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Oliver thought he’d quite like to kiss him, or punch him in the mouth. Either would work.
“You didn’t need to send spies into my shop,” Oliver said, carefully setting his pint back down on its beer mat. “I would have told you anything you wanted to know.”
Jack’s smirk turned into a scowl. “I didn’t tell him to do that.”
“Oh, really?”
“Stuart is… nosy.”
“That’s a good word for it. He didn’t decide to stay for a drink, then?”
“No, he needed to get home tonight.”
“Fair enough.”
Oliver had to wonder why Jack had bothered to come and sit next to him. People had dragged chairs over from other tables and were sitting on each other’s laps when there wasn’t space to go around. It wasn’t like the only available seat was next to Oliver.
“So,” Oliver said, and decided to be bold. “What is it you want to know about the shop?”
Jack’s eyebrows furrowed and he reached for his own pint. “Nothing,” he muttered.
“Oh, please. You are a grown man. If you have questions, you should ask.”
“I already found out what I needed to know.”
“By sending your mate to interrogate me? Very mature.”
Jack clenched his jaw, and Oliver resisted the temptation to tell him how much damage that would do to his teeth. Jack had a very defined jawline that he kept clean-shaven—which was rare, these days, when it seemed like every other man had artful stubble, at least.
“I have plans,” Jack said tightly, “to open a children’s book shop next year. Upstairs.”
It all clicked into place.
“And you thought I was a threat to that.”
“Sue me,” Jack snapped. “I’ve worked hard to build my business. I’m not ready to let anyone elbow their way in and ruin it.”
“I’m not going to steal your business,” Oliver said, forcing himself to stay calm and not snap back. “I’m only going to be open for a couple of weeks.”
“I know thatnow,” Jack said. “I didn’t before.”
“So you thought it was appropriate to be absolutely vile to me without even giving me chance to explain?” Oliver asked mildly, even though he felt the anxiety and tension tightening in his chest and throat. He wasn’t usually confrontational, and now he was sure everyone around their table was listening into their conversation.
“That… wasn’t personal.”
“You could just say sorry.”
Oliver forced himself to look up, and was surprised to see genuine anguish in Jack’s expression.
Acting on impulse, Oliver finished his pint, waved a thank you to Russell, and headed out of the pub. A few seconds later, Jack joined him on the front step.
“It’s fucking cold out here,” Jack hissed, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Come on,” Oliver said.
He led them back through the back streets, up towards the cathedral, where the stained-glass windows glowed from the service happening inside and music from the choir floated to them on frigid air.
“I’m sorry,” Jack whispered, looking up at the cathedral.
