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Elena eyed the money. “Hang there.” The door shut in his face. He watched her speak with Rory, who glanced his way once and then turned her back.
His entire future rested in the hands of a book-loving shop assistant with multiple piercings, at least one literary tattoo, and possible job-loss anxiety. Two seconds later, Elena was back.
“Good luck.” She took the cash from his hand and stepped onto the sidewalk. “We have security cameras. You’ve got forty-five minutes. Don’t screw it up.”
He stepped through the door, heard it lock behind him and Rory said, “Give Elena another C-note when she gets back. She’s a doll and she’s not paid enough. I can do something about that when I buy this place.”
He couldn’t see her between the rows of shelving, but at the sound of her voice all the tension wound up inside him coiled tight enough to ping against vital organs, tiny, nauseating electric jolts. His mouth was so dry he could drink the water in the flower vase near the till.
“You’re going to give up your life of crime and become a bookshop owner?”
“Bookshop, café owner. Halsey says it’s a terrible investment. I wouldn’t be giving up anything and I’m not scared of committing to something I love. What do you think?”
He deserved every potshot she aimed at him. He craned his neck to try to catch a glimpse of her. “That my opinion isn’t worth your consideration.”
She snorted. “Got that right.”
He went left. “Are you going to keep the name?” She wasn’t there.
“Thinking of changing it to A Likely Story.”
“That’s clever.” He moved over to another aisle. Not there either.
“Surprise, surprise. Just like me.”
That smarted. “If I had to give an opinion, and you had an inclination to take any notice of it, I’d say you should do what makes you happy.”
“I tried that. Flamed out.” She stepped into his line of sight and then disappeared around another fixture.
“And that would be my fault.” He followed, going to where she’d been, only to find she’d moved again. This place was bigger than it looked from the entrance. Forty-five minutes wasn’t a lot of time to mend two hearts. Surgeons needed at least a half-day and his means were far more limited to sleights of hand because Rory wasn’t going to give him time for a long con.
“In my defense, what do I know about relationships that last more than a month? I’ve had meals last longer than some of my hook-ups,” he said.
She reappeared. “That’s your defense?” Disappeared. “You made me think I didn’t know my own mind. You made me doubt us. And you were the last person I ever expected to do that to me.”
“I win.” He slapped his hands on his thighs. “World’s greatest shithead.”
“Yep.”
That really shouldn’t have cut. “I also made you cry like your heart was broken and tell me you needed space.”
She reappeared again, right in front of where he stood. He reached for her and she shook her head. “Don’t touch me.”
He used the useless arm movement to pluck a random book from the shelf.
“I cried, so what?” she said.
“You’ve only ever cried hard like that three times that I know of. When your dad died. When you broke up with Cal and right after we slept together. I can’t be the one who makes you feel grief like that.”
“Oh, you ridiculous man.” Her eyes rolled up. “I thought I knew you, turns out you’re some damn stranger who thinks it’s all about him.” She took the book out of his hand and put it back on the shelf. “I can’t believe I’m in love with you. Nothing you did made me cry. Big deal, I needed space to get my head together. I was upset. I still am, because I am not made for worrying the man I love might be dead. I’m not made for cult busts and rescue missions and the kind of risks we were taking. I don’t want to do those jobs. I never really did. I wanted to work with you. I was out to prove I was trustworthy, that I could take the pressure and not buckle. But it turns out no one needed me to prove anything and all I earned was your lack of trust.”
There had to be thousands of books in this shop. A whole wall of How To. There had to be at least one that had the answers to how to make the woman he loved believe in him again. He needed its inky wisdom injected into his bloodstream because he was stuck for answers.
“I don’t not trust you.” He winced when he said that. He’d second-guessed her into a corner.
“That’s not what I heard.”
Right. “I might’ve been a colossal fool who was overthinking things.”
