It goes well, and the money is good. More importantly, I’d be back in the world, contributing again. We discussed my work history, and touched on the injury. My back has been a hell of a lot better recently, but it’s still an issue, and it was reassuring to hear that some of my work would be desk-based. I’m guessing there won’t be too much chasing down bad guys and sitting in patrol cars involved.
I should be happy. I should be looking forward to it, a new beginning, doing a job I know I’m capable of doing well. Except, I think, as I close down the laptop, I’m not.
I might not be the most deep-thinking of guys, but it’s pretty obvious what the reason for my reluctance is. It’s in the next room, singing, a sweet and gentle sound that immediately soothes me. I sit for a few moments, staring at the wall, gathering my thoughts. Or more accurately, trying to ignore them, because they’re off the rails.
What would she say if I walked in there right now, and asked her to come back to Chicago with me? How would she react if I told her I didn’t want this to end? I’ve grown so used to falling asleep with her head on my chest, to waking up beside her, that I can’t imagine a day when I won’t miss that.
‘Don’t be a jerk,’ I mutter to myself, getting up so fast that I shake the table.
I walk through into the store, and see a couple of customers have arrived. Kate chats to them about their holiday, and suggests a trip to nearby Slains Castle, allegedly the inspiration for Dracula’s pad. We’ve been there, and it scared the bejesus out of me – a huge, haunting ruin perched so close to the edge of the cliffs it feels like it could slide into the waves at any given moment. We saw seals, though, which made up for the fear factor.
She waves them off with a stack of books they probably don’t need, includingDracula, staring at them as they go. I recognise the look now – the one that says she has an idea. ‘I think we should get branded bags. You know, nice jute ones? Maybe with the Edge of the World logo on them? Better for the planet, and free advertising!’
‘The store has a logo?’
‘Yes! The one on the sign outside – the one Xander got printed up on flags, so we know it reproduces. What do you think? And how was your interview?’
‘I think it’s a great idea,’ I reply, ‘and it went well.’
‘I heard some of it, you know,’ she says, head tilted to one side and a mischievous look on her face. ‘You were talking about your firearms training, and your, um, tactical response experience?’
I nod, letting her have her fun. I lean back against the desk, flexing a little as her eyes run over the length of me.
‘Yeah? You liked that, huh?’
‘Oh yes! Very much! That’s when I put the radio on. I was getting so hot and bothered at the thought of you breaking down doors, I thought I might end up bursting in and ravishing you while you were online with your boss…’
‘Ravishing me?’ I echo, shaking my head and grinning. ‘Have you been hitting the romance section again?’
‘No need,’ she says quickly, ‘my life currentlyisthe romance section.’
Our eyes meet, and I feel the heat of the moment rising between us. It seems like one of these moments creeps into our conversations about ten times a day right now. Like we’re trying to cram even more living into what time we have left together.
We’re saved by the bell, and another customer coming in to inquire about ordering a Lee Child novel. At last, a book I can actually talk about. Once that’s done, Kate climbs the little stepladder that she needs to reach the top shelf, where she’s rearranging some of the more valuable stock.
‘I saw something up here you might like,’ she says, as I admire the view. She’s wearing tight jeans that do wonders for her ass.
‘Yeah, I see something up there I like, too…’
She laughs, and continues: ‘I bet you do! But this was an illustrated first edition about puffins. The pictures were gorgeous, if I can just lay my hands on it…’
I’ve been a regular visitor to the puffin colony, and have been here so long I can now recognise family groups.
‘How were Peter and Polly this morning?’ she asks, glancing back at me.
‘Great,’ I reply, cringing a little inside at the fact that I have actually named the damn puffins. ‘Loud. Bright. Getting up to all kinds of crazy puffin games.’
She finds the book she’s looking for, and holds it aloft. ‘You’re an interesting man, Brody Quinn,’ she announces.
‘Not really.’
‘Yes you are! All big and macho one minute, and melting at the sight of a tweety bird the next. So sensitive beneath all that steely surface. I never know which version of Brody I’m going to get. I think that’s one of the reasons I love you.’
She freezes when she realises what she’s said, and so do I.
Shelovesme? What the hell do I do with that?
TWENTY-FOUR
