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“She doesn’t seem like the cruise type, unless you mean your gran.”
“You’d be surprised.” He looks down into his cup, and drops the other hand to his lap, the food still sitting in front of him. “Gran…we’re fighting a battle, y’know? Like everyone.”
“I know.” I smile. “Life is hard, but sometimes it’s finding the little things to be grateful for.”
“Like you?”
Heat burns my cheeks and I laugh, shaking my head. “No.”
“What did you do at school?”
“This and that. But I found this is the life I wanted, surrounded by books, baking, just bringing things to people in the form of escape in the pages of whatever story or thing they want. There are worlds down there. Entire experiences.” I point down as if I’m showing him the store. “And you can run away, you can live another life. Or you can learn, gain skills, languages, or even just fall into the past.”
“You’re pretty amazing.”
From below comes a screech of brakes, followed by animated and colorful shouting. We look at each other and start laughing.
After that we just talk and eat and drink. Subjects wind all over the place from me to…me, to this little part of Brooklyn. When I ask him questions, the answers are generic, and I wonder if he was hurt in the past or is embarrassed by having to work here. He’s not the best worker, but I don’t think it’s that.
But I leave it because people talk on their own terms and pushing doesn’t help.
Magnus is sweet and kind with an interesting hard edge. There’s a touch of cynicism about him, too, but I put it down from working in what was previously a high-pressure job.
“What are you thinking about?” He packs up the stuff as the air turns cool. He’s seen me shiver, I realize. “You went all quiet.”
“How you don’t really talk about you.”
He shrugs and says, “I find you more interesting, Zoey.”
“I’m really not.”
“Actually, you really are. But let’s get inside where it’s warmer.”
I groan. “And dark.”
But I lead the way and once in the kitchen I light a lantern. The living room glows with light from the street lamps and buildings across the street, and I turn to say goodnight, determined to nip this whatever it is between us in the bud, when Magnus holds up the bottle. “Another glass? Then I’ll get out of your hair. Work tomorrow.”
“Wine sounds good because if this keeps going, then—”
“We make calls and sort it out.”
I breathe out. “You’re right.”
Leading him down the short hall, I set my mug on the low coffee table and Magnus does the same, the bottle and his own cup.
And then he turns to me. His long fingers, warm and gentle, stroke against my cheek and I’m immediately in freefall. “I’ll get to the bottom of this, Zoey.”
“How?”
“Make some calls. I don’t know. I know I don’t like seeing you upset.”
Before I can say a word, he drops his mouth to mine and kisses me.
I’m gone. I’m caught up in the kiss, the feel of his tongue, the heat of his mouth. His arms come around me and I’m lost. Completely, utterly, awash on a sea of sensations I want to drown in.
The kiss twists and deepens and need spikes, a throb that’s physical, through my blood, my bones, my sinew.
I’m vaguely aware we’re moving and I’m on the sofa, Magnus on me, his hard body so delicious I can’t get enough.
