“Feck off, Gracie.” Patrick shot a sneer her way, then turned his attention to Lorna. “We got reservations in thirty minutes, hen. Dinna be dawdling about getting out of that garb.”
Lorna forced a smile even though her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She might still save this evening. At least, she hoped so. She tried to overlook his rudeness. Up to a point. He had not had an easy life, and she did her best to keep that in mind. But in the last few weeks, his behavior had gotten worse, and she refused to be abused. This might very well be their last evening together.
With a model’s pose, she turned and displayed the gorgeous authenticity of her costume. “I am wearing this. Along with the loveliest cloak that came with it. What better advertisement for how we have made the shop into so much more than merely a store for used books?”
He stared at her as though waiting for the punch line. “Ye are joking, right?”
“I am not, and if ye dinna like it, ye can bloody well cancel on me like ye did last time.”
His attitude had worn her last nerve as thin as could be. Gracie’sharrumphfrazzled it even thinner. “Ye are being an arse, Patrick. I deserve better.” Her old fears of being alone again squeezed her insides until she couldn’t breathe. But she stood strong, refusing to apologize and take it all back to appease him. Being alone was better than being mistreated or taken for granted.
He waved off her criticisms as though swatting flies. “If ye want to dress like a damned eedjit, go for it. Makes me no never mind.” He cast another glance around the shop and checked his watch. “We best be about it, then, and at least get some food for my hard-earned money. I had to give that bloke my credit card number when I made the reservations. Stingy bastards charge ye if ye dinna show.”
Every customer in the shop stared at them, their browsing through the rare books and antiques forgotten. Their faces told her exactly what they thought. Her stomach tightened with that same queasy feeling of embarrassment he always triggered whenever they were out in public. Gracie was right—she should have broken it off months ago. But he could be so disarmingly sweet sometimes, and anybody was better than nobody at all.
Or so she had thought after being alone all her life. But loneliness might be a better partner than Patrick, after all. She had survived it before. She would bloody well survive it again.
“If ye canna afford the place, we dinna have to go,” she said in a hushed tone. She forced a fake smile for the onlookers, wishing they would go on about their business.
He motioned for her to join him. “Come on, will ye? I just said they charge if ye dinna show. I’ll be damned if I pay for wasted air. We can share a salad and have nothing but water for drinks. I hear tell the bread’s free with it. After that, I thought we could go to the cliffs and watch for yer mirrie dancers ye’re always going on about.”
“Just go. Ye can have the whole feckin’ salad.” She held so tight to the banister that her knuckles ached. The reassuring weight of Gracie’s hand on her back helped keep her strong. “Besides, ye hate the cold and the wind is up. It will cut right through ye on the cliffs. Go on wi’ ye now. I will be staying here.”
A change came across him, as if a curtain had dropped to reveal a different personality. He tucked his chin and sheepishly rocked from side to side. “Sorry, hen. Had a hard day stocking shelves, and they told me I have to take the night shift permanent from now on. Canna sleep worth a shite during the day, and they bloody well know it.” He resettled his stance and apologetically shook his head. “But none of that is yer fault. Ye know I’m sorry. Come on, Lorna. Ye know I dinna mean it when I get ratty. ’Tis just after a bad day.” With the beguiling smile that always doused her irritation with him, he motioned for her to join him. “Come on, hen. We will eat us some dinner, then watch for those northern lights ye love.” He shrugged. “And we need to talk over some things. Important stuff, ye ken?”
Gracie tugged on the back of Lorna’s jacket, trying to keep her in place. “He is full of shite,” she said for Lorna’s ears alone. “Throw him his ring and send him on his way.”
Lorna turned and rested a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “I have to handle this as I see fit, aye?” She wouldn’t shame Patrick publicly. When she broke it off, it would be in private.
Gracie’s mouth tightened into a disapproving pucker, but she said no more.
After an appreciative nod for her friend’s rebellious silence, Lorna hurried down the steps to join Patrick. “I’ll be in bright and early to set things right after today’s celebration,” she called back over her shoulder. As she settled the cloak’s heavy richness around her shoulders, she shot her friend a beseeching look, wishing she wouldn’t pout. “Did ye hear me, Gracie?”
“Aye,” Gracie said. “See ye in the morning.” She turned to the register to help a customer.
“Leave the heavy cleaning for me,” Lonnie said while glowering at Patrick. “And call if ye need anything, aye? Me and Cybil dinna go to bed till late on Thursdays. Too many decent shows on the telly.” He held the door for them, his scowl getting darker by the minute. “Call no matter how late, Lorna. Cybil would never forgive me or herself if we weren’t there when ye needed us.”
She gave his arm a grateful pat. “I promise. See ye in the morning, aye?”
“Aye,” he said with a curt dip of his head, then closed the door.
“What do ye see in them?” Flipping his collar up against the cold, Patrick shot a disgruntled look back at the shop.
“They ask me the same about you.” She tried to focus on the colorful holiday lights twinkling in the store windows and strung across the buildings. Their bright jolliness helped lift her spirits—at least until they reached the restaurant with aclosed until further noticesign propped in the window. The evening she had held such high hopes for unraveled even more. He had lied. Again. “Do ye even have a credit card, or was that a lie too?”
“I have one. Over the limit on it, though.” He shrugged deeper into his coat. “And this week’s pay damn sure couldna bear one of their meals. Sorry, hen.” With an irritating grin, he tipped his head toward the sign. “All worked out for the best, though. Them froze pipes shut them down with no notice. Canceled our reservations and didna even try to charge me.”
“Why did ye not just say that back in the shop instead of blowing hard and loud about eating at an expensive place?” She turned and headed back down the street through the freezing drizzle. Enough was enough.
He caught hold of her arm and stopped her. “Dinna be like that. A man’s got his pride, ye ken? What was I supposed to say in front of all them folks?”
“The truth.” She yanked free of him, tugged the hood of her cloak farther over her face, and charged onward.
With a sidling hop, he got in front of her and blocked the way. “I got enough bank to get us a few bottles of ale and some chips. We could pack it all to the cliffs with us. Have a right fine picnic while we chat. If ye have a fiver to chip in, I could even get us some of those biscuits ye like.”
“Go to the pub and good riddance. I am going back to the shop.” She shoved her hand in his face, showing him the wetness filling the air. “Ye need good weather for the northern lights, so once again ye are off the hook for whatever ye promise but never deliver.”
“The weather’s set to clear. Radio said so.” He angled around, doing his best to herd her in the other direction. “If ye dinna believe me, step inside Hagerty’s. Old Rob will tell ye.” With a nod at her clothing, he winked. “Ye wanted to show off yer outfit, aye? The lads’ll love it.”
