He glances down at me again, amusement dancing in his expression. “Long enough to see changes.”
“That’s not really an answer,” I point out, pursing my lips in mock frustration.
“It’s the only one I’m offering at present,” he says with another devastating wink that makes my knees wobble treacherously. Good Lord, pull yourself together, Keisha.
I exhale a laugh, shaking my head. “Do you actually work somewhere around here, or do you just wander the town looking mysteriously handsome as a recreational activity?”
“I do maintain employment.” he gestures ahead with his cup. “Right there, as it happens.”
Two storefronts come into view, and my stomach does a little flip of anticipation mixed with anxiety.
One reads ‘Bits and Bobs’ in elegant gold script across a dark green storefront, its large window filled with antique clocks and polished brass instruments.
Next to it, in looping ornate lettering that matches the style of Thorne Manor’s architectural details, is ‘Thorne Curiosities’.
My stomach definitely flips now. We’re going to be neighbors.
“That establishment is mine,” he says, nodding toward Bits and Bobs with obvious pride. “Antiques, historical artifacts, and the occasional piece of genuine mystical significance.”
“And that one,” I murmur, eyes locked on my family name painted across the glass in gold letters, “is apparently mine now.”
“It has been meticulously maintained,” he says carefully, as if choosing his words with deliberate precision.
“Maintained by whom, exactly? My aunt?” I ask, suspicion creeping into my voice.
“Not your aunt,” he says easily. “The caretaker has taken considerable pride in the responsibility,” he replies with that subtle smirk I’m beginning to recognize.
“‘Caretaker,’” I repeat slowly. “That sounds ominous.”
“I assure you, it isn’t,” he says, clearly amused by my wariness.
He studies me for a quiet moment as we reach the entrance to his shop, his eyes seeming to catalog my expression. “Have a pleasant day exploring your shop, Keisha. Perhaps I’ll check in later to see how you’re managing.”
“That statement feels suspiciously layered with hidden meaning,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Does it?” he asks with false innocence. “How interesting.”
Before I can formulate a response, he steps into Bits and Bobs, the brass bell chiming softly behind him, leaving me standing alone on the sidewalk with my pastry and growing a sense that everyone in this town knows more about my situation than I do.
I turn toward Thorne Curiosities, drawing a deep breath of crisp morning air.
This is my shop now. My family’s legacy stretches back centuries. My responsibility, whether I understand what that means or not.
I search through my leather bag for the ornate key the lawyer had sent me, but when I insert it into the lock, I discover the door is already unlocked. Curious about what Lucien meant by ‘caretaker’, and increasingly certain that nothing in this town happens by accident, I take a breath and push the heavy door open.
The brass bell above the entrance chimes melodiously, announcing my arrival to the dim interior. The air inside feels expectant, almost alive, humming with an energy that raises goosebumps along my arms. There, in the center of the shop,perched with impossible dignity atop the main display table like he owns the place, sits the most beautiful cat I’ve ever seen.
He’s clearly a British Blue, silver-gray fur so perfectly groomed it seems to shimmer, compact muscular build, and the most startling golden eyes that seem far too intelligent for any ordinary feline. He doesn’t look surprised by my appearance. In fact, he looks distinctly unimpressed.
He blinks once with deliberate slowness, lifts one elegant paw to his mouth and licks it with meticulous care, then fixes those remarkable eyes on me with what can only be described as judgment.
“It took you long enough,”he says in a crisp British accent, his voice carrying the unmistakable tone of aristocratic irritation.
I stare at him in absolute shock, the bag with my croissant slipping from suddenly nerveless fingers.
“What did you just say?”
Chapter
