“For sure. Hey, you haven’t met these guys yet.” He gestures to the others in the room. “You know Declan, obviously. This is Maya,” he says, pointing to the woman whose work station is next to Declan’s. She’s young, probably early twenties at the most, with bright, shoulder-length, magenta-colored hair. She has fewer tattoos than Sean and Declan, but she makes up for it in piercings – in her eyebrow, two in her nose, and at least a dozen between both ears. She gives a small wave.
“That’s Eddie.” A man in the back of the shop tosses up a hand in acknowledgment but continues cleaning. He’s tall, with a thick beard and glasses. I can practically feel Grace sizing him up beside me. She’s always had a thing for beards.
“And this,” Sean says, grabbing the hand of the woman who worked the desk all day as she walks by, “is my Frankie.” He tugs her close, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her deeply. I can feel a blush spreading across my cheeks just watching them.
When Frankie pulls away laughing, I swear there are stars in Sean’s eyes. The man is inlove.
“Don’t mind my husband,” Frankie says, turning back to us. Sean’s arms stay looped around her waist, like he can’tnotbe touching her.
“Oh honey, we don’t,” Grace says, fanning herself exaggeratedly. “I’m Grace, by the way.”
“I’m Elsie.”
“I’m so glad to meet you again,” Frankie says, smiling. She’s short, with black hair thrown up in a messy bun on top of her head. She has an impressive number of tattoos and piercings, but fewer than the others have. I’m admiring the small hummingbird on the side of her neck when something clicks.
She said ‘meet youagain.’ My eyes flit back to her face and she grins.
“Wait a second,” I say, squinting like it’ll help me get a better look at her. It takes me a few moments to place her. “Francesca? Francesca Monero?”
Frankie laughs, tossing her head back against her husband’s shoulder. “I was wondering if you’d recognize me.”
“Holy shit,” Grace says. “You’re, like, even cooler than you were in school. How is that possible?”
“Oh stop,” Frankie scoffs. “You two were the ones everybody loved. And Olivia. I don’t think I ever saw any of you on your own. I thought you might have been surgically attached at the hip.”
“We still are,” Grace says proudly, reaching down to squeeze my hand. “Which leads me to why we’re here. We’re going out to celebrate a successful opening day. Do you guys want to join us?”
I’ve been able to ignore Declan through the entire exchange, but I become painfully aware of his eyes on me again. I ignore it, keeping my attention on Frankie and Sean instead. Maya wanders over to join us, apparently done with her post-shift chores.
“Sounds fun,” Frankie says. “What do you think, baby?” She tips her head back to meet Sean’s eyes and he plants another kiss on her.
“I’m down. Anyone else?” he asks, looking around the room.
“I’m in,” Maya says at the same time Eddie says, “Sure.”
We all look over to Declan, who’s been sanitizing the same piece of equipment since we arrived. He cleans the machinery almost idly. His hands, covered in light blue latex gloves, wipe it down while his eyes stay fixed on me.
I wonder if the electricity pulsing between us is obvious to everyone else, or just me. Because it’s there, even if I’d like to pretend that it’s not. The second our eyes meet it’s like a living, breathing thing in the room with us, sucking up all the oxygen and making my pulse race. It’s exactly why I avoid looking at him, when I can help it.
“Elsie?” he says, startling me so much that I drop the notebook I didn’t realize was still clutched in my hand. Embarrassed, I bend to pick it up, but Frankie beats me to it.
“Here you go,” she says, smiling kindly as she hands it over. There’s a knowing look in her eyes that I can’t quite place. Has Declan said something to her? I find it hard to believe I’ve been taking up as much real estate in his mind and he’s been taking up in mine.
“Thank you,” I practically whisper, still mortified.
When I meet Declan’s eyes again, he looks amused. That same smirk that infuriated me so much the first time we met is back, and I want to slap it off him. Or kiss it off him.
“Yes?” I finally ask. I have no choice but to meet his stare head-on. I keep my eyes fixed on the nearly black ones looking back at me, fighting hard to not let my eyes wander across his stubbled cheeks or the slope of his nose. I resist examining his neck tattoo, though I’ve been wondering since we met what the design is peeking out of the collar of his shirt.
“You’re good with us crashing?”
“Am I?” I say stupidly, my brain operating about three seconds behind my mouth. “I mean, yes. Of course.”
“It’s just that you seem a little…” he trails off, looking for the right word. “Skittish,” he adds, smirking again.
Asshole.
“I’m notskittish,” I insist, clutching the notebook tighter just in case. “I’ve just had a long day.”
