Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

piece, turning it over in her hand. It was wet and sticky.

‘I was trying to be authentic,’ he said. ‘But instead I’m just pumpkin flavoured.’

‘Smashing Pumpkins,’ said Amy. ‘That’s who you’ve come as.’

He grinned back at her. ‘You’re the first person to get that,’ he said. ‘Turns out it was a terrible idea.’

Amy laughed. ‘Plastic spiders seem like genius now,’ she said. He smiled back at her, and Amy noticed his eyes crinkling in the corners. ‘I know you from somewhere,’ she said.

He bit his lip. ‘I am famous round these parts,’ he said.

‘Really?’

‘No,’ he said, with a laugh. ‘But my band did have our first ever gig last week, even if it was in the back room of a pub.’ He sounded proud and a little embarrassed all at once.

‘Of course,’ said Amy, the pieces falling into place like a reassembled pumpkin. ‘You played at the Firkin!’

His mouth fell open. ‘You saw us?’ he asked. ‘Maybe I’m more famous than I think.’

Amy laughed again. ‘You did have to tell me before I recognised you.’ She paused. ‘You were pretty good though.’

‘You’re my first groupie!’ he declared. ‘You can be my Yoko.’

Amy felt herself colouring a little. The band had been good. Really good. She’d loved them.

‘I don’t suppose you have a corkscrew?’ he asked. He lifted a bottle of wine from his bag. ‘I think we should celebrate.’

‘Sorry,’ said Amy, wishing desperately that she did have a corkscrew. Suddenly her plastic bottle of Malibu and Coke seemed terribly uncool. She gave it a gentle flick with her heel and it rolled under the sofa out of sight. She glanced around the room. A few boys were gulping from beer cans and a bottle of overproof rum was doing the rounds. ‘I don’t think anyone else here is drinking wine,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘I’ll check the kitchen.’

‘I’m too sophisticated for my own good,’ he said.

Amy laughed. ‘That would be more convincing if you didn’t have butternut squash in your ear,’ she said.

‘Pumpkin,’ he corrected. ‘Give me some credit.’ He followed her into the kitchen. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘If we can’t find a corkscrew here, how about we take a walk and try to hunt one down. I could do with the fresh air.’

Quietly, Amy opened a drawer and pushed away the corkscrew she’d just found. She closed it again.

‘Nothing here,’ she said, knowing she was a terrible liar. ‘We’ll have to.’

‘Great.’ He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

‘I’ll just let Chantel know . . . ’ She looked around the party and saw Chantel kissing Dean Chapman again, who she insisted was not her boyfriend but who she always snogged when she’d had a couple of drinks. ‘Oh,’ said Amy. ‘She’s busy.’

‘I’ll get my coat,’ he said. ‘My name’s Tim, by the way.’

‘I’m Amy,’ she told him. ‘Amy Ashton.’

It felt cold but fresh outside after the smoky haze of the party, and Amy breathed in deeply. ‘It’s good to be outdoors,’ said Tim, as if reading her mind. ‘But you must be cold.’ He took off his jacket, a heavy leather affair, and draped it round her shoulders. Amy had seen men do that in films, but it had never happened to her in her seventeen years. The boys at school were not that gentlemanly, and she suddenly felt as if she were in a proper love story. With a rock star. She shivered a little.

‘If you’re still too cold we can head back inside?’ he said.

‘No,’ she said quickly, pulling the coat closer round her. ‘I’m fine.’ She smiled at him. ‘Thank you.’

‘I hope there’s no pumpkin on that,’ he said.

‘Me too,’ she agreed. ‘Spiders hate pumpkins.’

‘Really?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ she confessed. They both laughed, and walked on. This bit of Amy’s home town was new, sprung up in response to the railway extension that suddenly made it possible to live here and commute to work in London. The houses were almost identical for miles and it was easy to get lost or think you were walking in circles.

‘So are you a full-time rock star?’ teased Amy.

‘Sort of,’ said Tim. ‘I finished my A levels last year and my dad wanted to pack me off to university to study law, but I’m taking a break instead to try to make a go of the band.’

‘A rebel,’ said Amy, calculating that he must be two years older than her, itself rather exciting. ‘Very rock and roll.’

‘Yes,’ said Tim. He paused. ‘So you liked the band,’ he prompted.

‘It was awesome,’ said Amy, honestly. ‘I loved that song about missed sunsets.’

‘“Already Dark”?’ exclaimed Tim. ‘I wrote that.’ Amy noticed his back was a little straighter. She was tall, but he towered above her. He must be well over six foot. And handsome and funny and talented and his leather jacket smelt like her favourite chair at her grandmother’s house.

‘It was very sad,’ said Amy. ‘And very beautiful.’ Amy felt Tim’s fingers interlace her own at her words. Her heart felt as if it had grown larger, swollen by the warm hand embracing her palm.

‘It’s about my mother,’ he said. He bit his lip. ‘She died when I was ten.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Amy, feeling awkward. She wanted to say something that would help, that would provide comfort. But she had nothing. She squeezed his hand instead.

Tim squeezed back. ‘I haven’t told anyone else that’s what the song’s about,’ he said. He turned to her and Amy found herself staring into eyes the colour of conkers.

‘I feel like I can trust you,’ he said. ‘Already.’ Tim released her hand and wrapped his arms around her back.

‘You can,’ said Amy. She felt the bottle he was holding brush against her as she closed her eyes and leaned in.

‘Zombie alert!’ shouted someone. Tim quickly released the embrace as a drunken crowd of Halloween revellers stumbled by, pulling scary faces at the two of them and laughing.

They watched them go, then walked on themselves, the moment gone. His hand found hers again. ‘I