‘That sounds like just the right amount of wanting.’
‘I don’t want to mess this up.’ He sounds almost sad.
‘I’m confident you’ll do a good job.’ Lexi thinks of all the broken hearts that litter the streets of DC. If he didn’t know what he was doing, there wouldn’t be so many women out there struggling to get over him. Not that she wants to think about those other women right now.
‘No,’ he says. ‘Not that. Us.’
What is it about that word:us? It runs down Lexi’s back in the form of another shiver.
‘Oh.’
She can’t exactly say, screwus. I just really want to be with you right now. Honestly, she doesn’t know if there’s anusto speak of. And right now, her body is telling her that she doesn’t care.
But Lexi knows herself better than that, and she knows too that now is not the time to be callous, because hers isn’t the only heart at stake here.
Sam kisses her again, more gently, this time, like he’s trying to shift gears back down from fourth all the way to first. She follows his lead. It’s agoodbye for now but we’ll pick this up laterkind of kiss. And she very much wants to pick it up later.
‘Let me take you out for dinner sometime soon?’ he says. ‘Do this right?’ He cups her chin again, mirroring the beginning of this surreal moment.
Lexi doesn’t really know what to say, so she goes with the obvious.
‘Sure. That would be nice.’
Not as nice as that bed looks, but there’s plenty of time for that. She hopes so, at least.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Needless to say, Lexi is really quite flustered when she gets to the shop. She pushes the door to open it instead of pulling it, despite having opened the door thousands of times over the last three decades, and she finds her accountant waiting downstairs on the sofa, a pile of books next to him. She’s fifteen minutes late: in America, this is practically unforgivable. It’s a very punctual culture: she has had friends text her to let her know that they are going to be three minutes late. Three minutes! Surely that’s on time? If you asked her, Lexi would tell you that everything within ten minutes is on time. Maybe it’s a British thing; maybe it’s just a Lexi thing. Fifteen minutes is pushing it, though, even for Lexi, even for Brits. Still, her accountant knows her well by now, so he’s probably not surprised. He’d probably settled in for the duration with the pile of books.
‘I’m sorry,’ she tells him, by means of a greeting. ‘I lost track of time.’ That’s close enough to the truth, right? She’s not exactly going to tell him that she was snogging her business rival.
‘No problem,’ he says graciously, standing and flashing his perfect white American teeth at her. ‘I’ve been perusing your thriller section. This really is a great bookstore.’
‘Thank you.’ Lexi ignores the wordbookstoreand chooses to bask in the compliment. It’s not so much thatbookstoreis an American word; rather, that it makes her think of big corporate places that are not exactly soulless– since no place with books can ever be entirely soulless– but certainly devoid of the character and personal touches and community spirit of a shop like Pemberley Books.Shophas much more of a cosy feel, a friendly neighbourhood vibe. Plus, it reminds everyone that its owner is British, which for some reason she’s never fully understood makes them think she and her shop are both quaint and sophisticated.
She also ignores the unspoken undertone to her accountant’s question.Nice bookstore you have there. It would be a shame if anything happened to it.But, of course, that’s why the accountant is here: to make sure that nothingdoeshappen to it. So he’s also letting Lexi know how much she needs him, and that she’d better pay attention to what he says.
Then again, it’s also possible that she is overthinking a basic compliment. But in her defence, her head is all over the place right now.
‘Shall we?’ She gestures towards the cave office. She wonders if Pippin is in a prematurely cuddly mood today. She sort of feels like she could use the comfort.
Lexi isn’t sure where this sense of foreboding has come from. Maybe her accountant’s demeanour– he doesn’t have the tall, confident posture of someone about to deliver good news. Or maybe a delayed panic response to what just happened with Sam. She has barely had a minute and a half by herself since he left her at the corner where he turns right and she turns left. She hasn’t had a single second to process a single thing about that kiss. Good idea? Bad idea? Idea that is potentially extremely detrimental to her business? Who knows. But, either way, Lexi suspects that snogging your biggest business rival is not exactly Accountant-Approved Behaviour. She hopes she’s not blushing, but she knows that hope is probably futile.
When they walk into Lexi’s office, Pippin opens an eye and then curls up tighter, clearly indo-not-disturbmode. So he will obviously be no help whatsoever.
This is a closed-door situation. Lexi hates those.
‘Sit, sit,’ she says, seeing he is carrying a bottle of water and suppressing her urge to offer tea. It doesn’t matter how long she lives here, it will never be normal to start a meeting without a cup of something hot and soothing. She could really do with one herself, if she’s honest. But it’ll just put off the inevitable, delay the start of this meeting even further, and risk irritating the accountant.
Even at the best of times, Lexi hates accountant meetings. The numbers give her a headache– firstly because she’s never been a maths girl, and secondly because they tend to unearth problems she didn’t know she had, problems that will now require solutions.
She looks longingly at the kettle.
The accountant clears his throat and opens up some folders.
‘First,’ he says, ‘the good news.’
This is unexpected. ‘Glad to hear there is some.’
