Every Bookshop Needs a Cat (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 2)

Second Set of Eyes

Are we ready for the next, slightly bigger (and far from the final) ka-boom, my darlings? *evil cackling*

***

Two weeks later...

Anya got out of the Rover and quickly made her way to the back door of the bookshop. She rang the bell, and the lock clicked, opening. Yola had everything automated in her residence and her shop, being properly fond of the whole smart home sort of technology. Her phone never left her hand, and pings of notifications never seemed to stop.

Anya walked up the stairs into Yola's flat. It had been furnished by now, with the maddest assortment of furniture pieces, seemingly brought from all around the world. Anya had never had an opportunity to develop any sort of a taste in interior design - but if she were to think about it, she'd say the cacophony of colours and textures was a tad much.

"Hiya, pollita," Yola shouted from her kitchenette. "Want a cuppa? Are you bringing me my scones?"

"Hi," Anya said and joined Yola. "Yes, I've got your order."

"I've got the cream and jam, so we'll feast!" Yola announced in her usual boisterous manner and glanced at Anya over her shoulder. "You're staying for tea, right?"

Anya nodded.

"Where's Varvar tonight?" Yola asked.

"She's home– I mean, in the Hall." Anya watched Yola's hands deftly move in the sink, full of fruit and berries that Yola was washing. "She's having a lesson– Well, sort of a lesson," Anya continued. "Klaus is teaching her about art."

"Ah," Yola said and giggled. "You've finally started leaving her with your papacito."

"He volunteered!" Anya answered defensively. "Technically, Mrs. Little and Anders are in the Hall as well, so Varya isn't unsupervised, but I felt odd making anyone mind her. It's not their responsibility." Anya huffed an exhale. "But recently he's started offering, and she's always so happy to learn about art, and he's got so much to teach her. I just don't want her to bother him."

"She's not a particularly bothersome sprog," Yola said with a chuckle. "I have zero tolerance for the little malditos - but I like yours. So, I suspect you're being your usual worrywart, and he's totally loving it."

"I hope so." Anya twirled a stem from a cherry she'd picked up from the counter. "Yola, there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Uh-huh." Yola wiped her hands dry. "And does it have something to do with the fact that you've come after hours, not to run into certain hench blokes with... massive hammers?"

Anya's eyes flew to Yolanda's face.

"What?"

"James Whitlaw. And that guapo Serb who James was trying to pair you up with."

"What? No!" Anya exclaimed. "I'm not going to lie, I did try to avoid them, but that's not what it was about!"

"Just so you know," Yola said, carrying a bowl of fruit to the lounge. "I did get worried when Whitlaw had mentioned all that pinche stuff about Bjornsson. But I remember you telling me about that pendejo who'd been roughing you up back in Bristol, and I doubt you'd let anyone do it to you again. And especially, you wouldn't leave Varvar alone with him. ¿Es neta?"

"Of course not," Anya answered, following Yola.

They arranged tea and scones on Yola's low coffee table, and Yola plopped on one of her many floor pillows.

"Klaus doesn't seem to care what anyone says about him," Anya said quietly. "I wish people knew the truth about him, but it's not my place to argue."

"He doesn't?" Yola asked, biting a generous piece of her scone. She licked the cream from the corner of her mouth. "Good for him. It's all–" She waved her hand in the air. "¡Las tonterías! Bullshit! People do nothing but stick their noses in each other's business in small towns like this."