“I’ll keep you, of course,” I say.
Blake laughs delightedly. “I’d be lucky to be a kept man,” he teases. “I can at least be useful with making dinners till I hear back on my auditions. Whatever I end up getting—or not—I can do based from London.”
“Brilliant.” I’m so happy it’s embarrassing.
“And there’s films for auditioning here too. I’ll be okay,” Blake assures me. “Something will work out.”
“I think for you, it will. You work very hard. And…you’ve got Instagram.”
“I have a few sponsorships and things, but it won’t keep me fed. Or pay the rent,” Blake concedes. “I mean, I’m happy to wait tables in the meantime like any good struggling creative if I need to, though. I also have some savings to carry me for a little while.” He frowns slightly at me. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“The shop.” He lifts his eyebrows meaningfully at me, pausing to take a bite of his croissant. “How are things?”
“Well.” I redden slightly. “Obviously I’ve been away and I don’t have the latest. I have massive bills because of some recalculations and I need to pay them. But I don’t think I can afford it and probably will need to sell…which means disappointing my mum. More than that, I won’t be able to help her.” I give Blake an unhappy look.
“Is there any other option?”
I hesitate. Confession time. I have to face the simple reality that I have no clue how to run a successful shop on my own without help. “I saw an ad for some business courses. I might take those and learn a few things so I don’t make a right cock-up of the whole thing like I’ve been doing.”
“Well, if you want, I can help.” Blake’s gaze is steady. “Starting with a marketing plan. I think you can turn things around, to be honest. I mean, if you want to, that is.”
I frown. “How?”
Everything with the shop feels so daunting. I want to save the shop. Badly. For my family, for me. But, honestly, on my own it’s exhausting. And I don’t have the business head for things like my dad did, plus bookselling is a lot different now than even ten years ago.
“You just need to find your niche,” Blake explains. “People still go to indie bookshops. Why not Barnes Books? You just need to sell what it is that you offer versus the big chains. Like—a totally different experience, customer service, that sort of thing. And then when the shop’s doing better, then you’ll be free to do more of what you want.”
I blink. There are no plans to sell to Percy Green, or any megashops, his letter tossed away. With the income from filming, and Blake’s ideas, there’s a strong chance Barnes Books might make it after all. “I want the shop to do well.”
“Course. But you told me that you write poetry?”
A furious blush comes. I glance away. Oh shit. In some moment of weakness, I did say that. It’s true. But I’ve never told anyone before. Only Blake, now. “Well, I’m far from a proper writer.”
“Do you like it, though?”
“I love it,” I admit.
“Then, at the very least, you should explore that. And I can help with the shop. Not just plans. But you’ve got Gemma and you can teach me. And things will be okay.”
I gaze at him, overwhelmed. Setting my coffee down, my chest is tight. Something like gratitude washes over me. “You really would stay in London? And do all of this? For me?”
Blake’s expression is soft. Open.
“I love you, Aubrey.”
God. This man.
“I love you too.”
“And I want a future with you. If you’ll have me. After everything.”
“I…yes.” I swallow hard, searching his eyes. “I very much want that—a future with you.”
The din of the café fades, just us in here despite the clatter and crowd. Together, we’re at a beginning, a fresh start. I don’t know what that future is, but that’s all right, because Blake’s in it.
When we return after brunch, Gemma’s running a duster over the shelves.
