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“What?” he asked, confused. “I’m annotating.”

“You’re desecrating my books!” she exclaimed, reaching to snatch the copy from his hands. He stood, holding the book out of her grasp.

My books. As if she owned the entire shop. He narrowed his eyes, walking around the desk to stand in front of her. He stared down his nose at her.

“First of all, this is my book, as in I brought it with me from Dublin. Second of all, it is not desecration to take notes, it is scholarly. I am a professor, you know. I am aware of these things.” He was being a bit of a prick, he knew, but it was worth it for how pink her face got.

“Stop MURDERING that poor book!”

He balked. “Murder!”

“YES.”

“If you can’t bear it, stop looking. Direct your judgy little eyes elsewhere.”

“My eyes are NOT judgy!”

“Is this the hill you want to die on, Lucinda, truly? Annotations?” She was ready to die on any hill, to be quite frank, so he was not the least bit surprised.

“It ruins the experience.” She shook her head. “When you read the book again, you look at the annotations and are forced to think about those things, rather than the thoughts coming organically.”

He furrowed his brows, intrigued by her perspective. “Annotations are so I can remember my favorite parts,” he said. And he meant it. “When I revisit those notes, it adds an extra layer to the book.”

She arched a brow. “Yeah, it’s called cheating.”

“No, it’s not cheating. It’s …” He trailed off, trying to articulate what he really meant. “It’s as if I’m interacting with the version of myself I was when I last read this passage, remembering the things that I thought were special or important. Like a time capsule.”

He was surprised by his own words, their authenticity, and how such a thing could be found in a conversation with Lucy. Even she looked confused, examining him curiously, her dark brown eyes wide as she regarded him. He blinked, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

Briefly, she looked convinced by his words, which would have been a feat of monumental proportions—but then she shook her head. “No, it’s still cheating,” she said, though now she seemed to be arguing in good faith, putting forth her opinion as a rebuttal to his. “You should have the thoughts organically again.”

“But I did have them organically,” Grayson countered. “And perhaps recalling old thoughts could inspire me to update my observations as I consider them with a new perspective.”

She furrowed her brows. “No. It’s still a desecration.”

“And what if I just leave a little note in your book?” he asked, voice mischievous. Last he’d seen, she was reading a new horror novel that looked absolutely dreadful. He went for the office door, reaching for the handle.

“No!” she shrieked. Before he knew it, he was frozen in place, unable to move.

She stomped over, and he had no choice but to stand entirely still as she had struck him with magic.

“Seriously?” he asked. There was no one in the office to see, and Charles was taking a nap in the back, so even he couldn’t protest. “I’m telling Charles about this when he wakes.”

Lucy laughed. “Go ahead! I doubt Charles will take your side. He thinks everything I do is adorable.”

Grayson glowered, knowing her superiority was well-founded. “Like those pet owners who find it sweet when their cat brings them dead birds as gifts,” Grayson said. Lucy’s expression sparked.

Lucy grabbed Grayson by the front of his sweater, pulling him down to face her, the magic loosening briefly at the movement. His eyes widened, gaze flicking to her mouth before he could help himself. “Do not test me,” she snapped, eyes blazing. They were so close he could smell her. She smelled like books and vanilla and flowers, like this shop that was slowly becoming more familiar to him.

He peered into those dark brown of her eyes, which up close he realized were not just one flat color, but streaks and layers of brown that looked like paint mixed with hints of gold.

His gaze lowered again to her mouth, which was painted in pink lipstick. He wondered how it might feel to sink his teeth into her lower lip.

As he brought his eyes back to hers, he saw something change in her expression. Her pupils were dilated, blown wide, and she inched closer to him as if drawn in by a magnetic field she was helpless against.

If he wasn’t frozen, he’d kiss her. The thought sent his pulse racing.

If he dared, would she let him? Would he find out if she tasted as good as she smelled?