Nothing New for Sophie Drew: a heart-warming romantic comedy, Katey Lovell [booksvooks .txt] 📗

palms) meant I was a sticky mess. It was almost enough to make me wish I’d picked up the phone and rung Max rather than being hell-bent on doing this in person.

The door was closed, unlike the last time I’d been there, and I debated whether or not I could open it by pushing the handle down with my bum so I didn’t have to put the bags down. I was preparing to carry out the manoeuvre when the door swung open.

“Come in, come in,” sang a rainbow-haired teenager wearing a pair of denim dungarees. She was young enough for them to look like a fashion statement rather than as though she’d been painting and decorating as a sideline. “I saw you through the window and wondered if you were dropping off donations.”

I lifted up the bags and grinned. “Yep. My wardrobe was in dire need of a sort out.”

“We’re always glad of good quality women’s clothes,” the girl said, relieving me of the bags. They must have been even heavier than I’d thought as she hunched double, the bags plummeting to the floor as she said incredulously, “What have you got in here? Lead weights?”

“There are a few pairs of jeans,” I admitted, thinking of the high street denim I’d almost put on eBay, before realising they’d cost a fortune to post. “Oh, and a fur coat. Fake, not real, obviously.” The black fur peeped out from one of the bags, as though a panther was trapped inside waiting to pounce.

“Thank you,” she said, shaking the sting from her hands.

I clenched my hands into fists before flicking out my fingers to stop rigor mortis setting in. The deep red mark that followed the curve of my lifeline where the handles had left their imprint was bad enough.

“I’ll take them out the back to the stockroom when it quietens down in here,” she said.

Her comment made me realise the shop was busy – not quite the Metro Centre on Boxing Day, but there were a few people browsing. A woman pushing dresses along a rail, the hangers scraping like nails down a chalkboard. A mum and a young girl rifling through the dog-eared basket of children’s books. A man in a turquoise polo shirt flicking through the vinyl. Max was behind the counter, serving a pocket-sized grey-haired lady with one of those annoying wheelie trollies that women of a certain age drag behind them, clipping at the heels of anyone who dares to obstruct their path.

My heart beat faster at the sight of him, and I had to internally tell myself to calm down. There was no rational reason to be nervous, especially as last time I was in this shop I all but thrust my 38DDs in his face.

I turned my attention back to the young girl. “You’re welcome. Better someone can make good use of them.”

“Oh, I’m sure they will.” The girl grinned, flashing two rows of gunmetal grey braces. “You’d be surprised at how many people come in here hoping to find a bargain. Although,” she leaned in closer, as though about to share a secret, “I think half the women who come here only want to talk to Max.” She flicked her head in the direction of the counter and I couldn’t stop my eyes following hers. He was leaning forward as he handed the customer her change, a wide and friendly grin on his face. “Everyone likes talking to him. He makes people feel…” the girl searched for the right words – I recognised the reaction – “he makes people feel special.”

The girl looked at the floor, swaying from side to side so her rainbow hair swished behind her like a multicoloured waterfall, soft waves of pinks and greens and blues tumbling forward over her shoulders. She was like a unicorn in plain sight.

“I know Max, and you’re right. He does make people feel special.”

The girl’s head pinged up, her eyes wide and startled. “Are you his girlfriend?” she asked in a tentative whisper.

I shook my head. “No, just a friend.”

She visibly relaxed at my reply, even though she must have known her chances with him were close to zero, however much she fantasised about him; she can’t have been more than seventeen.

“He’s nice, isn’t he?” she said, gazing dreamily in Max’s direction.

Max looked over, as though he could sense our gaze, raising his eyebrows so they bobbed quizzically over the upper rim of his glasses. The girl quickly turned away.

“He is.”

“I’ll leave you to look around,” she said, embarrassed, wincing as she picked up the bags again and made her way towards a doorway at the back of the shop. I had the distinct impression she was looking for an excuse to hide and the storeroom was the best option. “Thanks again for the clothes.”

With the girl out of view and my heart thumping against my chest I moved towards Max and the counter. Even with my nerves churning I recognised the sensation of a playful smirk creeping onto my face as I replayed the conversation I’d rehearsed on the train one last time before I said the words aloud.

“Hello, you.” He pressed his elbows against the counter, placing his head into the cup made by his hands. “What brings a nice girl like you to a place like this on a Saturday lunchtime?”

“You know… just donating some things I no longer need.”

“And here I was thinking you’d come to see me.” A cheeky twinkle sparkled in his eyes.

His comment buoyed me with bravery. “That might have played a part in it too.”

“Really? Because you never phoned…” His voice was light, but I sensed there was something serious buried beneath the words.

“Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you, and I thought it’d be better face to face.”

“Fire away.”

My palms were sweating but I resisted the urge to rub them against my beige linen trousers. Damp patches would be all too obvious.

“I wondered if you’d like to get together some time. That night