“Maybe you wouldn’t need to worry about that if you had the bloody lights turned on!” He flicked the switch by the door, eyes bleary in the new, bright light. “What are you doing in the dark?”
“I was about to leave.” Hostility left Fraser’s voice as brittle as ever. “What areyoudoing here?”
“I, er …” Warren wondered if it was better to lie. Nobody but Maggie was supposed to know he was here. Heshouldn’thave been here.
“I just wanted to help Eiley out. I know she’s still struggling to get everything sorted in here.” Though it was looking better, piece by piece. Some of the shelves were up, albeit wonky, and …
“That’s a snazzy chair.” He pointed at the furniture by the window, all of it brand new. The pencil crayon-themed kid’s chair had been replaced by one whose legs were carved to look like a stack of books in all colours of the rainbow, and the coffee table was far more elegant than the scratched up one Eiley’s kids were usually found crayoning at. Even the couch was brand new, with patchwork upholstery complemented by the granny square cushions. “Whoa. Did Maggie get all this new stuff in?”
“You need to go. Eiley isn’t here,” Fraser uttered.
“I know. That’s why I am.”
His shoulders squared, face sharp with a warning Warren didn’t feel much like heeding tonight. He wasn’t here to bloody argue anymore. Not with her, and not with her family.
“I just wanted to do something for her without her fighting me on it,” he elaborated tersely. “You don’t have to tell her it was me. I don’t give a shite about that. Just … The shelves are all skew-whiff, and I don’t think she’s actually nailed them to the wall, which is a safety hazard.”
The truth must have surprised Fraser, because he fell silent for a moment, teeth scraping over his lower lip. “We had the same idea, then. I brought in the furniture.”
“Shite, you made all this?” Warren had seen a few of his pieces at the autumn fair, but he hadn’t dared stop to look properly before. The craftsmanship was exceptional, not something any old handyman could replicate, with delicate etchings in the wood and smooth paintwork set under a glossy topcoat. “They’re great. She’ll love them.”
“Not before she’ll moan at me for giving her handouts.” He rolled his eyes.
Warren grunted his agreement, setting down the book and his toolbox to make a start on the most lopsided shelf by the counter.
“Oi!” Fraser snapped again. “I didn’t say you could stay.”
“I know. Maggie did, though.”
From the corner of his eye, Warren saw Fraser put his hands on his hips, one grimy work boot stomping with impatience. “Can’t you go and try it on with some other poor woman? My sister’s been through enough.”
“Do you honestly think I—” He stopped himself before the outburst, but the end of the sentence still rang like a tinny bell in his chest.Do you honestly think I could want anyone else?
“Think what?” demanded Fraser. “That you’re a cocky wee git looking for a challenge because you’ve got nothing better to do? Aye, I do.”
Warren’s blood boiled, the top of his ears burning, but he refused to rise to it. Refused to prove Fraser was right. He unscrewed the first shelf from the frame, then the second, while Fraser watched on like he was expecting some retaliation. Like he wanted it.
Calmly, Warren muttered, “If she’s a challenge, I’ve already failed, so you don’t need to worry about that. Just let me sort these fucking shelves, and then you or her won’t see me here again.”
His words seemed to dent Fraser’s steel, or maybe it was the trembling in Warren’s hands that finally convinced him he was no longer a threat. Fraser sank onto the new couch behind Warren, the air between them as stifling and gritty as sand over their heads.
“You’re really just here to help?” Fraser questioned.
“The bookshop means the world to her. When that fucker breaks her heart again, and he will, I want her to be able to come home. Feel safe. I don’t give a shite if you believe me or not.”
“Wait … What … What fucker?”
Warren sent a frown over his shoulder. “She didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Fraser’s tone was cutting again.
Warren threw down his tools. Why the hell had Eiley gone off without telling him? Aye, Fraser was an overbearing arsehole, but he was the one she’d need around her if Finlay hurt her. He was the one who still had the power to protect her and the kids – unlike Warren.
It was difficult to push past that panic enough to respect her boundaries, but he managed. “It isn’t my place. Ask her.”
“Tell me you’re not talking about Finlay. Tell me she’s not …”
Fuck’s sake. Warren pushed off his knees to stand.
