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‘Not to mention it would be pointless for me to save your life today if I was planning to bump you off.’
‘That’s true. Do you at least have a kettle?’
‘Are you wanting to boil me?’
‘Tempting.’ She laughed again. He really did make her chuckle – and not always at him. It was … nice. She shook her head. What a strange, disconcerting night. ‘One cup of tea. I think I need it. Can you magic up a teabag?’
‘Have you tried Irish breakfast tea? My ma’s always sending it.’
‘I’m not staying for breakfast,’ she joked. Wow, what was with her? She would surely be back to normal after the shock.
‘Ahh, you can’t blame an eejit for trying,’ he ribbed back.
Then he grabbed Wanderer’s fish tank and the three of them went through the front door of Real-Life Adventures.
Neither Noémi nor Shay registered that the blackboard outside Shay’s shop had been rewritten, though Wanderer was giving it her usual bog-eyed stare. If Noémi had seen it, she would have recognized the words from one of Shakespeare’s sonnets. And she would have known someone was trying to suggest that, no matter how she behaved, Shay was falling for her. Though who could possibly know that?
So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.
Mental note for Noémi’s SOB List:
Christmas cookies are ON. (Play with flour and you’ll get your rug burned.)
Chapter 24
When Noémi was fully inside Shay’s bright shop, reality began to hit.
‘What just happened? What am I even doing here?’ If she wasn’t careful, she’d be sobbing into her fish tank.
Shay took it from her and placed it on an empty shelf. She covered her face with her hands, a long groan escaping her.
The events of the evening began to replay in her mind like the worst Christmas film ever: baking in the back kitchen, when she clearly shouldn’t have been. The panicked shouts. The fire. The fact that her staff and Mrs Jingleman could have met a terrible end. What if Shay hadn’t chosen that moment to drop in and the fire had spread down the street? What if he’d remembered what a snarky neighbour she was and had decided not to help?
Noémi heard Shay come to her side. He placed a gentle hand on her back and began to rub; the foil blanket she was still wearing made a crinkling noise.
‘It’s like soothing a takeaway burrito.’
They both giggled and she uncovered her face. He knew how to lighten the mood. She liked that.
‘Let me get you a proper blanket. You’ll be in shock,’ he added.
He opened a cupboard and pulled one out, settling her into a chair that was far more office-style than anything in her shop, but she was grateful for it. She noticed how sparse the shop was, compared to hers. How unhomely, other than various photos on the walls that she couldn’t quite make out. But then she knew he was just passing through.
‘You eat takeaways?’ she asked, trying to piece him together. ‘And keep blankets?’
‘I live in a van.’ He shrugged. ‘And I’m outdoors a lot.’
He lived in a van. She hadn’t known that about him, but she guessed it made sense. There was still no evidence of him having moved into the flat upstairs, next to hers. She still hadn’t learned that much about him. Was it strange that she was curious to know more?
Her fingers traced the soft woollen blanket she was now cocooned in. ‘Waffle stitch,’ she said absently, recognizing it from many a moment spent with Catherine and her crafting. ‘Do you crochet?’
A small laugh exploded from him. ‘Hell no. Could you imagine me sitting still for long enough?’
He was pacing the room as they spoke, rearranging things, turning the radiator up. No, she couldn’t imagine.
‘I bought a stack of them from down the road at the kooky craft place. Nice ladies in there. Your woman, Catherine, is crocheting some earmuffs for me. Something about festive Irish leprechauns?’ He grinned. ‘I like to support local. Didn’t like to tell her that I mostly grew up in various rural parts of England – moving around with my da’s farming jobs – before landing in Manchester to be a lazy slob of a student. Might spoil the illusion.’
