I wipe the drool off my mouth before I answer. “What?”
“You said you worked all night. Parlour Tricks closes at five.” I forgot he worked on Claire’s salon build, and for her boyfriend.
“I dance at a club on weekends.”
His brow furrows. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or joking.”
I smile without saying anything more. I think I’ll let him sweat over it.
“Was Aurora home by herself?” he asks. “I can watch out for her if you need.”
The offer rolls off his tongue like honey. They sure do make them sweet in Heart City.
For twelve years, I’ve managed being a single parent, content to handle things on my own, relying only on myself, becausethat’s as far as my trust extends. I play the part in acting that’s how I like it, when in reality, I had no choice.
“She’s going to a friend’s house next week. We just hadn’t organised anything because of the move.” It’s partly true.
Westley holds up his hands in surrender. “No worries. The offer still stands. If you need anything, I’m always happy to help.”
He backs away from the railing, resigned to the end of the conversation.
“Never had a neighbour like you.” I lean back, propping a foot up on the chair, and see his eyes track the movement. “You should be careful. A girl could get used to it,” I tease.
“Youshouldget used to it.” Westley picks up his book again, then gets comfortable on the daybed, one foot against the mattress so his knee’s bent, and sipping his drink.
Pull yourself together, Maevyn. The man’s just reading a book.
“What are you reading?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. This is usually a quiet activity,” he says, peering over the pages.
I have to clench my jaw to fight the laughter at him throwing my own words back at me. Slowly, I return to my telescope and get back to what I actually came here for.
“It’s a retelling ofRomeo and Juliet.” Westley’s voice carries through the quiet night.
The unexpected confession has my head turning. “You’re reading a romance book?”
“Theirs wasn’t romance; no happily ever after.” He holds his book up. “Thisis a dark romance version.”
Stargazing forgotten, I turn in my chair, pick up my mocha and criss-cross my legs, facing him. “Do you always read romance?”
He looks up at me over the pages, pops a bookmark in his place, then closes the book.
“I do prefer when there’s at least a romance sub-plot.”
“Really? Why?” I feel desperate for the answer.
He shrugs. “I like the idea of finding the person you’re meant for, even when the world’s against you.”
“A truly mind-boggling fun fact about you that I wasn’t expecting.”
“That’s what happens when you ask questions. You learn things about people.”
“Oh, really? Is that what happens?”
“Yeah, you should give me something now. Then we might actually have what we call a conversation.”
It happens. The laugh slips out. Just barely, but he hears it.
