decide this is all a mistake. Which it is.’ I kiss Rosie’s cheek. ‘I’m going to head off. I’m too wobbly to make any sense of anything.’