Welcome to Rosie Hopkins' Sweet Shop of Dreams
Page 107
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But maybe; just maybe, thought Ida Delia Fontayne, it was time.
‘Are you a sweetshop or a bookshop?’ asked a curious Edison one sunny, frosty Saturday morning. ‘I think you should be both. That would be good.’
Rosie looked up from where she was unpacking the box of Lilian’s self-published book she’d found in the bottom of her wardrobe, propping the copies up beside the ancient cash till.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Not a bookshop. We’ve only got space for just this one.’
People think love should be popping candy; always surprising and exciting and fresh to the mouth. Or like dark chocolate; mysterious and adult and bitter. Or the tough candy shell of a Minstrel, waiting to be cracked; the friable crumbling burst of a honeycomb; spiky as peanut brittle; as painful as a sharp shard of toffee.
I think love is caramel. Sweet and fragrant; always welcome. It is the gentle golden colour of a setting harvest sun; the warmth of a squeezed embrace; the easy melting of two souls into one and a taste that lingers even when everything else has melted away. Once tasted, it is never forgotten.
And that is all I have to say about that.
‘Are you a sweetshop or a bookshop?’ asked a curious Edison one sunny, frosty Saturday morning. ‘I think you should be both. That would be good.’
Rosie looked up from where she was unpacking the box of Lilian’s self-published book she’d found in the bottom of her wardrobe, propping the copies up beside the ancient cash till.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Not a bookshop. We’ve only got space for just this one.’
People think love should be popping candy; always surprising and exciting and fresh to the mouth. Or like dark chocolate; mysterious and adult and bitter. Or the tough candy shell of a Minstrel, waiting to be cracked; the friable crumbling burst of a honeycomb; spiky as peanut brittle; as painful as a sharp shard of toffee.
I think love is caramel. Sweet and fragrant; always welcome. It is the gentle golden colour of a setting harvest sun; the warmth of a squeezed embrace; the easy melting of two souls into one and a taste that lingers even when everything else has melted away. Once tasted, it is never forgotten.
And that is all I have to say about that.
