And in a year they’d be married.

‘OK,’ Matt said. ‘Here we go. Are you nervous?’

‘A bit,’ she said. ‘Excited, mainly.’

They walked into the shop. To the right was the counter; to the left there was a table in an area that someone had cleared. There were four rows of chairs; Annabelle counted them quickly. Eight in each row, so thirty-two in total. That would almost certainly not be enough.

A woman walked over. She had short blond hair and a muscular build. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’m Nicole. You must be Annabelle?’

‘Yes. Thanks for having me.’

‘My pleasure. Thanks for coming.’ Nicole gestured at the chairs. ‘Still fifteen minutes to go, yet. People tend to arrive at the last second. Would you like a drink? We have water. That’s it, I’m afraid.’

‘Thanks. I’m OK for now.’

Annabelle’s pulse sped up. Nicole had sounded like she was apologizing for the lack of people, like she was trying to make Annabelle feel better.

Should she feel bad? Was this a poor turnout?

No. People would come. People arrived at gigs and football games at the last second, so why would a book reading be any different? She could start a few minutes late to give them an opportunity to get here.

She walked over to the fiction section. Ever since the book was published two weeks back she had been unable to pass a bookshop without going in to see whether her book was on the shelves. And there it was, two copies, side by side. She fought the urge to take it and put it cover outwards – she had succumbed more than once in other shops, but it would be a bit embarrassing here.

‘Here for the reading?’

She turned to the door. Nicole was smiling at two women in their fifties. They were standing in the doorway. One of them shook her head.

‘We were looking for the latest Diary of a Wimpy Kid. For my grandson.’

‘We have that. Come in.’

The two women walked inside. They looked at the empty chairs.

‘Who’s doing the reading?’ the woman who had asked for the Diary of a Wimpy Kid said.

‘Annabelle Anderson,’ Nicole replied. She pointed at Annabelle. ‘She’s a local author.’

A local author? Was that why she was doing this reading? Because she was a local author? Annabelle had been thinking it was because she was a good author.

‘Hi,’ Annabelle said. ‘Welcome.’

‘Thank you,’ the woman said. ‘What time does it start?’

‘At six,’ Annabelle replied. ‘Just a few minutes.’

‘Will it last long?’ the woman said.

‘Not too long,’ Annabelle said. ‘I’ll try to keep it brief.’

‘Well,’ the woman said. ‘I suppose we can stay.’

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