The Little Porto Bookshop is the laugh-out-loud bookish rom-com from the queen of escapist romance. Discover more below and read an exclusive extract!
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Introvert and self-described whodunnit enthusiast Viviane has never much believed in living life outside of the pages of a book. But when her interfering mother insists that Viviane needs some friends who aren’t fictional, she decides to head into the beautiful bustling streets of Porto in search of her community.
What better place to start than by reading her favourite mystery in the corner of a little-known café? But when one, then two, and then outrageously six other people decide to join her silent book club Viviane realises that she is firmly out of her depth. There’s Thomas, a middle-aged man hiding his love for romance novels, Lucinda, a chic sixty-something with a penchant for Christie, and then there’s Tiago, the hot alpha male of every romance novelist’s dreams.
But when one of these newfound friends disappears from the book club without a word, will the community come together to find their fellow lost soul, and will Viviane find love along the way…?
Perfect for fans of:
🌴 Stunning settings
⛅ Black cat x golden retriever relationships
🫶🏻 Found family
📖 SERIOUS introvert representation
📚 Books, books, and more books …
🔍 A hint of mystery
Extract
‘I don’t have time to make friends right now. I’m in the middle of a ten-book series and I’ve made a firm commitment to that each evening.’ I’ve read The Quill Chronicles multiple times. They’re my comfort reads, as bolstering as a weighted blanket.
I’m rewarded with a disapproving click of the tongue. ‘Not Detective Amber Quill again! Yes, she might be loveably offbeat and fiercely intelligent, but she isn’t real, Viviane.’
‘How dare you.’
She waves my upset away. ‘If you won’t meet up with your many aunts, uncles, cousins, then I want you to slip out for an hour or two, join a book club or a chess group.’
It’s mind boggling when Mum has these ideas, ideas that I personally find abhorrent. I must handle this carefully, or else she will march me to a club of some sort herself, loudly introduce us as if we’re as important as visiting royalty, and demand everyone’s names, job description, which bairro they reside in and, incongruously, whether they’re a cat or dog person. For reasons I cannot fathom the woman enjoys the minutiae of idle chitchat. As for my Porto relatives, let’s just say decibels are all I hear when we have yet another prolonged catch-up. They’re loud. Obnoxiously so. Sure, I love them, but in small doses.
How to convince her that joining a club will be an exercise in futility? Ah, dredge up a recent trauma. Those witches from our tiny village of Marple Bridge in Greater Manchester, whose many microaggressions towards me did not go unnoticed.
‘Remember the last time you insisted I join a community club? Scrapbook Sundays, where those women of questionable crafting talent huddled together to stage whisper that I was a modern-day Boo Radley. I mean, it made no sense. Those imbeciles didn’t even realise that Boo Radley was the hero of the story!’
Not to mention I found scrapbooking intolerable, but once again mother insisted.
Mum shakes her head at the recollection. ‘Ah, yes, I remember it well. I still find it so strange the Scrapbook Sundays members used Loctite instead of crafting glue and somehow stuck all of their fingers together like they had mittens for hands!’ She guffaws. ‘Well, every member except you, that is.’
‘Yes, very strange. You’d think they’d have noticed the difference in texture. It goes to show how many people walk this earth and pay absolutely no attention to detail.’
Find your happy place with Rebecca Raisin and discover more about her new book, The Little Porto Bookshop here.