“Oh!” An elderly woman stood in the doorway, clutching her handbag and blinking at us. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No,” Agnes said, quickly. “No, nothing. Just shelving. Graham was helping me shelve.”
“Books,” I added, unhelpfully.
The woman’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “I see. Well, don’t let me stop you from... shelving.”
She wandered off toward the romance section with a knowing smile that suggested she hadn’t believed a word of it. Agnes’s cheeks had gone bright red.
“You should go,” she said, not looking at me.
“I’ve still got boxes to unpack.”
“I can manage the boxes.”
“Agnes—”
“Please.” She finally met my eyes, and the look in her eyes made my stomach twist in knots. “I can’t... I can’t do this right now. I can’t think straight when you’re here.”
But I needed to be patient. It had always been the long game with Agnes.What I need to do is let her come to me instead of chasing her into corners.
“Okay,” I said. “But finish your soup.”
“Graham—”
“And I’m coming back tomorrow to help with the rest of the inventory between my shifts.”
“I’ve been unpacking my own boxes for years.” Agnes frowned at me. “That’s entirely unnecessary.”
“Aye, likely so.” I grabbed my jacket from where I’d tossed it over a chair. “But I’m doing it anyway. Lunch shift ends at two. I’ll bring scones.”
“I don’t want scones.”
“Everyonewants scones. It’s a scientific fact.” I tapped my finger on where she was tugging on her left earlobe.
“Damn it,” Agnes said and dropped her hand. I grinned, delighted that she looked caught out and flustered. It was far better than the tired and stressed look she’d had on her face when I’d first come in.
“Finish the soup,” I said. “And get some sleep tonight. You look exhausted.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You look exhaustedandbeautiful. They’re not mutually exclusive.” I pulled open the door, letting in a gust of cold air. “See you tomorrow, Agnes.”
I left before she could argue, the bell chiming behind me.
Patience, I reminded myself as I walked back toward The Tipsy Thistle. I was going to be patient if it killed me.
Though at the rate things were going, it just might.
CHAPTER TEN
AGNES
The box was on my kitchen table, daring me to open it.
It was stupid, really, this reluctance I had to digging through it again.
What if I’d missed something that could have changed everything for me years ago? And it had just been sitting here all along? Annoyed, I circled the table, trying desperately not to think about the almost-kiss that had happened in my bookshop today.
