Just as Lexi is wondering how much longer she can get away with standing there eavesdropping, the girl stands up abruptly, swings her Kate Spade handbag onto her shoulder, and bumps Lexi’s arm in her rush to get out of there. She doesn’t apologise, and Lexi doesn’t mind: she’s been there, in that bubble of post-dumping grief, and she knows it’s all but impossible to be aware of anything other than the deep ache in the pit of your stomach. The thought of ever going through that again makes her shudder.
Back at the table, Sam has his head in his hands. He’s running his fingers through his hair, trying no doubt to shake the mortification of it all. For a brief second, Lexi feels sorry for him. She’d assumed he’d be callous, unfeeling, but he seems genuinely upset.
Before she can stop herself, she slides into the wooden chair opposite him.
‘Hey,’ she says softly.
Sam lifts his head, looks at Lexi, and breathes out heavily through his nose. He closes his eyes briefly, like he might open them again and find her gone. But, undeterred, she’s still here.
‘I guess you heard all that?’
Sadly, she did not. ‘I saw enough to fill in the blanks. You okay?’
‘Yeah.’ He shakes his head, which makes the messaging a little mixed, a little confusing. ‘Better off without her, you know?’
Lexi wonders, not for the first time, why so many men seem to resort to this kind of bravado. It’s okay to say you’re gutted something didn’t work out. One day, when she’s got money to burn, she’ll take out an ad in theNew York Timesto raise awareness of this fact.
‘Let me guess,’ she says. ‘She was crazy?’
He knows Lexi is baiting him, so he doesn’t go there.
‘No, not crazy. Just...’
‘Wanted some commitment?’
He looks at her, right into her blue eyes, likehow did you know, like it’s any kind of mystery. ‘Yeah.’ He sounds defeated.
‘And not handsome enough to tempt you, I guess?’
It’s a dig, but it’s also a test. Does he know what Lexi is quoting? Does he realise she’s accusing him of being the worse kind of romantic villain: Mr Darcy before his transformation?
‘Okay, Miss Austen. For your information, she’s plenty handsome enough to tempt me.’
Lexi is pleasantly surprised but also irritated that he got it so easily. She knows it’s not pretty, but a part of her wanted the jolt of adrenaline that comes with feeling superior for a second. But if she wants that, she is going to have to resort to some obscure line fromMansfield Park.
‘You just– wouldn’t want to dance with her?’
‘Oh, we’ve danced. We’ve done plenty of other stuff too.’
Lexi tries not to picture it. She tries not to let certain images flash through her mind. Those piercing eyes, his shirt off, his arms around her...
‘Anyway,’ he says. ‘Don’t you have a bookshop to run? I heard there’s growing competition in the neighbourhood. You wouldn’t want to let them get ahead of you because you were distracted by a good-looking guy in a coffee shop.’
‘That’s an excellent point. My latte and I will go take over the world now.’
She’s aiming for a smile, and she thinks she sees a shadow of one. Does Sam deserve her sympathy, her efforts at cheering him up? Did she just want to disarm him? Or was it just morbid curiosity that made her sit down opposite him? Lexi isn’t sure, but she’s surprised at her own reaction, at how much she wanted to put an arm around him, at the jostling of emotions inside her: anger at a man hurting what seemed to be a perfectly good woman for the mortal crime of wanting to define a relationship, yes, of course. But, also, wanting so desperately, plan or no plan, to know his backstory, the particular reason for his own particular fear of commitment, his moving from woman to woman. Sadness at his own sadness. Which doesn’t feel much like an enemies thing.
But as long as he runs Great Expectations, enemies is all they can be. Because if they’re not enemies, what are they? They’re certainly not friends. It’s too early to think about this; she hasn’t even finished her coffee yet.
Chapter Ten
Barely an hour later, Sam is in her shop with a box.
‘Penguin Random House really needs to get its act together,’ he says, huffing a little as he leans the box on the counter, nodding at Elijah behind the till, presumably to signal approval of his nerdy T-shirt. Star Trek, maybe? Lexi isn’t quite sure.
On the other side of the bookshop, Lexi is rearranging greeting cards, tidying up their racks, filling in gaps with new arrivals. As far as she’s concerned, PRH can keep making this mistake if it gives Sam a reason to come and see her and a chance for her to put her plan in practice. And while she doesn’t have a handkerchief to drop– she’s pretty sure she doesn’t even own a handkerchief, and nor does anyone under the age of seventy– shecandrop one of the greeting cards she has in her hand. Perhaps the one that saysThere’s nothing sexier than a reader. It thwacks onto the floor with much less elegance than a handkerchief, but needs must.
‘I’ll grab that,’ he says.
