“I knew you’d be a picky eater. Next, you’ll tell me you don’t like cheese.”
“Nowthat’soffensive. Cheese is my favourite.”
He watched, satisfied, as she tucked into the greasy goodness, battling with the stringy cheese when it stuck to her chin. Her tongue slipped over her bottom lip after a gentlenibble, chasing away a smudge of sauce from the downturned corner, and he was suddenly hungry for something that wasn’t pizza. Did she have any idea how fucking irresistible she was?
She couldn’t, because she did it without trying. From the fire she’d ignited last night to the way she licked her fingers after polishing off the first slice, she was … effortlessly herself. Hair wavy and untamed around her cheeks after last night’s downpour, attention half-stolen by the boxes around her: somewhere else, always somewhere else.
Under his skin.
Her eyes fluttered up to him, and he realised he was staring. Tried to stop, but it was too late. Had sharing a meal with somebody always been such an intimate act? Not that he could remember. Even on dates, he’d paid more attention to the tender cut of his steak than to how somebody’s mouth moved, tongue curled, fingers dabbed.
“What?” she whispered timidly, throwing the crust down into the box. “Do I have sauce on my face?”
He shook his head and took a slice of salami pizza for himself, if only to give himself something else to focus on. “No. You’re just wasting the good bit.”
Eiley wiped her mouth anyway. “If I’d known this meal came with a critique, I wouldn’t have bothered.”
He chuckled, perching on the counter beside her and trying not to notice the heat of her shoulder against his. “Apologies. It’s actually supposed to be an olive branch. Apeace-aoffering, if you will.” He paused. “That was bad, wasn’t it?”
“Very bad.” But her lip twitched all the same.
She frowned when he took a big bite of pizza. The beans on toast clearly hadn’t scratched the surface of his appetite.
“You eat like a man,” she said.
“Iama man.”
“Can’t you chew quieter?”
He rolled his eyes. “Now who’s the critic?”
Still, he tried, even if the pizza was insanely delicious, all sweet, herby tomato and earthy mushrooms. When she said nothing, he nudged the Margherita box into her hip. “C’mon. I need help polishing this off.”
“I don’t have much of an appetite,” she admitted. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Shouldn’t that careless landlady be sorting it? Or having her other staff help, at least?”
“She’s busy. We agreed I’d take care of this while she sorts out the money and paperwork.” Eiley dipped her head. “And don’t tell anybody, but her other employee is getting on my nerves.”
“I’m sensing a common denominator here.” He wiped his hands on a napkin, flashing her a cheeky smirk. “Why’s that, then? Did he also try to stop you from going into a flooded building?”
A roll of her eyes. “No. He keeps” – she gestured wildly – “rearranging my displays! I spent half the day making that window look nice and autumnal, and then he switched up the order of my book recommendationsandput fake spiders on the windowsill, which terrified my four-year-old. I mean, he putLord of the Flies, which is set on a desert island, among my cosy seasonal reads!”
“That’s awful.” Warren assumed, at least. He had no idea what the book was about, or what made a read seasonal.
Still, her passion for the cause was endearing, especially when a red flush crawled up her neck. “Iknow!”
“You really care about this place, eh?” Curiosity shimmered through the question. He’d always envied readers, how they could get lost in something as simple as pages and ink. Once his dyslexia had been diagnosed, everybody had given up on trying with him. He was just expected to not want to read anymore, so he didn’t, instead letting his classmates enjoy independent reading hour while he sat at the back of the class with homework so that everyone knew he was different.
“I love it here. Always have done.”
He didn’t get it, but he didn’t have to. Not when he saw the fondness in her gaze as it journeyed around the store.
Only one place had ever given him that feeling, and it was long gone now. He may have been in the process of rebuilding it, but it would never be like it was. Would never hold the people who had made it a home again.
At least the bare bones were still intact, here, and it looked like she’d saved more than a few books from certain death.
“Thank you, by the way, for finding Oliver.”
