“You’re fucking with me?” He narrows his eyes. “Are you? I can’t tell.”
“Chase, I assure you that Nick is perfectly safe and healthy. I wouldn’t let him live here if he posed a risk to my patrons or me. Do you really believe I’d let him hang around all the books if he had fleas?”
Chase looks around, like he might need to personally inspect the books for bugs before he believes me. “Okay. Then where is he?”
That, I can’t answer. Normally, he appears as soon as I snip the top off his treat. No matter where he is, he can smell the scent of chicken wafting through the air.
“He’ll show up, give it a minute.” I walk through the store, slow enough that I can peruse the various nooks and crannies for a glimpse of his white and black fur. “Have you always had this fear of cats?”
“Do you always wear a bowtie?”
“Answer mine first.”
“I’m not scared of cats. I just think animals belong outside.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the table. His devilishly short shorts ride up a bit, revealing the edge of a tattoo on his thigh. It’s nearly impossible to pull my gaze away. Instead, I pretend to be studying the area for Nick.
“It’s not a horse. It’s a house cat. Emphasis on the wordhouse.”
“Then why isn’t he at your house?”
I sigh. The original plan was to take him back and forth, but wrangling him into a kennel twice a day was too stressful for both of us. He’s happier here and, as a bonus, helps ensure no mice run around the shop. Nick is better at pest control than any company and much better at customer relations. Seeing a pest control van in front of the shop doesn’t instill confidence. Even if it is a fact of life for older New England buildings. Especially in the winter.
My own home is a different story. I’ve struck a deal with the mice who make their way in. I’ll stay out of their way if they stay out of mine. It’s the reason I avoid the basement as much as possible. No need to disrupt the order of things.
“Now my question. What’s with the bowtie?”
I put my hand up to my neck and touch the bit of fabric. It’s one of my favorites. Paisley with pale yellow flowers. I found it in a thrift store a few years ago. As soon as I saw it, I had to have it. It required a few repairs, but nothing my tailor couldn’t handle.
“My old job required me to wear a tie every day.” At first, I’d hated it. I never talked to actual clients—at least not in person—and there was nothing about a magic tie that made me better at my job. It was a strict requirement, though. “I hated how long ties dragged on my desk. Plus, I looked ridiculous in them.” They’re not made for short people. Especially short people withabnormally short midsections. “One day, I wore a bowtie as a joke, but I ended up loving it.”
“But you own this place, right? No one makes you wear that. You could wear pajamas to work.”
I scrunch up my nose. Strict dress codes might not work for me, but there’s no way I’m coming in wearing pajamas unless it’s for a themed event.
Oh, that’s a good idea. I’ll have to add it to the growing list of special events I want to offer.
“I suppose that’s true, but I like the bow ties. They’re a personal signature.” Also, I own eighty of them, so I have to do something. Most of them, like the one I’m wearing, are vintage. A few even started life as a long tie but have been cut and reimagined.
“Yeah, but you’re still wearing it. Do you sleep in one or something? There are no customers. I’d have that thing ripped off the second I locked the front door.”
Honestly? I barely notice them anymore. There’s something about the way Chase is pushing that nags at me, though. He’s simply being curious, but it reminds me of all the bullying I went through years back in school. How I dressed, how I walked, how I talked. They went after everything. Now, people occasionally comment on the bowties, mostly as a compliment.
“Why?” I ask, batting my eyelashes a bit. “You trying to get me to take my clothes off?”
The minute the words are out of my mouth, I regret my decision. Blame the tiredness after a long day or work and hosting an event for my poor choices. For a second, I forgot that Chase isn’t one of my friends I consistently banter back and forth with.
He’s my best friend’s brother. My best friend’sstraightbrother.
“Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“It’s fine.” It’s not. His face has turned the color of a tomato, and he refuses to look anywhere near my face, instead turning his gaze toward an interesting spot on the wood floor.
Fuck me. So far, I’m pretty sure I’ve done a great job of proving why my high school fantasies could never come true. Reality is a harsh master.
A flash of movement draws my attention to the mystery section of the store.Gotcha.
I put my finger up to my mouth, encouraging Chase to be quiet. We’re on the hunt now. At least that’ll help us get out of this awkwardness. Plus one for Nick.
As soon as I get close to where I spotted him, I crouch down to the floor and hold out the treat.
