Page 31 of Not That Ridiculous

Nope. I slid the sign across the glass in front of his face again.

He crouched to look under it. “Charlie.”

I whisked it down.

He straightened.

I whisked it up again.

And then I suddenly thought, You are playing peekaboo with Kevin and people are standing there behind him watching.

A couple of girls in the local teenage uniform of big loose jeans, big white trainers, and little neutral crop tops (one white, one beige) had stopped to watch Kevin assault my door. They called something out to him, but I couldn’t quite hear from where I was. Kevin said something back and they laughed.

A guy with a pushchair slowed as he passed. Mrs Hughes, locking up the bookshop over the road, glanced over. The bus pulled up in the bus stop and a gaggle of commuters spilled out.

I hung the sign back on its sucker-hook and strode off.

I didn’t look behind me. All it would take was Kevin’s not-quite pout and his solid body pressed up against the glass, and I’d cave. I’d run back over there, snatch the door open, haul him through, and then…

Who knows?

Probably kiss the crap out of him in front of God, Mrs Hughes, and a bunch of bored teens. And I had no idea how that would land with Kevin, so.

I didn’t look.

I strode into the kitchen, popped open the door of the dishwasher, and nearly dropped a cup when a loud walloping bang sounded at the back door.

I bobbled the cup but managed not to drop it, thanks to long practice and fast reflexes. They weren’tthatexpensive when you bought them in bulk, but before Milly and Pippa, I’d gone through significantly more than I could afford, due to some of my more apathetic short-term baristas.

Either they knocked them off the counter, over-stacked the trays, or ignored the sign on the front of the dishwasher that said: CAUTION!!! WAIT UNTIL COOL BEFORE UNLOADING!!! then shrieked as if they’d touched actual fire rather than quite a hot piece of crockery before hurling the offending hot crockery to the floor.

The only people who came to the back were my delivery guys: Nadia from the bakery in the mornings, whoever DPD had working the Chipping Fairford circuit that day, and Dominic with my beans. And none of them came after closing time.

I opened the door.

“Kevin. What about ‘closed’ don’t you—oh.”

He put his hands on my waist, picked me up, and set me down out of the way as he slid on in.

What.

What just happened.

Hepickedmeup?

“You can’t just pick me up,” I told him indignantly, closing the door.

He took hold of me again, lifted me off the ground, and put me down. “Uh, yes I can.”

I swatted him. “I meant you’re not allowed to.”

He did it again then set me down slowly as he said with alarming certainty, “Yes, I am.”

I’d never been picked up in my life. Well. In my adult life.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded. “We’re closed. If you’re having a coffee emergency, you’ll have to go to Starbucks.” I made a face like I’d just sucked a lemon. “Or,” I said bravely, “go home and make yourself a cup of instant. Nescafe Gold Blend or something.”

“Oh,” Kevin said. “All right. Good idea.”

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