“You’re impossible.”
“I prefer intoxicating. Incendiary?” Graham asked and I rolled my eyes.
“Irritating also works.”
“I’ll take it.” Graham laughed. “Tell me what I’m looking for.”
I paused. I hadn’t wanted him to get involved, but now that he was here, it just made sense to have him look too. It was highly unlikely he’d stumble on something that would give away too much information, so really there was no reason not to let him join in.
“I guess just anything that mentions Wrights. If you can make a pile, I’ll go through it more deeply.”
“And this will hopefully be the answer to why you looked like death and closed your shop today?”
“Um, you’re being quite rude. I’ll have you know that it’s not my job to adhere to societal expectations of what is considered appealing to the male gaze. Particularly when I am in my own home.” I glared at him.
“Och, I’d be delighted to tell you, hell, even better, show you, just how appealing I find you, Agnes Wright, in any manner and in any place.” Graham’s eyes heated and my mouth went dry. Damn it. Why did I keep baiting him? Hadn’t he made his intentions clear?
“Typical man. Already off task,” I shot back. I desperately needed to change the subject before I let my thoughts take me down an entirely differenttrack.
“Aye, aye, captain. Where do we start?”Where dowestart?
He could be doing anything else, yet he was here. With me.
Goddess, he was distracting. He’d taken off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, and I couldn’t help but look at his muscular forearms and the tattoos that snaked up his arm. Etc.
Particularlythattattoo. The anemone floral book design he’d very deliberately had tattooed on the inside of his forearm, so I saw it every time he poured me a glass of wine at the pub.
Focus, Agnes.
“The Order keeps records of families connected to Loren Brae going back centuries,” I said. “If my ancestor did something significant, there should be documentation.”
“And you think she did something bad.”
“The diary suggested a betrayal. I want to know what actually happened.”
“Okay. Wright. Anything with that name, we pull?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Simple enough.” He stood and headed toward the back shelves. “I’ll start back here and we’ll meet in the middle.”
I watched him go—that easy confidence, those broad shoulders disappearing between the stacks—and tried to ignore the flutter in my heart.
This was a mistake.
But it was also the least alone I’d felt in years.
I didn’t think I’d realized, until I started to dig deeper into this curse, how let down I’d felt by my mumcompletely refusing to discuss my father, or later, the promise that had forced me to pull back from Graham.How could she bury her head in the proverbial sand as if my happiness didn’t matter?I’d gotten used to navigating my complicated emotions alone, but this? Having help on something that mattered so deeply to me? This was nice.
And he still didn’t press me for details.
We worked in silence for a while, the only sounds the rustle of paper and the occasional murmur of one of us muttering under our breath. I’d forgotten how comfortable Graham could be as a companion. He didn’t fill every silence with chatter, didn’t need constant entertainment. He just... existed. It was incredibly soothing to be around him. Maybe because he was surrounded by people and chatter all day long at the pub, but when we were alone, he managed to just … be.
It was maddening how attractive I found that.
“What’s a dispensation?” he called from somewhere deep in the stacks.
“A formal exemption from a rule or obligation. Usually granted by someone in authority.” I leaned back to look at him.
