“You keep letting me,” he reminded.
“Reluctantly.”
“Still counts.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear. This close, he saw a hole in her lobe where a piercing might have once lived; a freckle in the crook of her helix that made his skin feel tighter with something he couldn’t name.
Without meaning,wanting, to, his hand slid closer to hers on the counter, pizza boxes bracketing them on both sides.
He was a fool. Any sane man would have marched out the door already. He owed her nothing, and feeling unwanted was foreign, uncomfortable – something he’d rather try to change than abandon, because it wasn’t in his nature to leave problems unfixed.
If she was going to turn him away, it wouldn’t be with all these false assumptions about him.
Just when he thought she’d pull back, Eiley’s pinkie finger twitched against his, sending another zap of heat through him.
Perhaps it made him delusional, but he imagined it meant something likestay.
10
Yesterday’s pink manicure had barely survived twenty-four hours, Eiley realised as she scratched at her nail polish in the middle of the stockroom.
“This is the part I’m dreading.” She might not have been so honest a few hours ago, but the air between them was clearer since her sort-of-apology and Warren’s sort-of-acceptance, where she’d learned that he wasn’t actually awful to talk to when it really counted. She might have seen that last night, too, if she hadn’t been so distraught.
She didn’t know why he was still here. Why he stood, steadfast against her judgement.
But he was being nice to her, and it counted for something. The more mystifying question was why she’dallowedhim to stay. Why, when he’d asked her to, she hadn’t been able to sayyes, go, words wedged deep in her throat where she couldn’t reach them. They’d spent the afternoon falling into a new rhythm while they packed away the books. Eiley planned to run a few boxes home, hoping she might be able to dry them out.
She couldn’t remember it going dark, but now, the bookstore was cast in indigo shadows, passing headlights their only source of illumination.
Warren leaned behind her, his tousled hair grazing the top of the door frame as he rested one hand against it. If it wasn’t done so nonchalantly, she might have taken it as a brag.Look at me with my big muscles and long legs, taking up the entire doorway like Harper’s fairy book boyfriends.
His warmth pressed into her like a radiator left on its highest setting for too long, sending her stomach into cartwheels. Those pesky kicks and flutters were the real reason she hadn’t wanted him to stay. And the real reason she hadn’t wanted him to leave. She hadn’t felt an attraction like this since Finlay. Before, when Warren had just been a stranger sipping coffee across the street, it had been nothing but a pleasant daydream. Now, he was close enough to touch, every movement wafting the scent of amber and wood cologne until she was dizzy and drowning in him.
Perhaps that was what she hated about him, more than anything. He reminded her of all the things she longed for, things she hadn’t felt in eons – if at all – and might not feel ever again: subtle touches, the electricity of discovering a newness that might never grow old, the tug of wanting to get closer, and of never being close enough.
She wasn’t supposed to want that. Desire wasn’t a game she’d ever learned the rules of, and she couldn’t afford to try now.
Even if it was there, curling tighter around her every time he said her name. She tried to convince herself it was only the tension of their clashes, not chemistry, but it didn’t release the knot in her core.
“Aye, this is definitely the worst of it,” he decided, oblivious to the train of her racing, ridiculous thoughts. “Have you ventured upstairs yet?”
Eiley shook her head, pulling away to focus again. He only stepped further into the stockroom as though tethered to her movements. “Not ready to see it. I know it’s just a building, and the things that are ruined are just things, but …”
“But they mean something all the same. I can imagine that’s especially true for a parent.” He squeezed between her and the mess of books on the floor, the distance between them suddenly achingly small. He could barely fit in such a small space, head ducked as he surveyed the crooked shelves. In the light of day, amidst the clutter, it was easier to admit that he’d been right about the poor organisation in here. Warren’s lecture about how quickly the flames might catch had stuck; it would be just her luck to have a floodanda fire. She tried to step back and stumbled over a box of books. Normally, she’d have felt embarrassed, but something about the absurdity of the situation – crowded into the tiny stockroom with a firefighter who looked like he’d wandered out of a Greek myth – made her unable to suppress a grin.
Warren’s eyes bored into her – intimately, like he’d seen something he wanted to memorise.
“What?”
He shrugged. “I just don’t think I’ve seen you smile before today. You don’t seem to do it very often.”
She ducked her head bashfully. “I smile. Just not in front of you.”
“Or your mates. Didn’t see you laughing with the rest of them at the pub.”
She paused. “Were youwatchingme?”
“It was only right, since you watched me first.”
