Just as I’m thinking it, Ovie spots Nana and tries to drag her away, but it’s impossible to move what cannot be budged by physical strength.
Nana makes a face and tries to argue, but Ovie convinces her to go on.
I release a breath that I didn’t know I was holding. And another crisis averted. For now.
Nana’s hell-bent on ruining this for me. If wind of her presence gets out, my chances will be ruined. Stop. Do not pass go. Do-not-collect-$200 ruined.
“Tell me about you,” he says.
And just like that, my attention is back on the handsome Mr. Grayson. “What would you like to know?”
“Whatever you think I might enjoy learning.”
Not sure if the sentence was supposed to sound seductive, but it did. Heat crawls along the back of my neck. “I work at my family’s bookstore.”
“Ah yes, Castleview Books.”
“That’s the one.”
“What do you do there?”
“I help put readers into the stories that they adore.” My heart swells because it’s something that I love. Or loved. Used to be, people loved having me help them, but now my presence is obsolete—like I’m a horse and buggy compared to that new-fangled invention they’re all calling the horseless carriage.
The car.
“You’re an inventor,” I muse.
“I am.” He spins me out, and I come back to him, falling against his chest. Storm catches me expertly, and we stay in that position one, two, almost three seconds (while my blood sizzles, by the way) before he gently pushes me out and I take hold of his shoulder once more.
“Any new inventions on the horizon?”
“There’s one. There’s always one, but from the way that Devlin’s looking at me, it seems he’d prefer I didn’t have any.”
What?
It takes a moment to find Devlin, and when I do, he’s staring fiery spears at Storm.
He is not going to ruin this for me.
As Storm spins me in a different direction, I glare at Devlin until he catches me looking and begrudgingly glances away.
Good. Keep it like that.
“Don’t worry about Devlin. He’s just jealous because your inventions are great.”
That catches Storm by surprise. “You think so?”
“Of course.” What has he invented again?Think, Blair!“I’ve used Magical Messages for ages, and you came up with that when you were, what? A teenager?”
He looks completely impressed with my knowledge of his pubescent life. “Fifteen. I was fifteen when I invented that, but to be honest”—dramatic, woe-is-me sigh—“it’s really a bit prehistoric in terms of inventions, at least compared to what I’m doing now.”
I chuckle because of course it’s prehistoric. He’s in his thirties. Isn’t he?
But when I laugh, Storm’s eyes narrow hard and fast on me. I clear my throat in embarrassment. “Well, it seems that of course anything you created when you were younger would probably be juvenile compared to your talents now,” I explain.
“Yes,” he agrees, sniffing and glancing into the crowd, “they would be. You’re right. I’m always so hard on myself.”
Is he opening up to me? Like, opening up and we’ve only just met? Yes, Storm Grayson is being vulnerable. I might cry tears of joy.
