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“Or so they say. C’mon, Zoey, the day’s pretty much done. You can’t change things.” He pushes my hair away from my neck, leaving it exposed to the warmth of his breath, and in the reflection I can see us, wavery with the rain outside, ghostly figures, and he leans down, almost skimming my skin with his lips.
“I want to.”
I want to sink into him and just let him take me from all the worries, all the pressures that eat at me. I want to forget anything and everything and just feel.
“Maybe,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my skin, “you have. Just by not giving in you’ve made them more money.”
I turn and he’s there, body skimming mine. “They rented. They got priced out by the landlord. And that happened because their no-good landlord sold to Sinclair to make a pretty penny.”
With a small sigh he steps away from me and I turn back to my display, placing books and little boxes I found in the little room where odds and ends always find their way, right at the top of the stairs before roof access.
It’s fall and boxes and old crates and lock boxes all make that feeling of hidden corners where you can unlock the secrets of books. That’s the thought in my mind, anyway. And overall, I think it looks okay.
I dust my hands and try to find that sweet warmth that held promised passion from his touch, but the truck is still there. And now Sinclair’s in my mind. Sinclair and the things Magnus doesn’t know about his gran’s situation.
She told me how he thinks she’s paid up, but bills add up and she doesn’t want him to foot them. How he’s paying for elective surgery for her hip. Everything is a mess and if I had a million dollars I’d give it to those who need it.
But I don’t.
A customer comes in and I let Magnus handle it, stepping into the back and going over some numbers I’ve been crunching for a couple of days. When the register door closes and the bell on the front door tinkles, I close the notepad with my sums and I step out behind the register.
We’re both there, close enough to touch, close enough to feel the other’s body heat. But I don’t touch him, and he doesn’t touch me. That little moment at the front of the store was only that; a moment. I pull up a stool and sit, then look up at Magnus.
“How’s your gran?”
He shrugs. “Old. But stubborn.”
“The mobility issues?” I half smile and reach for a ginger and cacao nib cookie I made. “I’m prying, I know. But…I liked her.”
“She likes you.”
“I just didn’t expect the walker and her frailty. Not her spirit. That’s strong, but bodies…”
“They give out, yeah, I know.” He breathes out and closes his eyes for a moment. “It’s one of the reasons I’m here. She needs an operation.”
I might not have a million dollars, but I’m better off than most. Especially most around here, and I own this place; Sinclair and his evil goons notwithstanding. “I can help—”
“Zoey.”
“What? I can. If it’s pride, you need to swallow it down.” I put my cookie down and cross my arms. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
He stares at me a long time, those onyx eyes darkening and his expression—I can’t read it, but it’s not what I expect—bites down into me.
I expected him to land somewhere on my spectrum between embarrassment and grateful.
What I have is…not triumph, but I thought that flickered, although I put that down to the way his eyes catch the light…but something darker, graver, almost wonder but with a fatalistic edge. As I say, I can’t read it.
Maybe it’s shock.
“I know you don’t. And it’s stupid, Zoey. Stupid to wear your heart on your sleeve. People will take advantage.”
“Then that’s bad karma for them.”
He runs his fingers lightly along my arm. “Probably. And thank you. I honestly don’t know if you realize how much that means to me for you to say that. But we don’t really know each other—”
“You help people. Otherwise, what have you got? A pile of emptiness? And as I said, you help people. People need to help other people, so—”
“No.”
