“Zero fucks, Earl, remember?” She turns back to me. “Then, as if the too-short khakis weren’t enough, he purred at me! He also had the audacity to mention his wingspan. As if a love child between a potato and turnip could ever have a wingspan.”
“You scare me,” Earl says, eyes round.
“Good,” Ann-Sabrina says huffily. Then she sighs.
“You’re alright, Earl. Just keep in mind that nothing is more off-putting than a man who purrs.”
Earl promises never to purr at Maija unless it’s feline roleplay. Then he adds that they will consummate their union in September.
I did not need to know any of that.
Fitzgerald’s substandard khakis and Earl’s plan to possibly purr Maija into oblivion distracted me for a while, but by the time I’m home, I feel lonely again.
Acutely so.
The lake house is too big, too quiet, and too lacking in feral woodland creatures.
CHAPTER 23 – ANTONIO
An hour before my shift, I’m already tucked into my favorite corner booth. Textbooks and notes are scattered across the table alongside candy wrappers and a coffee mug. I shouldn’t occupy a booth this close to the lunch rush, but I couldn’t go to the library. The library has been compromised.
I will go back—just not today.
Instead, I have built an academic fortress and surrounded it with sugar.
The bell above the door jingles, and my jaw drops.
For one confused moment, I’m convinced an actual Viking has wandered into Cove Bay. Bulky, broad, bearded, the man blocks the doorway like a colossal stray dog unsure if it’s allowed on the rug.
Maria walks past, balancing three plates and telling me that Sam, one of our part-timers, had to leave early.
I hopup.
I might as well start my shift early.
“This way, please.”
The giant follows me toward our single empty booth, but before we reach it, the bell jingles again.
A lean, dark-haired man steps inside.
The Viking swallows visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Hey. Henry. Hi.”
The other man nods, a faint smile on his lips. “This is a nice coincidence.”
I gesture toward the booth. “Gentlemen, would you mind sharing a table?”
The Viking’s ears turn pink and he drops his gaze.
“If you want to? Or if you’d rather sit alone, that’s fine too. I can stand. I don’t need a chair. Chairs are optional for me.”
“Sit, Jørgen.”
Oh wow.
Henry’s voice is posh and British and impossibly firm.
