Nothing New for Sophie Drew: a heart-warming romantic comedy

“Sewing, origami, crochet… anything crafty really. I find it relaxing.” And I did, although I’d not made anything other than origami flowers for months. “I’d love to be able to make a living from selling the things I make, that’d be the dream, but I wouldn’t know where to start. I work at a law firm in town.”
“Oh, you’re a solicitor?”
“Legal secretary.” I grimaced, thinking of the pile of work that’d no doubt be waiting for me when I returned to the office on Monday morning.
“But you don’t like your job?”
“What makes you think that?” I said with a laugh of resignation.
“The dejected tone of voice gave me a clue, but it was the look of sheer frustration that gave it away. I know how you feel. I hated my last job, answering the phones at one of the big utility companies’ call centres.”
I shuddered.
“Yeah, it wasn’t exactly a laugh a minute. Customers complaining about the rate they were on, wanting to know why the engineer they were expecting to arrive three hours ago to fix their boiler hadn’t arrived… all that kind of fun stuff. I should have known what it was going to be like. People don’t ring up to say ‘Everything’s working with my gas and electric, so I thought I’d phone to let you know what a great job you’re doing’, do they?”
The voice he put on made me laugh. I think it was supposed to be a Scottish accent, or maybe Welsh. Either way, it was laughably terrible.
“You’re right. It’s like that in my job too. Don’t get me wrong, the people I work with are great. It doesn’t give me a sense of satisfaction though.”
“Just what you do to pay the bills, huh?” He smiled, and I made myself smile back, not wanting to dwell on my tangled financial situation. “Luckily I love my current job. I’ve worked in retail on and off since I was sixteen. The shop relies on volunteers to help out, because obviously if they paid for staff there’d be less money raised for the cause, so as the manager I’m the only person who gets a wage.”
“What sort of people shop there? I always imagine charity shops to be full of old grannies.”
Max rolled his eyes, and I worried I’d offended him until that playful grin reappeared. “People always say that, but the truth is all kinds of people shop there. Mums looking for cheap toys to entertain their kids, record collectors hoping to find a rare LP they’ve been looking for, students who’re into vintage clothing… honestly, normal people. You were there yourself earlier, don’t forget.”
A giggle escaped my lips. I hadn’t thought of it that way.
“If you really don’t like your job,” he continued, “you should change it. We spend a lot of our lives working. You don’t want to waste it doing something you don’t enjoy.”
“Creative industries are hard to get into though. There aren’t even any factory jobs where I could spend the day at a sewing machine, I looked into it a while back. Most of the big clothing companies outsource to other countries because they can get the work done for a fraction of the price.”
Max screwed up his nose in distaste. “Sweatshops.”
“Yeah. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that craft will only ever be a hobby. There’s no way to make a living from it, not for someone like me.”
“Never say never,” Max said optimistically, knocking back the last of his pint. He looked down at his watch, and I panicked, taking it as a sign that he wanted me to leave. I prepared to make my excuses, but he said, “Shall we go through to the other room for a bit? My friends’ band is due on at eight and I should probably be supportive and show my face.”
I picked up my wine glass, drank it dry and pushed myself up off the stool. “Sounds good. And I’ll get us another drink in too, shall I?”
“Another Guinness would be lovely, thanks.”
We left the saunaesque room and headed into the raucous melee of the pub itself, Max leading the way. As he reached his hand out behind him to ensure we didn’t get separated by the sea of people, I placed my hand in his. The soft hairs of his forearm tickled my skin. The sensation thrilled me.

Chapter 7
The wine I’d been necking the previous night should have done a good job of knocking me out, but I’d struggled to sleep. Instead of being out like a light when I got home, I’d laid on my back, staring up at the ceiling through the darkness, trying to make sense of my blossoming feelings for Max. As well as making me laugh by telling daft jokes he’d been generous, even insisting on paying for my taxi home when his brother had shown up and I’d left them to enjoy the rest of the band’s set. His kindness had meant my self-imposed budget had remained intact.
The lack of sleep meant I was swallowing down yawns as me and the girls dissected the night as we sat in the park.
“I never thought I’d see the day you went out with someone other than Darius,” Tawna said. She sounded as though I was letting her down, not trying to move on. “Me and Johnny have been waiting for you two to get back together. You know he’d take you back in a heartbeat, don’t you?”
“Do you think?”
“Definitely. We saw him when we were out last night and he asked after you.”
My heart plummeted to my feet, but I shouldn’t have been surprised at Tawna mentioning my ex – he regularly cropped up in our conversations. She and Johnny saw plenty of Darius, both socially and through the business.
In the past our double dates had been legendary. Sophie and Darius, Tawna and Johnny. Newcastle had been ours for the taking. We’d drunk ourselves stupid at the poshest bars in town, living the high life, and I’d