“You must be the property owner,” a voice from the darkness said, deep and sticky as treacle. “Would you mind stepping outside for me, ma’am?”
“Would you mind not blinding me, first?”
“Apologies.” The torch lowered, and the dark blob before her blinked into something more human: an intimidatingly tall, broad figure wearing a khaki firefighter’s uniform illuminated by high-vis stripes.
“I’m not the owner,” she said after taking an unbelievably long time to process his question. “I just work here, and live here.”
“Right, I see. Still, I’ll fill you in outside where it’s safe and dry, aye?”
She was already being ushered back into the cool air, where she shook the puddles from her trainer and scraped the damp hair from her face. The concrete was abrasively rough against her bare foot, so she balanced on one leg like some sort of daft pelican lady.
And then she returned her attention to the man holding the torch and wished she hadn’t, especially when he took off his helmet.
Coffee Giant.
She must have been disoriented enough to blurt it aloud, because his brows furrowed, casting shadows over his dark eyes under the buttery streetlight. “Beg your pardon?”
This close, he was ridiculously, outlandishly, absurdly attractive – maybe even more than she’d thought in the pub. Faint lines bracketed the bottom of both cheeks as though he’d spent most of his life laughing. His eyes were as treacle-like as his voice: rich, liquid brown with a ring of amber circling his pupils. The helmet had flattened his hair over his forehead, and he tugged off one of his gloves to comb it back.
Eiley was fairly sure that her mouth was bobbing open and closed like a fish’s, no words willing to come out.
“What? No insults tonight?” That infuriating smirk returned, drawing crinkles around his eyes, and she wished she never had to look at it, or him, again.
A chill tiptoed over Eiley where her wet hair met her shoulders, and she hugged her torso, defences rising. Shecouldn’t stand men like him. Men who knew they were handsome and took advantage, thinking a pretty smile or a sharp jawline permitted them to treat people however they wanted. Thinking they could just sit at the bar and flirt with any passing fancy, as though everybody else were a pawn in their little games.
“I think I should talk to somebody else,” she said finally.
“Sorry, but you’re stuck with me. They’re a wee bit busy in there … y’know, saving your bookshop and flat from complete catastrophe.” He tipped his head to the bookstore with mild indifference.
When she remained quiet, he quipped, “Don’t worry, love. You’re already forgiven.”
Disbelief left a mangled sound in Eiley’s throat. “Oh, goodie! That’s very gracious of you!”
“That’s me. Now, are you going to let me do my job,” he questioned stiffly, “or are we going to have a stooshie in the street while your house sinks in on itself?”
His words needled into her as she remembered why, exactly, she was here.
Her voice was much smaller when she responded: “How bad is it?”
“I’ve seen worse. Seen better, too, though. That storage tank must have been ready to burst for a while.” A sudden sternness pinched his features. “We’ll be having a conversation with your landlady about that when we next see her.”
“Can I at least go inside to get my kids’ things?” She was already thinking of everything that might be ruined: Sky’s beloved stuffed animals, Saffron’s set of musical toys, Brook’sbooks. The furniture, their clothes, the boxes of stuff she hadn’t even unpacked yet. Worse, the routine they’d only just settled into. Once again, their lives would be upended. Skyneededa steady constant. With autism, so much of his wellbeing relied on stability. Any change could leave him inconsolably upset. And Brook loved the new space they had. He’d built a fort in his room with books and blankets where he and Eiley lay every night once his siblings were asleep. Their own quality time, often spent rehearsing lines for drama class or reading together.
And, oh, god, the bookstore’s stock. Harper’s paperbacks, signed and ready for the event next week. Maggie could maybe afford replacements and repairs, and there’d be insurance (wouldn’t there? she thought with a cold wash of dread), but would she want to pour funds and energy into fixing the property when she owned half a dozen others around Scotland? Eiley had seen plenty of businesses abandoned on Main Street before now. What if it was all too expensive or time consuming and she just sold up? If she lost Thorn & Thistle …
Just like that, the rug was torn from under her. Everything she’d worked for, gone. Again.
“It isn’t safe to go upstairs just yet, but we’ll retrieve as much as we can when possible.” His face flickered with something she didn’t like. Something she saw too often. Sympathy.
Eiley clenched her teeth, looking up at the bay window where she’d enjoyed drinking her tea and reading her book only yesterday evening. Wherever she went, something bad happened. Heartbreak, loss, abandonment, and now this.
“Eiley …” Her name sounded out of place on his tongue, uttered softly. Too softly. How did he even know it?
He reached out to touch her arm, and her skin prickled with the urge to pull away. She didn’t like being touched, especially not by strangers.Especiallynot by people she didn’t trust. Her skin was still tingling from the spa treatments, the ones she’d forced herself to endure because she’dwantedto have fun. She’dwantedto feel like a human, like everyone else, for just one day.
She hadn’t even been able to manage that.
When she stepped back from him hastily, the firefighter pursed his lips. “Look, it’s not the end of the world. The worst of the damage is directly under the tank – in your room, and then the ceiling of the main shop space. People, and buildings, recover from these things. Believe me, I’ve seen plenty. It’s just a case of drying the place out and handling some maintenance. Replastering, rewiring, new carpets, checking insulation, that sort of stuff.”
