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Lucy glanced around at Crawley Books. The store looked like a hurricane had blasted through it. Everything was already chaotic after the Thanksgiving rush, and they needed to be sorting everything to be ready for the Christmas rush, but they’d been too busy antagonizing each other to notice.

It had been a ruinous day, and they had both made it worse and worse. They hadn’t been working as a team, as they should have; instead, they had been working against each other.

Charles came out from the back then, heading for the pub to meet his friends. He leaned heavily on his cane when he saw Grayson’s sorry state. Charles glanced at Lucy, and he must have seen the guilt written across her features. He frowned. Then his gaze slid to the crushed flowers strewn across the floor.

“Children,” Charles said, looking at each of them. “This is unacceptable.”

“Charles—” Lucy started, feeling chagrined.

“Look at this place!” Charles said. “What a state! You two need to learn to work together. I’m disappointed in both of you.”

Lucy’s heart twisted. Grayson stood quietly, hanging his head.

“Now, I’m going to the pub, and you two better sort out whatever problems you have with each other by the time I’m back,” Charles scolded.

“I’ll take you,” Grayson offered.

“Let me!” Lucy said.

“No,” Charles said, shaking his head. “I’ll go by myself.”

His cane tapped angrily against the floor as he made his way out, and the door slammed shut behind him. Lucy and Grayson were left in the silence. Regret knifed through her, making her nauseous.

Quietly, Lucy began cleaning up, and Grayson followed suit. They spent the next hour in total silence, staying out of each other’s way until all the work was done and the store once again looked orderly.

Lucy went to the register to put the kettle back in place and saw that the toaster was waiting there. She turned to Grayson, who was watching her. She opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure of what to say.

Grayson walked over, and she came around the counter, meeting him halfway.

“Why do you hate me so much?” he asked, voice miserable. “You seem intent on forcing me to leave.”

“Because …” she said, trailing off. She swallowed. “Because of Charles.”

He frowned. “Don’t hide behind Charles,” he said, voice steely. “If you’re going to hate me, just hate me, Lucy.”

She stilled. He rarely called her Lucy; it was always a hissed Lucinda.

Hearing Lucinda from his lips always gave her a satisfying high, since it was usually a sign that she had successfully managed to piss him off. But hearing him say Lucy disarmed her. He sounded surprisingly tender when he said it.

She thought about what he’d said, and she realized that if she wasn’t hiding behind Charles, she didn’t really have a reason to hate him, not truly. She had initially suspected that he was here to take the bookstore away from her, but it had been over a month since he’d arrived, and she was still here.

Either he was working slow, or he really was here for Charles …

“Why do you always shut Charles down when he wants to go grocery shopping with you?” she asked. She had noticed Charles ask Grayson three different times while they were leaving the bookstore, and each time, Grayson had declined.

“What?” Grayson asked, confused.

“It’s Charles’s way of wanting to spend time with you,” Lucy continued. “Him and Sophie always went together.”

Grayson’s face pinched with pain at the mention of his grandmother. “I’m trying to be helpful,” he said, defensive. “To make things easier.”

“And I told you—being that practical only makes you cold.” He bristled at her words. “Why can’t you just be normal?” she asked, exasperated. “If I saw you and Charles actually having some sort of a nice relationship, I wouldn’t hate it so much that you’re here. But from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like you’re trying.”

“You don’t know everything,” he said, a sharp edge to his voice. “You don’t know how hard it is, after all that’s happened between us. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I’m not the one at fault?”

If he was insinuating that it was Charles at fault, she might just have to murder him. Charles had called Grayson’s uncle constantly, trying to contact Grayson or at least ask after him while he was growing up. When Grayson moved out at eighteen, Charles had hoped he might move back, or at the very least come visit, but Grayson never got in touch.

Grayson was just like Lucy’s parents, not caring about the affection people were trying to give them. He was careless, thoughtless. Unfeeling! If Charles were her family, she would be thankful every day.