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“I—I wasn’t judging. Or asking.”
“I should sell it.”
Then he gives me a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “That guy was someone I know, yeah. A pain in the ass.”
“Someone you worked for.” Oh, God. What if the man was the reason Magnus no longer has his money making job? What if it’s not just he quit, but he got forced out?
“Something like that. I’ll take you home, Zoey. I need to stop by my gran’s.”
“I’ve love to meet her.”
He starts off across the park, towards the Lower East Side end of it, and I hurry to catch him. After a moment he slows a little, and then when we hit the sidewalk, he hails a cab and I immediately scrounge in my pocket for my wallet because he’s got enough to deal with and I don’t pay him enough.
“No—”
“You work for me, I made you come out. So I’ll pay for it.” I can make the twenty plus bucks somehow work with my stretched budget.
We head to toward Delancey Street and the Williamsburg Bridge.
He doesn’t say much. Just sends some texts.
I glance at him then watch the stores and streets pass as we drive down Broadway and finally turn off onto my stretch. “Your gran’s pretty savvy with text.”
“She is.” And when we pull up, he looks at me, his gaze dropping to my mouth and deep down inside me things begin to tingle. “Thanks, Zoey, for taking me out. It was good. We should do it again.”
I lick my lips and he takes in that motion with dark onyx eyes and it’s only my sheer stubborn will that keeps me from launching myself into his arms and ravishing him there and then. Well, that and I’m his boss.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“No,” he says, “you’re probably right.”
“Goodnight, Magnus. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” I go to climb out and he says, “You know, maybe you should meet my gran at some point.”
“I’d love that.” And I rush up to the store and unlock the side door that takes me to my apartment. He stays until after I relock the door.
And it’s only when I hear the cab pull away that I give in to the shake in my knees and sink down to the floor in the tiny foyer.
What the hell was that kiss?
Awkwardness seems to have become my middle name the next day.
At first, I don’t think he’s turning up. It’s a little cool and the clouds are back and Tuesday Harry comes in, a big grin splitting his face. It’s not Tuesday, but sometimes he likes to shake things up, plus I think he’s got some secret inbuilt radar for when I make a spiced apple cinnamon sponge, and dark muscovado sugar cookies.
Those weren’t my plan, but at four am when I woke, I knew I couldn’t get back to sleep. I got up, drank hot chocolate mixed with fresh espresso because I like that sort of thing, and baked. Then I went over all the books, fretted about the payments for taxes and utilities, now I had a wage to pay. And then I fussed along the aisles. And waited for ten a.m.
It’s almost eleven now. And there’s no Magnus.
Maybe I’m a terrible kisser. Worse, maybe he somehow contacted Bronn and they both decided I’m a terrible kisser.
I’m being a maniac, I know that. I shove extra cookies and cake at Harry, who willingly eats them all up.
He shakes his plate in my direction, showering the floor with tiny crumbs. It’s a good excuse to get the vacuum out later. I do my best soul decimating when I’m cleaning. “You look different, Zoey. Are you having a baby?”
I give him a mock-severe look. “Are you calling me fat?”
“Now, now, don’t be like that. You know you’re my favorite book girl,” he says, winking.
