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“You’re no fun,” Charles grumbled, shaking his head.

“And you’re both buckets of joy right now, aren’t you?” Grayson asked. He gave Lucy a wicked grin. “Besides, I happened to have loads of fun last night. Even a bit this morning.”

Her cheeks heated, and she stabbed her pancake, cutting it in half through the smile. She swore she heard Grayson laugh as he poured coffee into a cup, bringing it to her with a good amount of caramel drizzle and oat milk.

She ate her pancakes and took a sip of coffee, the hangover and her overall grumpy mood starting to lessen after she had some breakfast. She couldn’t be too mad, not when Grayson was cooking for her.

“I need some fresh air or I’m gonna hurl,” Charles said, getting up. He went out the back door to the yard, leaving Lucy alone with Grayson.

He leaned over the counter across from her as she sipped her coffee, the muscles in his arms flexing.

“Thanks for making my birthday so fun,” he said, all the mockery from earlier gone from his voice. He sounded genuine. “It was my best birthday ever.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, meaning it. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“Anytime.” His eyes were warm behind his glasses, his expression fond.

Her heart felt gooey. She needed to get out of here, ASAP. She shoved the last piece of pancake in her mouth and downed the last of her coffee.

“Okay, well, I should go. Bye!”

With a wave of her hand, she had her shoes and coat on, her bag on her shoulder. She bolted before he could say another word.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Lucy

Lucy tried her best, but it was hard to keep her distance from Grayson.

They were becoming proper friends, and really good friends at that. She loved how insightful he was; she loved talking to him about books; she loved that he loved Charles; worst of all, she loved how lonely he was because she was, too, and together, they weren’t so lonely anymore.

She thought about kissing him many times over the next two weeks, but each time, held back, staying strong and, more importantly, safe.

The mini snow globe he had given her on Christmas Eve was still in her purse, and every so often, she took it out just to touch it, remembering it was real. It was such a small, silly thing, but each time she looked at it, she recalled the moment he had given it to her: that cozy night as snow fell around them, sitting by the fire, enjoying each other’s company and conversation.

As much as she tried to convince herself it was just physical attraction, she couldn’t deny the feeling she had whenever she was around him, the same one she got in this town, this store, at all her favorite places.

It didn’t help that he was unbelievably clever. He was a professor, after all, which was also terribly sexy.

“Don’t get a big head about it, but I would kinda love being in your class,” Lucy said. They were by the bookshelves, restocking the romance section.

“Thanks, but I wouldn’t let you be in my class,” he said, eyes sparking. “Conflict of interest.”

She swallowed, turning away. “Because we hate each other?”

“Yes,” he said, voice soft. “Because we hate each other.”

It was starting to feel like saying hate was a stand-in for another word neither of them was brave enough to say. It was easier to hide behind the word than to face reality.

“What English classes did you take at uni?” he asked, clearing his throat as he slid a book into place.

“A decent amount since I double majored,” she replied, making space on the shelf.

“What? You double majored?!” He was excited and stopped restocking, facing her. “What was your favorite class? Your favorite book?”

She hugged her stack of books, bouncing on her toes. “I can’t choose! I liked all of them! But I loved Frankenstein; Mary Shelley is just so cool! Oh, and I took this class on Elizabeth Bishop, it was all about her and her coterie.”

“I love her!” Grayson said. “Her poem ‘One Art’ is one of my favorites.”