Nope, not at me. At the shirt I’m holding.
I hurl the shirt back on the table like it’s a flaming pile of poop. My heart beats out of my chest. Oh god, they’re making fun of me right now, I know it.Don’t look up, I tell myself.Don’t do it, idiot.
I do it.
Chapter
8
Okay, theyarechuckling. But not in a mean way. Andthen the guy with sand-colored hair—the one who looks like he’s stepped off the set of a BBC drama—smiles at me. My heart stops. A drop-dead gorgeous guysmiledat me. Now that’s something to tell the grandkids about. Wait, could they beourgrandkids? I shake my head. I’m getting ahead of myself.
I turn before they somehow realize the insane thoughts running through my head. When I glance back up, they’ve already disappeared into the crowd. My shoulders slump. Maybe if I hadn’t been holding that stupid shirt they’d have come over and introduced themselves. Probably not, but it’s a nice thought.
Huan follows my gaze. “Do you think they go to our school?”
I jump. I didn’t know anyone else had seen them. “They aren’t American,” I say in a quiet voice.
I wasn’t close enough to hear them speak, but I can tell. There’s just something about them. A level of sophistication that leaves me feeling like a fanny-pack-wearing, white-tennis-shoe-sporting American. Definitely not in their league.
The rest of the group is still engrossed in their shopping, so I take the opportunity to head back over to the fairy booth for a few minutes. It’s even better than I thought originally. They have books, posters, calendars, art prints—and I want it all. I flip through the prints before spotting a table of small fairy figurines. I scurry over and reach for one as another hand snakes out for the same box. Our hands touch and I pull back, looking up.
“Excuse me.”
Oh. My. God.It’s him. It’s gorgeous sandy-haired British boy. And his accent is so beautiful that I can’t move.
He cocks his head at me. “I know you. You’re the girl who likes her...teahot, isn’t it?”
My cheeks flare with heat. “I... no. I mean, I do like my tea hot, but I don’t like—I mean...” I shake my head. “It was just a stupid shirt.”
He throws his head back and laughs, and I find myself laughing with him.
“It’s not stupid. I quite like that shirt.” He lifts the box he’s still holding. “I didn’t mean to steal this from you. Did you want this one?”
“No, it’s okay. I was only looking.”
Eek, is this really happening? This feels like a dream. I pick up another box at random to calm myself, but peek at him out of the corner of my eye. Is it possible that I found a ridiculously handsome British guy who also knows about Cicely Mary Barker? Can life be that perfect?
He turns the box over, inspecting it. “You’re sure? My little sister would probably love this.”
My stomach drops. Okay, so notquitethat perfect.
“Or is this one better?” he asks, picking up a second box. “I think I may need some assistance. You see, I wouldn’t want to choose the wrong flower. My sister is terribly picky.”
He has a teasing smile that I can’t help but return. I take the fairy dressed in white petals and holding the daisy. “This one is clearly superior.”
He chuckles. “Clearly.”
In the walkway, two young girls squeal and race into the stall. “Mummy, hurry, look at these!”
“They certainly know who they’re marketing to,” the guy comments with a slight eye roll. “Who are you buying for? Do you have an excitable little sister too?”
I fidget with the box still in my hands. “Oh no... definitely not. I’m an only child. I was browsing. You know, taking in the sights.”
“Yes. As am I.” He steps closer and my heart flutters. “I’m Will.”
What’s my name again?
“I’m, uh, El—” My throat closes and I have to swallow before I can speak.
