She shudders, imagining a whole shop full of them. Imagining them being regular customers. Imagining not being able to just walk away and block their numbers.
But Lexi has shown her hand. ‘Used togo on dates with, huh?’
‘I mean... before I gave up on terrible DC men.’
‘And dated a terrible New York man instead?’ Sam makes a fist with his spare hand, miming a microphone under his chin. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, she has officially given up on other men.’
Lexi rolls her eyes, but she can’t stop smiling. He’s not wrong. She’s smitten.
She doesn’t know what it means for the shop. She doesn’t know what any of her staff are going to say when they inevitably find out, though she can take a guess. But, right now, at this very moment, she doesn’t care. Or, no, it’s not that she doesn’t care, exactly. More that it’s a problem for Lexi the Businesswoman. Lexi the Infatuated is a different part of her. She resides in a different part of her brain, or perhaps her body, and she’d like to stay there for as long as humanly possible. For as long as inhumanly possible, too.
‘We’ll see,’ she tells Sam. ‘Don’t count your chickens yet, mister.’
‘But that was some of my best work just then.’
Lexi can well believe that. ‘I am definitely not complaining about the quality of the work.’
‘Good,’ he says. ‘’Cause then I’d have to prove I can do more.’ He kisses the top of her head. Rolls her gently away so he can free his hand. ‘And we wouldn’t want that, right?’
‘No,’ she says, and she shivers as he touches her again. ‘Wedefinitely...’ Her breathing quickens. ‘...wouldn’t want...’
‘Wouldn’t want...?’ Sam prompts her. Seeing, no doubt, if Lexi has lost the power of speech.
Which, it turns out, she has.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lexi sleeps better than she might’ve imagined that night. If you’d asked her six months ago how relaxed she would be in Sam’s bed after amazing sex... well, first of all, she would have said,I’m sorry– what now?And then, once she’d cleared up the tea she’d splattered down her top, she would have said that she’d probably lie awake all night, tossing, turning, puzzling over her mistake and what it meant not just for her heart but also for her bookshop. She never sleeps well on the first night in any bed– let alone the bed of her (former?) mortal enemy.
But then, the truth is that good sex is tiring. And the other truth is that, after sex with Sam, she feels more relaxed than she’s felt in... months? Years? It’s not just the release of what she now realises to have been long-building tension; it’s also like her whole body knows that this is what she’s supposed to be doing, this is where she’s meant to be, this is who she’s meant to be with. It could, to be fair, also be the release of oxytocin, but, as always, Lexi prefers the more romantic version.
It’s hard to tell if Sam is actually asleep, or just letting her watch him, but there’s a smile playing at the corner of his lips, so she suspects the latter. She’s enjoying the undistracted view of his ruffled hair– usually so tidy– and the contours of his jawline. Without his eyes, though, the picture isn’t complete. His eyes are what she likes best about him, the most mesmerising part of him. Luckily, she doesn’t have to wait too long to see them. He stretches, and they ping open.
‘Good morning,’ she says.
He smiles in response, and reaches out to smooth her hair. ‘Hi.’
It’s awkward, this part. Because all Lexi wants to say is:We did it! Can you believe it?But it seems like that might not quite strike the right tone.
She’s been thinking a lot lately about the alternative ending to the 2005Pride and Prejudicefilm, the ending that was made for the American market and that, in the UK, she only discovered by fumbling around with the DVD extras, since DVDs were actually a thing back then, in the dinosaur age of her pre-teen years. In that ending, which totally wouldn’t have worked for a British audience sceptical of too much gushing, or, for that matter, for any Austen purists, who’d note her understated restraint as well as the fact that her books always end pretty much straight after the wedding, Mr Darcy and Elizabeth kiss and embrace, seemingly amazed that they’ve actually made it.
And that tonewouldbe fitting here. Lexi isn’t exactly worried about scaring Sam off with her enthusiasm: if that was going to happen, last night would have done the trick. She was certainly very enthusiastic, three times over. But she goes for playful and detached instead of earnest because she is, after all, still British.
‘What does a girl have to do to get a coffee around here?’
It’s tea that she actually wants, of course. Tea is her straight-out-of-bed drink. But she knows better than to expect an American to have a kettle, let alone PG Tips. She’ll train him one day. But this is not that day. One thing at a time.
‘Patience, my love.’
While Lexi hates being told to be patient, her stomach lurches– if pleasant lurching is a thing– atmy love. Sam might be back in eighteenth-century-England character, but still, it’s a nice thing to hear. If nothing else because you can’t call someone that and then refuse them a coffee.
She wants to kiss him, but she’s acutely aware of morning breath. The coffee isn’t just for waking up; it’s good for masking that. And when it comes to another kiss, she’s not sure that shecanbe patient.
Still, she chooses to be gracious.
‘Of course.’ She settles back down under the covers. ‘Your sheets are very soft.’
‘I’m glad you like them.’
