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    Angel In A Book Shop
    Angel In A Book Shop
    Angel In A Book Shop
    Ebook135 pages2 hours

    Angel In A Book Shop

    By RJ Scott

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    About this ebook

    In a snowy Christmas London, a grieving Josh meets Michael and falls head over heels in love.

    The antique book store, Chapter One, is nestled in a quiet square a few steps from London's St Pauls Cathedral. Since Josh's dad died, it has been boarded-up, with whitewashed windows, no new stock, and shelves empty of everything except sad memories. The place is a reminder of loss, and despite Josh being weighed down by grief, it falls on him to sell the store for his mom.

    Michael is the owner of Arts Desire, the store right next to Josh. With his rainbow pride mugs and positive outlook, he is sunshine and happiness, and the complete opposite of what Josh thinks he needs in his life. Michael says everyone deserves their own Christmas miracle sometimes. All Josh has to do is believe him, and the two men could have their own happy ever after.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRJ Scott
    Release dateDec 11, 2014
    ISBN9781310734083
    Angel In A Book Shop
    Author

    RJ Scott

    RJ Scott is the author of the best selling Male/Male romances The Christmas Throwaway, The Heart Of Texas and the Sanctuary Series of books.She writes romances between two strong men and always gives them the happy ever after they deserve.

    Read more from Rj Scott

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      Book preview

      Angel In A Book Shop - RJ Scott

      Chapter One

      Michael

      I don’t often recall in detail every time I am part of a family. I remember the big events: the wars, the births, the weddings, and the deaths. That is why I am here, after all, and I write everything down as faithfully as I can. Still, time marches on so quickly and I am happy to let it pass. Until I find the man who will make me decide that time has to slow down so I can stay.

      One day I will meet the person who will make me feel. He will be strong and certain and perfect for me, and I will want to ascend to become human just to be with him.

      And yes, I know it is a him. I’ve always known.

      For the longest time, Joshua Blakeman stood unmoving on the path outside the shop. People walked around him, some tutted, some brushed past like he could be pushed out of the way. Not one person stopped and asked him if he was okay. He never expected them to. He was a strange man wrapped tight in a winter coat with a beanie covering his head and a scarf obscuring his mouth, and he was blocking their way to work.

      Behind him the number fifteen bus wheezed its way to a stop, and some of the people who had shoved past him now fought to get places on the bus. Josh heard no cursing or arguing; everyone found a place silently. He knew what that was like. For the past seven years, he had used his messenger bag and puffed up his five ten to intimidate and bully his way to a space in the standing-room-only spot on the Underground trains. He’d become so good at it that with judicious use of his bulky bag, he could get from Baker Street to St Paul’s in under fifteen minutes.

      But that was yesterday. That was a whole lot of yesterdays. Way before his breakdown. Way before everything went to shit and he ended up here standing and staring.

      This was his life now, this small rat run between the Tube and the bus at St Paul’s. No one even knew it was here, or at least no one ever stopped. There was no Starbucks, no Costa, no newspaper sellers, no history of anyone famous living in the square. There was absolutely no reason at all for a commuter to take a moment to see what was in Horus Gardens. Tourists would sometimes wander into this place, this small silent square, and sometimes, very rarely, they stayed. The green was somewhere to sit in peace before the next stage of the day. They could be going to Buckingham Palace or the Tower of London, they might have tickets for the London Eye or a cruise on the Thames. They all had purpose, and all they left here in the square was litter.

      Fuck’s sake, someone cursed in Josh’s face as they barrelled into him. They didn’t add anything, just moved away, leaving Josh with the scent of last night’s garlic and this morning’s deodorant and aftershave.

      Josh wondered how near to a breakdown that person was. Were they weeks away, hours, or had they only just sold their souls to commerce and were still fresh as a newborn?

      Sorry, he offered, even though the person had long gone.

      He didn’t move, though. He just stared at the sign in front of him, the big letters CLOSED painted in scarlet on a board covering the door, and at the swirls of white that misted the windows.

      In there was everything Josh didn’t want, and everything he needed.

      Jesus Christ, a woman snapped as she swerved to avoid him. Bloody immigrants. She left the scent of Chanel and the insult was a new one. Idly, he glanced down at himself. He wore a Marks and Spencer overcoat, Levi’s jeans and leather boots, and the scarf wrapped around his head was cashmere, John Lewis’s finest design. Still, he was standing here like an idiot, and that meant he was instantly labelled as whatever kind of nuisance people could think of to lay on him.

      Sorry, another man said as he caught Josh’s knee with his briefcase. The man clearly wasn’t sorry. Josh knew that dismissive and irritable tone of voice well. He’d used it enough himself.

      Finally he stepped closer, just one small move, the keys a heavy weight in his pocket. Then another step. By some miracle no one else collided with him, before finally he reached the entrance of Chapter One and the recessed door. At least in this sheltered area, the ice didn’t force itself through the wool of his coat. Here there was silence and he wasn’t going to be in everyone’s way.

      He pulled the keys from his pocket and worked his way through them to find the one marked FRONT. The neat capitals in his dad’s handwriting sent a chill through his heart that wasn’t entirely due to the late October winds. Fumbling at first, he finally managed to get the key in the lock and opened the door. The jingling tone of a silver bell announced his arrival, and he had to shove hard to push an accumulation of junk mail and letters aside. Some of them looked official, but he’d already sorted the bills due online and over the phone. All of the places who dealt with the book shop had a home contact address for Josh and his mum. He could worry about the mail later.

      The rush of smells hit him, the staleness of an interior that hadn’t seen daylight in nearly a year and the scent of books sitting just as the day his dad had left them. The large space was filled with bookshelves but devoid of what had given it purpose and life—his dad, Andrew Blakeman. Grief knifed Josh hard, and he stood still as the weight of it pushed him down. At least this time he wasn’t a path-block as he stood utterly still.

      The last time he’d been in there, his dad was behind the counter with his dark-framed glasses and his white gloves, and he’d been working on a new acquisition, repairing a binding so the book could be sold. Josh’s fingers twitched at the thought. He’d apprenticed with his dad for a few years, until the lure of computers dragged him away. He knew leather and panels and plates, and he could finesse his way through a discussion about gilting if he wasn’t pushed too hard with questions.

      A box sat in front of the counter, piled with what looked like second-hand books, a copy of Marley & Me poking out the top. His dad always had people dropping boxes of books in, and Josh had never understood why his dad hadn’t just told them to take the boxes to a charity shop.

      Because any book is precious and you never know what gem or family heirloom you may find in with the Grishams and the Kings.

      Ten months since his dad had died and still the words were carved into his memory like it was yesterday.

      His phone sounded in his pocket, and he stripped off his gloves and pulled it out. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t keep checking the damn thing, but even after this amount of time, he still hadn’t lost the conditioning to answer. The single word, Mum, on the screen had him nearly pocketing the damn thing again, but he couldn’t do that. She would want to know.

      Hi, Mum.

      Joshua, sweetheart, did you make it there okay?

      Josh didn’t like to remind his mum he’d managed to get into the City safely for seven exhausting years and she hadn’t worried then. That would have earned him one of those patented Mum sighs of patience and a comment on how things had changed now. That was a can of worms he did not want to open again today.

      I’ve just got inside.

      How does everything look? Is it okay?

      Josh checked around himself. Nothing had moved from the day his dad had died. Only he and his mum had keys, and no one else had been inside. Even the notebooks were open on the desk to orders, and a small pile of local newspapers talked about the wettest December since records began. Ten months, nearly eleven, and the place was still the same.

      It’s okay, he summarised. Dusty.

      Thank you for doing this, Mum said. I know I’ve been in to see to the heating, but I couldn’t touch the books, his books, I just…not yet.

      It’s fine, Mum. I’ll check the pipes, sort the post, and work my way through the list.

      And Josh, don’t forget Phil asked for a second key. If Chapter One is sold he’ll need to let in agents and prospective purchasers.

      Josh swallowed his instinctive reply. No way in hell was he talking to Phil or giving him a key to this place. Uncle Phil, his dad’s brother, had shown an inordinate interest in this small property recently under the guise of supporting his sister-in-law. He said he only wanted to help, but Josh got a bad feeling about how much Phil was hanging around. Josh’s dad had left this place to his wife, and it would be Josh selling the shop and the inventory and making a new life for his mum. Not Uncle Moneygrubbing Phil. But the minute his mum said she wanted to sell, Phil had demanded she get in proper help.

      Josh will do this for me. It will be good for us all.

      Now was not the time to argue with his mum. Okay, he said instead.

      I hope this isn’t too much for you, she said. The words were soft, and Josh wondered

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