Another nod.Excellent. At this rate I’ll forget how to blink.
“I’ll be back then.”
He gives me a crooked smile and leaves.
The door has barely shut when Christina appears, clearly having hovered nearby like a very nosy guardian angel.
“Okay,” she says, eyes huge, “what exactly did I just walk in on? Because from the pavement it looked very… close.”
“Nothing,” I squeak.
She gives the broken shelf a pointed look, then my face, which probably resembles a tomato, and her expression softens.
“Em,” she says gently, “I love you. But that was not nothing. I watched through the window for a full thirty seconds. I have seen fewer sparks in a fireworks display.”
I groan. “Please stop talking.”
“No,” she says cheerfully. “Someone has to narrate your love life.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“It absolutely was,” she says, kindly but determined. “And you don’t have to be scared of that.”
I fold my arms, defensive. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s gone now.”
“Mmhmm.” She narrows her eyes. “Gone-gone or ‘walking-off-to-avoid-you-passing-out’ gone?”
I hesitate. Her eyebrows climb.
“He… might be coming back,” I mumble.
Her whole face lights up with unholy glee. “When?”
“I don’t know,” I lie badly.
She stares.
I cave instantly. “Four.”
“Four,” she repeats, savouring it like a fine wine. “So he’s coming back. Today. At four. To see you.”
“To fix the shelves,” I insist.
“To see you,” she repeats.
I glare. She grins.
She picks up her bag and slings it over her shoulder. “Right. I am heading home early. Which means you will be here at four. No hiding in the back room. No running into the alley. And absolutely no pretending you’ve died.”
“I never pretend I’ve died.”
“Not yet,” she says, “but I’ve seen the panic in your eyes. You’re considering it.”
I splutter. “Christina!”
She lifts one gentle eyebrow. The eyebrow that means resistance is pointless.
I deflate. “Fine.”
