The Bookshop on the Corner by Jenny Colgan

pint.
    â€œI really thought we’d gotten it sold this time,” he repeated. He shook his head. “I don’t understand why nobody wants it.”
    â€œI might want it,” said Nina impatiently.
    â€œIt’s not really a wee lassie’s van,” said Wullie.
    â€œWell, I’m not really a wee lassie, whatever that is,” said Nina. “I’m perfectly capable of driving that van, and I’ve come all this way to try it out.”
    Edwin and Hugh were snickering now. Nina didn’t think they’d had such a spectacle around the village in years.
    â€œIt’s a big van,” said Wullie again.
    Nina sighed in exasperation. “Can I have the keys, please? I did e-mail you about this.”
    â€œYes, but I had no idea you were a lassie.”
    â€œMy name is Nina.”
    â€œYeah, but that’s a foreign name, isn’t it? I mean, it could be—”
    â€œWullie,” said Alasdair, his normally twinkly face suddenly turning stern, “this lassie’s come a long way to see your van. You’ve put it up for sale. I don’t see what the problem is.”
    â€œI don’t want her crashing it is the problem,” said Wullie. “She dies and I have even more problems than I have now, which is a lot.”
    â€œI’m not going to crash it!” said Nina.
    â€œHow many vans have you driven?”
    â€œWell, not many, but—”
    â€œWhat do you drive now?”
    â€œA Mini Metro—”
    Wullie harrumphed.
    â€œWullie, if you don’t stop being rude to the lady, you’re no’ getting a pint.”
    â€œOh come on, man, I’ve been up for seven hours.”
    The landlord held the beer up threateningly. Wullie scowled and rifled in his pockets, which were deep and many. Finally he took out a large set of keys and threw them on a nearby table.
    â€œI’ll need security,” he scowled.
    Nina took out her passport. “Can I leave this with you?”
    He frowned. “You don’t actually need one of those to get into Scotland. Yet.”
    The men at the bar cackled appreciatively.
    Nina was desperate to throw her hands up in surrender—she hated conflict in any form—but she couldn’t, wouldn’t forget how she’d felt this morning. She would be as kick-ass as Katniss Everdeen, as uncompromising as Elizabeth Bennet, as brave as Hero. She told herself she only needed to drive it across the square, then she could leave. Turn around. Go home. Hope for the best at the library. Her bravado had been shaken by this man, but she wasn’t entirely deterred.
    She picked up the keys. “I’ll be back shortly,” she said.
    She stepped out of the pub and into the square. She felt wobbly inside. She was used to dealing with the occasional rowdy child, or people unhappy that she was charging them for late returns, but those weren’t personal attacks. This was different; it was someone making a very clear point that she was annoying them.
    The men had followed her outside the pub and she could feel their eyes on her—where were all the women around these parts? she wondered as she crossed the cobbles and moved over to the side street where the big white behemoth was parked. She paused for a moment and looked at its old-fashioned headlights.
    â€œListen, Van,” she said, “I don’t really know what I’m doing here. But neither do you, right? You’ve been abandoned on thisstreet for years. You’re lonely. So you help me and I’ll help you, okay?”
    She unlocked the door, which was a start, at least.
    The next thing was getting into the cab. There were a couple of steps, but even they were high. She pulled her skirt above her knees and hoisted herself up. It wasn’t graceful, but it was effective. She wobbled a little opening the door and thought for a second she was going to fall off the step, but she didn’t, and in a moment she was