Chapter 4

Chapter Four

BEE

T he next morning, I come awake in slow stages like a hedgehog emerging from hibernation. I didn’t close the curtains last night, and the room is full of soft grey light. I twist in the warm sheets and fumble for my glasses on the side table. Once they’re on, I lie with the duvet tucked over my shoulders, looking out of the window.

Edinburgh is laid out before me in shades of stone and tan. Huge, thick clouds scud across the sky, making the tree next to the apartment dip and sway as if dancing. Occasional shafts of sunlight cut through the clouds, making the windows on nearby buildings sparkle as if under a spotlight.

I stretch and groan. My feet are killing me. Lifting the sheet, I poke my leg out and examine my foot. It’s red and sore, with crusty patches where the blisters have burst.

Shit. I need to buy some walking boots . I shudder at that horrid thought.

I settle under the duvet again and consider last night. We’d all been tired, particularly the drivers, so we’d ordered a takeaway and had an early night. I’d sat with Ivy, and although Tom was on the other side of the room, I’d still been conscious of his every move.

“It’s just a bit of a crush,” I say aloud, then throw the covers back and limp to the shower.

Half an hour later I hobble out of the bedroom wearing my skinny jeans and a T-shirt that proclaims, Good Boys Always Finish Last . My heart skips uncomfortably when I see Tom slouched on the sofa, watching television with a plate of toast resting on his flat belly. He’s barefoot and wearing jeans with a grey T-shirt that echoes the colour of his pretty eyes.

His face brightens when he sees me, and then he reads the T-shirt and laughs. “Just what all the well-dressed men about town are wearing nowadays.”

“I might have to cover it up, or everyone will want one.” I tug on the hem for about the fiftieth time since I put it on. “Ivy bought it for me from Kos. I’ve grown a bit since then.”

I limp towards the kettle, switch it on, and lean against the counter, gazing intently at it as if I can make it boil faster with the sheer force of my concentration.

I look over my shoulder at Tom and find that his smile has dropped. He’s gazing with some horror at my feet. I look down and wince. They’re a big cluster of puffy skin and sores. They look worse after the shower rather than better.

“Shit,” he breathes. “Bee, they look painful.”

“They’re not great,” I admit. “I think I might need to buy some walking boots today, which is not something I thought I’d ever say.”

“What is?” he asks.

I tilt my head, not understanding.

He gestures encouragingly. “What is something you’d usually say?”

“Hello, fancy a fuck?” I say without thinking.

He laughs. “That’s so much better than asking what job someone does. I bet you’re a big hit at functions.”

“I’m a popular boy.”

He jumps off the sofa and hands me the plate of toast. “Help yourself.”

“Oh, no, thank you. I don’t eat breakfast.” I take the plate off him, nevertheless.

“You don’t eat breakfast ?”

“You said that in such a tone of surprise. No, I hate breakfast.”

“It’s the best meal of the day,” he says bewilderedly.

“The only people who say that are the ones who eat it. You’re like some sort of cult.”

He stares at me for a long second and then shrugs. “I think I’ve got some plasters for your feet in my bag.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to,” I start to protest, but it’s too late; he’s vanished. I take a slice of toast absentmindedly and bite into it. It’s hot and buttery, and I demolish it quickly as I make tea.

Tom comes back in, and I look up. “Do you want some tea?”

He takes his plate back, looking down at it with a funny smile. “Please. Milk, no sugar.”

I make it while he settles back on the sofa and starts to pull out paper packets of various sizes from a small first aid pouch. “They’re blister plasters,” he says, motioning me to sit down next to him. “You’ll still be able to walk without pain when you get your new boots.”

He gestures at me, and I blink. “What?”

“Put your feet here.” He taps his lap.

“You want me to put my feet in your lap? Damn, you’re a party animal. It's only nine in the morning.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m a party animal a lot earlier than this. Time has no constraints on me. No, I’ll put the plasters on for you while you drink your tea.”

“Erm, I think I’m fine,” I say, curling my feet under me for good measure.

“You sure? I don’t mind.”

“I don’t need you to do that. I can look after myself.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t have a bit of help occasionally.”

“That would feel a bit weird. I’m not used to being nursed. My dad was never very good when I was ill.”

“Does he not like sickness?”

I hesitate. I don’t usually talk this much, but his eyes are bright with interest which is surprisingly enticing. “God, no, that doesn’t bother him. He just tends to forget things.” He stares at me, and I elaborate. “He’s a don at Oxford University.”

“Wow. The apple obviously didn’t fall too far from the clever tree.”

“Thank you,” I say a little awkwardly. “Anyway, that meant he was super involved with his work. When I was ill as a child, he’d be great while he was with me, but when he left, I sort of slipped out of his mind. Once, when I had my appendix out, he forgot to pick me up from the hospital. When I got home, he was surprised because he thought I’d gone away on a school trip.” I pause. It’s hard to believe I just told him that. He’s looking like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned, so I say firmly, “I love him very much.” I hold out my hand for the plasters. “Thank you.”

He hands over the various plasters, and then sits sipping his tea while I administer my own first aid.

“What are you watching?” I ask.

He doesn’t respond and I shoot a glance at him. His gaze is fixed on me. He startles and quickly shifts his attention to the TV. Interesting.

“Oh, it’s The Prince and the Pauper .” He winks. “Oliver Reed is rather attractive.”

I eye the burly, dark-haired man. “He looks like he could pick you up in one hand and squeeze.”

“I wouldn’t complain. Especially if he kept that doublet on.”

I snort. “Where are the others?”

“Sal texted a while back to say they’ll be round in a minute.” I hear a knock on the door, and he grins. “That’s good timing, which is an odd concept for Sal. She was late for her own graduation service because she went to Starbucks. It was probably just as well because my dad was stoned and kept clapping for other people. He was like a one-man cheering squad.”

“I’ll get it,” Freddy shouts, and we sit, listening to the others enter on a wall of noise.

Ivy immediately comes over to me. “Shit, was that because of your Converse?” she asks, looking at my feet, which are more sticking plaster than skin now.

I nod. “I think I’ve got a shopping trip in my future, Ives.”

She ruffles my hair. “Poor baby. You’ll get over it.”

I look around. “What’s everyone up to today?”

“I’m out with the girls from next door,” Freddy announces.

Georgina rolls her eyes. “The girls who aren’t in our holiday party?”

He grins at her. “Are any of you likely to shag me?”

“Not fucking likely,” she says. Sal and Ivy nod in agreement.

He shrugs good-naturedly. “Well then.”

“You’re an animal,” Georgina informs him disapprovingly, but he just smiles.

Tom chuckles. “Let’s hope none of them are as high maintenance as all your past girlfriends. My nerves can’t take it.”

“They weren’t that bad,” Freddy says.

“What a ringing endorsement,” Georgina says tartly.

Tom shakes his head. “Not bad? Didn’t your last one have a meltdown for over an hour because you didn’t tell the takeaway place to leave the peppers off her pizza? We haven’t been able to go in there since.”

“Shame. They made nice pizza,” Freddy says sadly.

“We’re going to walk down to the Grassmarket,” Georgina says as Steven and Jack walk into the room. “There are some lovely little shops down there, and the Christmas decorations are pretty, apparently. We’re doing culture later on in the week.”

“That sounds good,” Steven says. “I need to get a present for Jack’s parents.”

“I just usually get them arsenic,” Sal says, and Freddy elbows her.

Luckily, Steven hasn’t heard her. “Are you coming, Bee?” he asks.

I look at my feet. “I think I’ll have to take a pass on that.”

Georgina exclaims and comes to sit next to me. “They look terrible. Poor you.” She smiles at me. “We’ll stay with you instead. You don’t want to be on your own on the first day here.”

Steven tuts. “Well, I want to go shopping.”

Jack gazes askance at him. “I’m pretty sure they won’t run out of gifts. You can just give my parents a gift voucher if push comes to shove.”

“A gift voucher,” Steven exclaims in horror. “I want Barbara and Derek to know that I’m thinking of them.”

“I find it best to reach for my cross when that happens,” Tom observes, and Jack snorts.

“There’s no need to stay with me, but thank you anyway,” I say quickly. I hate the idea of people changing their plans and centring them around me. It makes me very uncomfortable. “I’ll rest my feet for a bit and then go and get some walking boots later on.”

Ivy pats my head like I’m five and in need of a nap. “I’ll go with him.”

I shoot her an affectionate but wry look. “I’m going to one shop and coming straight back. You want to go proper shopping.”

“It’ll keep.”

“That’s very lovely of you, but you won your friend merit badge years ago.”

“I did, didn’t I? I’ve probably got a cupboard full of them somewhere.”

“Probably shoved behind all your shoes. Anyway, you don’t need to lobby for another one. I’ll be fine. I’ll be as good as gold tomorrow.”

“But you can’t be on your own.”

“I’m not five, and I can promise you now that I’m not going to eat the crayons or turn the gas on.”

“He won’t be on his own,” Tom says, leaning against the kitchen counter. He shoots me a smile. “I’ll stay with him and then take him to get his boots.”

“Really?” Ivy exclaims. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re making it sound like he’s fucking babysitting me,” I protest.

“You would have been a terribly opinionated baby,” she says solemnly.

I snort and then sneak a glance at Tom. He raises his eyebrows at me. I’m not sure if his expression is offering a challenge, or if he’s simply teasing me. Either way, I want to find out more about that sparkle in his eyes.

“Well, that would be lovely if you don’t mind?” I say to him.

His smile gains an extra radiance. “I don’t mind at all,” he says happily. “I know a good walking shop in the centre.”

“That’s the perfect spot for Bee,” Ivy says smoothly. “He’ll be completely enthralled in his spiritual home.”

I pinch her, and she cackles.

Tom nods. “Well, he can get kitted out, and then we can find somewhere to have some lunch.”

I’m pretty sure I should object to a scheduled visit to a sports shop. Instead, I say, “Great,” and I actually mean it.

Freddy looks at Tom, his mouth twitching. Something is obviously amusing him, but he just claps Tom on the shoulder, nearly sending him into the oven by the counter. “Great, so that’s the plan. And tonight, we’ll go out for food.”

“I’ve booked a good Italian,” Sal says, consulting her phone. She slings her long, shiny hair over her shoulder. “Ready?” she asks Ivy.

Ivy glances at me, obviously torn.

“She’s ready,” I say quickly. “Off you go, Ives. Be good. Burn your credit card before you get there.”

She rolls her eyes. “One time, a bank asked me to cut up my credit card. One time, and I’ve never been able to forget it.”

“It’s not normal for bank managers to cry.”

The others gather their coats and walk out in a flurry of excited chatter, but Ivy leans down to hug me, and I smell the familiar scent of her sweet perfume. “You sure?”

“I’m certain. I’ll be fine.”

“But I brought you on this holiday, and you don’t really know anyone.”

“Well, this will help. I’ll get to know Tom.”

She looks over at Tom, who is walking towards his bedroom and laughing with Freddy. His hair is tousled and shiny, and his arse is plump and tight in his jeans.

“You poor boy,” she says, her eyes twinkling.

I heave a martyred sigh. “Someone has to do it. It might as well be me.”

“Do it, or him?”

The thought kindles heat in my stomach, and I wink at her. “Maybe a bit of both if I’m lucky.” She bites her lip, and my eyes narrow. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

“But?”

She comes to sit next to me. “But maybe don’t rush into stuff this time,” she whispers so quickly it takes me a second to parse her words.

I frown. “What are you talking about?”

She grabs a strand of my hair, twisting it gently. “You use sex to distance yourself from men.”

“I use sex to get off,” I say, bewildered. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly. “Absolutely nothing. But as soon as you’ve had a man, you move on. Wouldn’t it be nice to actually get to know one better than just the face they make when they come?”

“But that’s vital information, and honestly, I’d rather know that than their favourite book they read as a child.”

Thoughts flit too quickly over her face for me to read. She leans in and kisses my cheek before standing up and pulling on her coat. “I’m just saying that I’d like to see you actually have a relationship with someone that lasts a bit longer than your condom’s shelf life.”

“Hang on,” I say, alarmed. “That can be for up to five years. I’m not marrying the man.”

She stares down at me for a second and then pats my cheek. “I’ve just got a feeling.”

“Well, take your feelings and pack them away,” I say briskly. I shudder. “You’re talking relationships before lunchtime.”

“Alright, I’m off. See you later, Beethoven.”

“ Hush ,” I say, immediately looking around to see if anyone heard that dreaded name. Thankfully, we’re still alone. I grimace in relief. “Goodbye forever,” I grumble.

She laughs and walks out of the room, the slam of the door announcing her departure.

I have no idea what she’s on about using sex to distance myself. I like sex, and I don’t fancy a relationship or being tied to someone. What the hell is wrong with that?

Just a feeling … Did she mean she has a feeling about Tom? I do feel a spark with him. And I also think we could become friends. I don’t usually fuck friends, but I’m unlikely to see Tom again after this holiday. But perhaps either worry—fucking him or befriending him—is silly, because after we’re home, the source of the worry won’t be in my life. Still, fucking is what I’m most comfortable with, so?—

“Alright?” Tom asks, coming back into the room. He’s carrying his parka and has slung a navy jumper over his T-shirt that looks soft and inviting.

I smile sultrily at him. Then I stretch, making my T-shirt ride up to show off my abs. “Perfectly fine, thank you,” I purr, running a finger down my thigh, drawing attention to the bulge in my jeans.

Feeling strangely breathless, I wait for him to pick up my cues and fall on me. Shagging will be much better than shopping, but he only smiles and puts on his parka, no signs of sexual arousal at all.

“I think we probably need to get you a coat too. That jacket of yours won’t be any good for walking.”

“You actually want to go shopping ?”

“Of course.” He tips his head. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing?”

“And there’s nothing else you’d like instead?” I say in my best sultry voice, which a man once described as verbal sex.

I brighten as he nods enthusiastically. This is it . I lick my lips and lean forward, shaking my hair back in a sexy manner. My cock is throbbing already. I won’t last long the first time I get him inside me, but then we have all day. We can do it two or three times.

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s get some breakfast first. There’s a fantastic little café that does pancakes with brown sugar and golden syrup.”

I wonder if my brains have dribbled out of my ears. What is happening right now? “You actually want breakfast ? You just had toast.”

“That was a starter.”

“Are you a hobbit?” I say, blinking as he pulls me to my feet.

My eyes nearly cross as he taps my nose. “I love Tolkien.”

I push my glasses up. “Oh, me too,” I say enthusiastically.

He holds out my jacket for me to slip my arms into. “We had the films, and we used to playact the stories all the time. I was always Aragorn, and Sal was some elf she made up because none of Tolkien’s were good enough for her. Arlo was either a very small troll or a rather clumsy orc.”

“Oh, I’ve never seen the films. My father read the stories to me and then The Silmarillion . He taught me Elvish when I was six.”

There’s a startled pause, and I wait for the usual repulsed look that eighty-five percent of the gay world gives to a boy with brains.

“That’s brilliant. Say something to me in Elvish,” he demands.

My thoughts turn to mush for a second. His eyebrow rises, and I hastily rattle off a sentence.

“What does that mean?” His handsome face is alive with curiosity and humour.

“Second breakfasts are for fat orcs.”

He gives a great big belly laugh that makes me smile. “I need to learn that one.”

He slides a hat down on my head, and I raise my hand. “What’s this?”

“A beanie,” he says patiently. “It’s cold out there.” He taps my nose again as if I’m five and then gestures at me in a chivvying manner. “Let’s get going. I’m starving.”

Somehow, rather than having hot sex, I’m now ready to go out. For a second, I think I see amusement twinkling in his eyes. Then he walks off, shouting about being hungry.

I follow him helplessly. I suppose I could eat, I muse. Pancakes sound nice.

Princes Street teems with shoppers. As I step out of the taxi Tom insisted we get, all I can see is a massive sea of people marching along with brightly coloured shopping bags.

“Wow,” I say faintly. “This isn’t my thing at all. There are so many people .”

Tom smiles at me. “Don’t worry. We’re not staying on this street.” I sag in relief, and he laughs. “You’re very easy to read.”

“I am?” I say, startled. “Not usually.”

His mouth ticks up at the corner. “Maybe it’s just me, then.”

“Probably,” I say faintly. “I’m glad we’re not staying here, but I suppose if anyone could make it fun, it would be you.”

It’s his turn to look startled, his face warm with surprised pleasure. “Really?”

I run my finger under my collar, pulling out hair that’s caught and buying myself some time. I shrug nonchalantly. “Well, you’ve already shown me the benefits of pancakes and brown sugar.”

“And golden syrup,” he adds solemnly.

I laugh. “And golden syrup. So, I suppose anything is possible.”

He takes my arm and leads me down the road, dodging oncoming pedestrians, and after a few twists and turns, we arrive on a quieter side street. Small shops line either side of the narrow road. There seem to be more boutiques than big brands, and their windows are bright and warm with Christmas decorations. Over our heads, someone has hung lines of snowflakes that stretch from lamppost to lamppost, their white fairy lights twinkling against the grey sky. Nearby, a man on an accordion plays “I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday.”

Tom pulls me to a stop outside a shop with a brown and red striped awning. Lights twinkle in the window, and as someone comes out, I can smell cinnamon and leather in a warm gust of air.

“Come on,” he urges. “You’ll find some boots in here.”

The shop is warm inside, and I follow him as he edges around racks of brightly coloured coats.

I eye the shelves of colourful jumpers and the stands full of things I don’t recognise but presume will help with walking. “I’ve never been in a walking shop before.”

“Oh, I love them,” he says enthusiastically.

“Yes, you do seem rather energetic.”

He laughs and asks, “Why was that said in the same tone you’d use to announce I’ve got herpes?”

A woman stirs nearby.

Tom winks at her and adds, “Which I haven’t got, by the way. Not this boy.”

The woman and I both smile, and I turn to examine a bewildering mass of items. “Do you really need all this paraphernalia just to go for a walk?”

Tom stands by me, so close I can smell his cologne and a fresh warm smell that must be his skin. My stomach swoops.

“It depends where you’re walking,” he says.

I pick up what looks like a big clip. “Well, let me see. I tend to walk from the university to the pub. Would I need one of these?”

His mouth quirks. “Not unless you’re on a very steep incline. That’s a carabiner for climbing mountains.”

I snort and exchange it for what appears to be a long, thin stick. I experimentally swish it and inhale in horror as it breaks into three pieces. “Oh shit , I’ve broken it.” I turn in panic to Tom. “Oh my god, is that expensive? You look. I can’t bear to see.”

He’s silent for a second and then bursts into laughter.

“Is there something funny about my oncoming bankruptcy?” I ask.

He takes the broken pieces from me, and they snap back together with a twist of his hand. “Trekking pole,” he says, his serious voice slightly spoilt by twinkling eyes. “They’re made to fit in a pocket or rucksack.”

“So is chocolate, and that doesn’t give me a heart attack.”

That sets him off again, and I watch him, my mouth twitching. Finally, he recovers and draws me over to the racks of shoes. “Okay, look at these. Do you see anything you like?”

I contemplate the number of different kinds of boots and scratch my head. “I don’t know,” I reluctantly admit.

After experiencing the feeling of being a fish out of water for many years, I tend to avoid new experiences like the plague now. Ivy says I’ll never learn anything by treading the same well-worn paths, but she has never experienced the sensation of constantly being breathless, so she can pipe down.

I lick my lips and point at a random pair. “Those ones.”

He raises an eyebrow. “ Really ?”

I narrow my eyes. “Yes, why?” I snap. “They’re perfect.”

He puts his hand over my eyes. “Describe them.”

“I’m sorry?” I gasp.

“Tell me exactly what they look like, seeing as they’re so perfect.”

There’s laughter in his voice, and even though I hate being laughed at more than anything, Tom’s merriment invites me to join him. It isn’t cruel.

“I can’t,” I say, slightly breathless.

He pulls his hand away and I blink up at him. Any trace of laughter has left his face. He scans my face, his eyes hungry. I sway towards him, but he draws in a deep breath and steps back. He winks at me and then gestures at the racks and racks of boots.

“Okay, let’s do it this way.” He clears his throat.

I’m riveted by his Adam’s apple, the strong line of his jaw which is dusted with the perfect level of stubble, and the way his cheeks are now dappled with red.

He catches my eye, and mutters, “Hussy.”

I burst into startled laughter. “I’ve never been called that before.”

“You do surprise me. Okay. Back to business. How about I find a few boots that will be good for walking, and you can look at them and choose the pair that you like?”

“Okay.”

“What’s your budget?”

I tell him and then settle down on a bench to watch as he wanders the racks. His full lips are pursed, and a strand of brown hair has fallen over his forehead. I pretend to check the messages on my phone but end up watching the way the muscles in his thighs bunch as he crouches to grab a boot and the glorious sight of his bottom as he bends—full and perfectly round and no doubt a testament to all the exercises I never do.

He approaches me with his arms full, and I slide away my phone.

“What about this one?” he says, holding up a boot.

I eye it dubiously. “It looks like something I’d be laid to rest wearing.”

He gives a startled laugh. “So, not that one, then?”

“Erm, no.”

“What about these?”

“Are you serious? I’d look like an accountant having a midlife crisis.”

His lip twitches and his eyes twinkle as he produces one after another, all of which I shoot down.

I’m thoroughly enjoying myself and patting myself on the back. I knew he wouldn’t find anything to suit me in this shop. I’m a Converse or combat boots boy. Sensible shoes are not my jam.

Then, with a knowing smile, he produces a pair of boots that I immediately fall in love with.

“Oh my god ,” I breathe, holding out grabby hands. “Gimme them.”

He laughs and hands me the boots before settling down on the chair next to mine.

The boots are dark grey and sturdy, but they have a bright orange midsole and the same-coloured laces. They manage to look both functional and funky. I look up at him. “How did you know?”

A strange expression runs across his face. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “Those ones screamed Bee to me.”

The thing is, I’ve known Ivy for twenty years, and even she couldn’t have picked these for me. I’d like to think that’s because I’m mysterious and enigmatic, but it’s probably because I never let anyone fully in.

“Okay?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh yes,” I say quickly. “I love them.”

His smile has a bad-boy quirk but the sweetness of sugar. “Let’s try them on first.”

A few seconds later, I pace around the store, admiring my feet. “They’re actually so soft and comfortable,” I marvel. “It’s like walking on air.”

“How are your blisters?” Tom asks, steering me around a rack of hats that I was just about to knock over.

“What blisters?”

He laughs. “Let’s get you some thick walking socks and a coat too.”

I groan. “ Really ? Can’t we just count this as a win and go and get more pancakes?”

“Nope.” He scans me with concerned eyes. “It’s going to get colder. They’re forecasting snow, and that jacket of yours isn’t fit for purpose.”

“I bought it to make me look good and make my eyes look pretty. I’d say it’s done its job.”

He stares at me intently, his hot expression making my pulse race. “Those pretty eyes don’t need any help,” he finally says.

He moves away, and I stare after him. Did he just say my eyes were pretty? I hasten to follow.

Twenty minutes later, we step outside the shop. “So, that was a successful shopping trip,” he says with satisfaction. “And we came in well under your budget.”

“And with a coat that I didn’t need to buy.”

“That’s debatable. Do you like it, though?”

I look down at the hooded black padded jacket I’m wearing. It’s super warm and windproof, but I don’t look like I’m wearing boiler lagging, and it doesn’t drown my small figure like most coats.

He’d picked it out as easily as the shoes, leaving me feeling a little discomposed. I lean into him, using my usual method to get back on solid footing with a man—shameless flirtation.

“I love it. Thank you,” I say, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

His gaze drops to my mouth, and I lick my lips. To seal the deal, I lace my arm in his, letting him feel the length of my body. His arm flexes and he smiles down at me. I take a second to congratulate myself on finally breaking his control.

“So, what now?” I try asking throatily. “Maybe we should go back to the flat.” I wink. “And see what comes up.”

Amusement flits across his face before he steers me along the pavement, handing me the carrier bag holding my old Converse and jacket. “Now we get you a couple of jumpers,” he says briskly. His eyes are twinkling as he surveys the street, and I wonder dazedly how I can get him to twinkle at me.

Then his words catch on. “Oh no ,” I say, dismayed. “Not another shop.”

“Oh, but I think you’ll like this one.”

“Really? Is it a bookshop?”

“Well, no. They don’t tend to sell a lot of jumpers.”

“More fool them, then.” He leads me past a succession of shops selling everything from handmade chocolate to kilts. The man on the accordion has now switched to playing “Stop the Cavalry.”

“I’m sorry, Tom,” I say nervously. “I don’t think you’ll be successful with my clothes. I’m very picky.”

His eyebrow rises. “Oh really?” He waves a hand, indicating the shop behind me.

I turn, and my mouth drops open. It’s a vintage clothing shop. In the windows, the mannequins are dressed in the funky sort of style I like. Professorial, but mixed with a tight, slightly slutty edge. I can see three outfits I need already.

Tom’s expression is both knowing and affectionate—neither of which I’m sure I’ve earned in the short time he’s known me.

“You’re lethal,” I mutter.

He grins. “You have no idea.”

He opens the door for me and takes my bags. I follow him into the shop, feeling like I’m steering the Titanic, and there are icebergs ahead with depths that might sink me. I smile faintly as I imagine sharing a floating door on icy waters with Tom. I’d make sure there was lots of room for him, and he’d do his best to keep me warm?—

I shut down that thought quickly before it can become a feeling. Feelings are trouble.