‘Sightseeing rather than reporting a crime.’ He clicks his long fingers. ‘Gotcha.’
‘The only crimes around here, Sir, are your false allegations!’ I glare at him but lower my voice, still confident but not obnoxious.
‘Is that a fact,’ he asks now, putting one hand into his jacket pocket.
‘Actually, that is a fact and here’s another fact .?.?.’
‘That you say the word actually a lot?’ he smirks.
But I’m on a roll now. ‘I am the feature wedding location writer forUltimate Locations Wedding Magazine,you will have been expecting me. I’m here to do a story on Castlemoon, possibly a cover too.’ Boom. Mic drop, I think.
‘Ohhh, ’tis yourself, Your Highness.’ He mock bows, bending over almost in half, his left forearm sweeping under his chin, fingertips grazing the ground.
‘Whatever.’ I roll my eyes, trying to hide my amusement amid my angry release.
‘Mary, we forgot to lay out the red carpet!’ he calls back over his shoulder as he stands. When he turns back to look at me, I can see he’s trying really hard not to smile. A few guests have stopped to listen to the pair of us.
‘Hilarious, aren’t you?’ I tilt my head at him.
‘It’s been said.’ He lifts his shoulders, nodding sincerely.
‘It’s a lie.’ I give him a fake smile, utterly delighted with myself as I hold out my hand for my MacBook, curling my fingers to him.
‘You want to hold hands?’ He keeps his arms crossed; my MacBook still secure under them.
‘Only if we’re racing to see who can let go first.’
‘Ouch. Question: does Your Highness crash into all parked cars to move them out of her way? Too inconvenient to find a space, I wager?’
‘Please, grow up.’ I roll my eyes.
‘Only if you promise to stop acting like a child,’ he says.
‘How amIacting like a child?’ I uncross my arms now, place both hands firmly on the waist of my straight-legged jeans and jut my chin out.
‘Running away.’ He shakes his head, his unruly hair flopping left to right.
‘I was not running away! Oh, my God, you’re so infuriating!’
‘I’m glad to know I’m leaving an impression.’ That smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth.
‘Whatever. And another thing, my MacBook has a great big crack down the middle of it. Now, please give it back.’ Again, I reach out for it.
‘And what do you want me to do about that?’ He turns away slightly so I can’t get it, looks down at it.
‘Fix it! It’s your fault! Now give it back.’ I grab for it and stuff it into my satchel. The absolute cheek of this man. He still hasn’t even had the manners to apologise. ‘And apologise,’ I demand.
‘Me?’ He jabs a long finger into his chest.
‘Yes, you,’ I huff.
‘No chance. Not in a million years.’ He shakes his head, that hair flopping from side to side again. Then, he lifts his hood back up, pulls the drawstrings together in a move that says this conversation is over.
‘Are you in some kind of hooded gang?’ I ask now, walking away.
‘I am.’ He bites down on the beginning of that smile. ‘Do you wanna join? We could do with a hard-arse criminal like yourself.’
‘You are preposterous.’ I roll my eyes again. Feeling the heat, I raise my hands and pull off my woollen hat. As my curls tumble out around me, I shake them out loose. Suddenly I hear a strange noise. I stare up at him but he says nothing. His faceis unreadable now. He expends a short breath. Takes a few steps back then leans one arm up against the exposed brick wall, never taking his gaze off me.
