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“Good! Can I purchase this? Then we better get home,” Alba said, setting her book on the counter.

“Assistant!” Lucy called. Grayson turned back to her from across the store. She waved a hand at Alba and the book. “Assist,” she ordered, stepping out from behind the counter.

Grayson gave her a long-suffering look as he stalked up to her, eyebrow arched. Lucy discreetly turned Esme to face him, aiming her like a weapon.

“All right, all right!” he cried, raising his hands in surrender.

“Good girl,” Lucy cooed at Esme, snuggling next to her. She watched as Grayson begrudgingly went behind the counter to ring Alba up, his face crestfallen with defeat.

There was no way he would last long here. He’d soon realize the bookstore wasn’t worth all the trouble she would give him, and he would scurry on home to Ireland with his tail between his legs.

Until then, she would have fun making his life miserable.

CHAPTER TEN

Grayson

Grayson was not having fun at all.

Ten days had passed at Crawley Books, and he was alarmed by how seriously Lucy was taking this war between them. She must have been a general in another life.

He wanted her to leave so he could have room to establish a relationship with his estranged grandfather, the only connection he had to his dead mother.

What would it take? What did she want?

It seemed she was determined to scare him into leaving by using petty spells on him. He’d lost count of how many, but they were childish things like hexing his favorite pen to move unsteadily, hexing his clothes to be wrinkled though he had immaculately ironed his trousers, and hexing his glasses to keep falling down his nose.

All nuisances that took him far too long to realize were her meddling hand.

Furthermore, she called him her “assistant,” and Charles sat by quietly, letting her be a little tyrant. Worse, she always did everything right—she knew how Charles took his tea, she knew which book he’d reach for when he was tired or wistful or irritated or silly, and it wasn’t book-magic. It was knowing Charles.

Luckily, Grayson had the advantage of living with Charles. In the morning, they both got ready and went to the shop together, and though Charles had magic to help him with simple tasks, he still needed Grayson to assist him, especially with driving. Sometimes they picked up breakfast on the way to the store, Charles showing Grayson all his favorite delis and cafés (Long Island bagels were truly a thing to behold).

Grayson even knew all of Lucy’s favorite orders by heart now, but did she even once show him any sign of appreciation whenever he delivered her bagel dripping with an obscene amount of melted butter? No!

Every time he entered the store with Charles, she hardly spared him a glance before kissing Charles’s cheek, practically shoving Grayson aside to take Charles’s hand and help him settle in.

At home, it was a bit easier for Grayson, though he was busy looking over papers for the two classes he had left behind. He tried his best: He picked up groceries before anything even had the chance to finish. He cooked. He cleaned up. He made sure Charles was comfortable.

But it wasn’t enough, and he didn’t know how to make it enough.

Grayson didn’t have anyone back in Ireland to call to ask for a second opinion, which was demoralizing. Why didn’t he have any close friends?

Even Charles had friends. At the moment, Grayson was walking Charles to the Mexican restaurant next door to meet with the afore-mentioned friends.

Charles was doing a bit better, so he was up for such an excursion. A physical therapist came to the store every day to do exercises with him in the back (during which time Grayson and Lucy exchanged the worst of their insults without Charles there to reprimand them).

It was five in the evening, and the sun had recently set; the sky was a mix of blue and gray clouds, darkening with every moment. The mid-November air had a bite to it, and Grayson was glad he had convinced Charles to bring his gloves and scarf.

“Here it is,” Charles instructed, as Grayson held his grandfather’s spare hand. Charles’s cane tapped along the sidewalk, and a pair of teenage girls passed them, arm in arm. “I could have come by myself, you know.”

Grayson frowned, his jaw clenching. He counted to ten in his head. “I thought it might be nice to meet your friends,” he said, gritting the words out. Charles didn’t seem to have a problem letting Lucy take care of him, but he always fussed when it came to Grayson.

“Oh, yes!” Charles’s voice brightened. “Riotous group. We always have fun together. Just in here.”

Grayson slowed down before the door to the Mexican place, which was painted a bright red and decorated with a festive harvest wreath. With a wave of his hand, Charles pushed the door open, and Grayson quickly walked Charles into the restaurant, the door shutting behind them.

He didn’t understand how careless Charles and Lucy could be with their magic, using it with such frivolousness where anybody could see. Grayson huffed, and Charles turned back to look at him, sensing Grayson’s line of thought.