I sat on a bench – the one I used to think of as ‘my bench’ – outside York Minster and closed the book I’d been reading. It was still early and, even bundled up in multiple layers, I was cold.
I hadn’t slept well after Xander Stone’s impromptu visit. Something about him had unnerved me and made me feel as though there was a crack in the armour that I had taken to wearing after Joe, a crack that let a sliver of light in, light I wasn’t sure I was ready to look at. I’d tossed and turned all night thinking about Joe, about the life we’d planned together. What would he think if he could see me now, living in my childhood home, barely leaving the bookshop, being unnerved by the smiles of strange men?
If things had been the other way around, what would Joe be doing now?
I’d first started sitting on this bench with a book just after my dad announced he was leaving to embark upon his bigger life. I’d left the shop, and my parents’ arguments, which I didn’t understand, behind one Saturday afternoon still clutching the book I’d been shelving – a copy of Don Quixote – and walked around the Minster until I’d found the empty bench. With nothing else to do, and not wanting to go back to the shop, I’d sat down and started reading. I couldn’t remember how long I’d sat there on that Saturday afternoon but somehow, after that, the bench became my refuge, the place I went to when I needed to be alone.
I’d been sitting on this very bench reading The Moonstone when I’d first met Joe. It had been a cold day in November, just like this one, and even in my first term of studying English literature I had managed to get behind on my reading list because I’d been prioritising the Christmas romances that Mum had been ordering at the bookshop since the autumn over my university texts. Joe had sat down next to me, asked me what I was reading and if I remembered him.
“Sorry no,” I’d said, a little annoyed at having my quiet time on my bench interrupted. “I’m Megan though.”
“I know,” he’d said. “And I’m Joe.” He’d held out his gloved hand and I’d taken it briefly. “We have a history of art class together.”
He’d smiled as he’d said it and I’d noticed the freckles on his nose and the way the corners of his hazel eyes crinkled. “It’s freezing,” he’d said. “Can I buy you a hot chocolate?”
I’d been surprised and even a little envious of the easy way he’d chatted to a virtual stranger. I’d felt so anxious as he’d been speaking to me, scared of stumbling over my words. I’d spent so much of my teens immersed in the books I’d ‘borrowed’ from the shelves of Taylor’s Bookshop that I’d almost forgotten how to socialise with real people. The weekends had been the highlight of my first term at university – not for the big nights out that everyone else seemed to enjoy, but because I got to escape and to return to the familiar surroundings of the bookshop.
But once Joe had persuaded me to go for a drink with him, once we were stirring marshmallows into our oversized Christmas-themed mugs, I’d felt myself relax in his easy company as we’d talked about books and films (“You’ve Got Mail is my favourite,” he’d said when I told him I’d grown up in a bookshop. “And I don’t care what anyone thinks”) and life at university. He was studying law but, like me, was taking advantage of the opportunity to study other modules in the first year – hence the history of art class.
When he’d asked if he could take me out for dinner on the Saturday night, I’d found myself saying yes without even thinking of an excuse or a reason to refuse.
After that the bench had stopped being ‘my bench’ and had become ‘our bench’ and these days it was where I always came when I wanted to feel close to Joe.
I went back to my book, trying to shake away the painful memories. I’d picked up a copy of The Devil in Winter from the bookshop on my way out. I’d decided to give it another go after Bella had chosen it for book group the previous evening, but I still didn’t think much of Sebastian St Vincent, even though I knew most of the romance reading world would disagree with me. However, despite Sebastian being described as fair with blue eyes, in my head he now had dark brown eyes, perfect cheekbones and a lock of hair that kept falling into his face…
“Hello,” said a gruff voice next to me. I turned around to find a tall, dark-haired man sitting where Joe should be. I hadn’t even noticed him sit down.
“Are you stalking me?” I asked. “Or is it just chance that has you turning up wherever I am?”
“I prefer to think of it as a happy coincidence,” Xander said. He looked far from happy and was staring straight ahead across the Minster precinct, his hands thrust deeply into his coat pockets again. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he said quietly, nodding towards the Minster.
“Something we can agree on,” I replied. “I think it’s the most beautiful building in the world. I always miss it when I’m not here.”
“Is that why you’re sitting here in the freezing cold? Admiring the architecture?”
“Sort of. What’s your excuse?”
“I was coming to see you,” he said, finally turning towards me. He wasn’t smiling this morning, but he was still very good-looking. The watery winter sunlight lit up his face, enhancing the shadows of his cheekbones. “To pick up where we left off last night, as it were.”
“It’s eight-thirty in the morning,” I said. “I told you to come back during opening hours.”
“Well we’re both here now. I’ll come back to the shop with you.” It felt like more of a demand than a request and I wondered why he was so eager to see the shop again, to talk about the event. I remembered that moment the previous night when he’d hesitated, as though he wasn’t as sure of himself as he would have me believe. Did he come across as rude because he was protecting himself from something? And if so, from what?
“Come on then,” I said, standing up reluctantly. “As you’re here.”
I began to walk back to the bookshop. As he walked beside me, instead of asking me what I was reading like a normal person would do – like Joe had done on that first day we met on the bench – he snatched the book from my hand and snorted with derision.
“The Devil in Winter,” he sneered, looking at the cover that depicted a forlorn-looking woman standing in the snow, but at least it wasn’t one of the many romances that depicted a bare-chested duke on the front. I didn’t think I could bear a lecture about objectification in romance novels this early in the morning.
“You might like that one,” I said, snatching the book back. “I think you might discover an affinity with the hero – he’s extremely rude to everyone as well.”
Xander cleared his throat and looked away. “I owe you an apology I think, Ms Taylor,” he said.
“Please stop calling me ‘Ms Taylor’, it’s Megan.”
“Well, Megan, I owe you an apology. I’ll admit that I was rather rude to you in the supermarket yesterday afternoon and I shouldn’t have descended on your bookshop at ten at night demanding to be seen. I probably shouldn’t have interrupted your reading this morning either. Will you see fit to forgive me?”
He spoke in a very formal manner, very like a duke from a historical romance novel in fact, and I couldn’t work out if he was being serious or not.
“I’ll forgive you if you stop waving impatiently at me and saying that my shop is full of clutter.”
He nodded once. “OK,” he said.
“OK,” I replied as we arrived at the bookshop and I led him through the front door and towards the back of the shop, past Colin who was on the early shift and getting the shop ready for opening, and to the space in which we held the book launches. “It’s up to you how we set things up,” I said. “Your agent said you’d be doing a reading and then a Q&A session.”
He nodded again without looking at me.
“And she’ll be asking the questions?”
“That’s what usually happens,” he said flatly. “And then we let the audience ask questions too.” He pulled a face that made me think the last thing he wanted to do was to let the audience ask him anything.
“Then you’ll probably want rows of chairs rather than people standing about,” I said, noticing Colin waving at me from behind Xander’s shoulder. I tried to ignore him.
Colin was only twenty-two but dressed like somebody three times that age – a style that I’d always suspected he thought made him look like a serious academic. He tended to hang around the history or non-fiction sections and categorically refused to help anyone out in the romance section. Missy suspected he was a little bit scared of romance. Today he was wearing a tatty tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbow and, not for the first time, I thought about making the staff wear a uniform.
“Xander Stone?” Colin asked in an awed whisper as he approached.
Xander turned towards him.
“I’m such a huge fan,” Colin gushed, holding out a hand that Xander took rather reluctantly. “I think Boxed is the greatest postmodern novel ever written. In fact, it forms the basis of my master’s dissertation and I was wondering if I could ask some questions…”
“Xander,” I interrupted, noticing a strange look of discomfort on his face at the threat of Colin’s questions. “Can you excuse us for a moment while we get the shop ready for opening?” I looked pointedly at Colin, whose face fell as he realised I wanted him to come with me.
“I genuinely didn’t think you’d pull it off,” Colin said as he followed me towards the till.
“Thanks very much, Colin.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Colin asked. “You’d think he’d be pleased that someone is writing a thesis on his work.”
“I’m not sure,” I replied, glancing back at Xander, who was pacing back and forth. “Maybe just leave him alone for now and get the shop ready for opening. You can ask him questions at the launch if you like.”
Colin sighed and rolled his eyes and I left him to it.
“Sorry about that,” I said as I went back to where Xander was pacing and frowning at the floor. He looked up at me and shrugged. “You’re the first Booker nominee we’ve had in the shop so it’s bound to cause a little excitement.”
“Hmmmm…” he muttered, and started pacing again.
“Are you all right?” I asked again. He didn’t look all right. He looked… well, he looked nervous. Was it possible that Xander Stone was nervous about a provincial book launch?
“It just…” He waved impatiently towards where Colin was setting up the till for the day. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here so early.” He paused and took a breath and I watched his face harden again. “I’m not quite caffeinated enough for gushing fanboys just yet,” he said, with that smug smile playing on his lips. He was back to being rude again, but I’d noticed that something about Colin’s gushing had definitely unnerved him.
“Yes well, I’m sorry about Colin,” I said. “He can be rather overenthusiastic about some things. Shall we just get this book launch sorted out so we can both get on with our days?”
He looked at me then and when his eyes met mine, I felt myself shiver. I thought he was going to say something but instead he just nodded again and rubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw.
Over the next half an hour we sorted out the details of the launch – from the sort of space he would need, to the precise descriptions of the ‘nibbles’ that had been ordered, to the number of people that were expected.
“I have a limit on how many people I’m allowed in the shop for events like this,” I said. “And all the tickets are sold out so—”
“Are they?” Xander interrupted, that nervous look passing over his face again. “No pressure then.” I waited a moment to see if he’d expand on that, but he didn’t.
“Anyway, as all the tickets are sold out,” I said, filling the silence, “I only have ten free spots, so if you’re inviting anyone you’ll…”
“Don’t worry, only my agent is coming from London.”
I nodded. “OK, well, I think that’s everything then. I’ll finalise the food with the café owners later in the week and if you think of anything else then you know where I am.”
He reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out his wallet, from which he took a thick piece of cream card. “My number’s on there,” he said. “If you need me or…” He hesitated.
“Or what?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your romance novel,” he said, his lips curving into that half-smile again.
As he turned away towards the door, I called him back. “You know, you shouldn’t be so derogatory about a genre of fiction that you’ve clearly never read.”
“And what makes you think I don’t read romance?”
“You should come to our book club,” I heard myself saying. What on earth was I doing, inviting a man into the hallowed female-only space of the Die-Hards? Mum was going to kill me. “We meet on Thursdays at seven-thirty.”
He looked at me for a moment and I was sure he was going say that he had better things to do. But then he smiled again.
“Now that, Ms Taylor, is an offer I cannot refuse,” he said.
“We all try to bring a book to recommend,” I went on, still quite surprised at the words that were coming out of my mouth. Surely I wasn’t going to land the rudest man I’d ever met on my friends? “So maybe you should read this.” I handed him the copy of The Devil in Winter that I was still clutching. “Like I said, I think you’ll quite like the hero.”
He took it from me, turning it over to glance at the blurb on the back cover.
“I’ll see you next Thursday then,” he said, before leaving the shop, book in hand.