Page 52 of A Novel Love Story

I tore my gaze away from his, and pushed myself to sit up. “It’s getting late. I should get going to Junie’s—”

“You can stay in the loft again, if you’d like,” he said.

I paused. Waited for him to go on.

“I mean, I …” He pushed himself to sit up, too, and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I doubt you got much sleep last night, and the inn isn’tfinished. Is the plumbing even working?”

“One bathroom is. Shared among the three of us,” I replied.

“You’d have your own bathroom here. And it wouldn’t be haunted.”

“According to Junie, the haunted bathroom might just be a plus.”

“You and I both know Junie is just saying that because she’s your kind of optimist.”

I inclined my head. “Is that a compliment?”

To which he replied carefully, “Is the sky blue?”

“Technically? No. Blue light just travels in shorter, smaller waves so we can see it.”

And he bit the inside of his cheek, as if resisting the urge to smile. “Ah, so it does.”

I inclined my head, studying him. When I first found the courtyard, I’d thought I would come here and ask him point-blank about it, but I’d just gotten on even footing with him, and I was leaving tomorrow anyway. What did it really matter? I thought about what he’d said earlier, about making waves, and telling him that I’d found that strange courtyard might just inadvertently make more. Not right now, not when he almostsmiledat me.

“Okay,” I agreed. “I will.”

The rafters rattled again with another rumble of thunder, and the wind began to blow raindrops inside, so he stood and closed the window.

“Well,” he said, “when the rain stops, you should go and get your things—” He turned back from the window, and almost ran into me when he realized I hadn’t yet moved. His eyebrows furrowed, and he tilted his head. I stared down at his polished loafers. They were a soft, warm brown, polished to a shine.

Why was it easy to stare at his shoes and muster up the courage to say—

“I’m sorry. For slapping you. It was uncalled-for and awful, and I should have restrained myself. I’m sorry,” I repeated, and to my surprise his hand came up and gently caught my chin, and raised my gaze to meet his. His eyes were soft, and there was an amused curve to his lips.

“Could you say that again?” he purred, and the rumble in his voice made my toes curl.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hmm.” He studied me, our faces so close I could count his individual eyelashes, see the specks of gray and gold in his eyes. Then he dropped his hand from my chin, and stepped away, and as he did the space around me suddenly filled with cold, cold air. “Apology denied. I still deserved it.”

“Fine.” I said, hoping he didn’t see the blush rushing to my cheeks. “So now we’reactuallyeven. Good, great. Happy to help. So, I’m going—um—to go get my stuff. From the inn. And tell Junie and …” I pointed across the bookstore, about to retreat, when he asked—

“Do you have dinner plans?”

“Dinner?” I asked, and the word sounded strangled. Withhim?

He said, “Yes, dinner. You know, that meal where people eat in the evening time?”

“I know whatdinneris,” I said. “I just … I … with you?” Because I needed to know for sure, and I was at a loss for words. Dinner—withAnders?

He nodded. “Me. Unless you already have plans … ?”

I could lie and say that I did. That would have been the smarter thing to do, and then cover my ass by inviting Junie to dinner. But …

“I’ll have to check my dance card,” I replied. “Though, I’m getting very sick of burgers.”

He tilted his head to the side, deciding. “How do you feel about spaghetti?”

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