“We were supposed to clear out the book room!” Tess yelped.
“Yep, we got distracted by dog men and magic portals. Shit, shit, shit, shit! We really need these guys to take this lease. We’ve got to think of something and fast to keep them here.”
“I am so, so sorry,” I said in my best pleading voice as I got out of the car.
“My lady, are you in danger? Who are these ruffians?” Arthur asked, trying to open the boot to get at his sword.
“Lady, did we, or did we not, say we’d meet here today at opening?” Gabe snapped.
“Yes, I know, but–”
“Me and my mates have been standing here in the hot sun for over an hour. You’re not answering your phone, and from what I can see, the bookcases are only about half emptied.”
“Yes, you’re right, but–”
“Where have you been? Colouring your hair for your next incarnation? And what’s with the guys in the getup? Do you only date blokes who wear cosplay or something?”
“What? Date?” I turned to see Arthur buckling on his sword. “No, no! Not dating, just helping a guy out. We have some . . . colourful customers and he’s one of them.”
“Because if we’re getting in the way of something here, we can always find somewhere else.”
Tess was arguing madly with Arthur, whose body language was starting to get a bit irate. Oh, yes! I thought. The perfect excuse to cover Arthur’s presence and our lateness. “No! Please, no. The guy thinks he’s King Arthur, OK? We try to keep him calm and play along until his carer can come by and get him. That’s why we’re late. The books, well. . . .”
“We’ve run out of space in the storeroom, but are trying to move them into shelves or some other storage,” Tess supplied helpfully. Arthur paced by the front door, hand on his sword, looking balefully at Gabe. “We didn’t realise how much space we would need for the books. They’re everywhere right now. On every surface in the backroom and the shelves haven’t been sorted in an age. We’ve only just taken over our grandmother’s shop and we’re still finding our feet. She died of vascular dementia.”
“Oh,” I couldn’t see Gabe’s eyes behind the mirrored sunglasses, but the tension in his body seemed to have leaked out. “Ladies, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. Look, if we can get inside, my boys and me can start moving the bookcases that are empty. I’ve got a buyer that’s real interested. If they’re genuine oak, you’re looking at $500 a pop.”
“Whoa, OK, well, let’s get this door open.”
“Ohmigod I can’t believe that worked!” I hissed once we got everyone inside. Thankfully, Gabe and his guys had disappeared into the book room. Tess grinned widely, doing a little jig but played it cool when they came back, carrying the first bookcase. Well, cool until we saw the way they were being carried. One man on either end, sleeves rolled right back or stripped down to singlets, man after muscly man walked past, tattoos gleaming like jewels on their skin. Our eyes followed them to the door and out until the next pair went past, flicking back and forth like this was some kind of mesmeric loop of manly men.
“Well, that’s the first load,” Gabe said.
“Oh!” Tess and I nearly jumped out of our skins. We’d been drooling too much to notice his approach and his grin indicated he’d seen why. Looking at him didn’t help, either. I took a step backwards, then another, as I took in the flannel shirt tied around his waist and the white wife beater stretched across his chest. Whoa, that was a lot of muscle. I found my eyes trailing over the tattoos that peeked out of the singlet, following them down until they became faint shapes under the cotton. The faintest whiff of sandalwood and musk hung around him, making me wan
t to draw closer, drop my head to his chest and breathe deeply. . . . I snapped back to reality. God, get a grip girl!
“Awesome,” I croaked, trying to clear my throat, then kind of coughing/choking on my own spit. “Sounds great,” I spluttered.
“Do you want a drink of water?” Tess asked, but I waved her off.
“Alright, I’ll come back and we’ll see about moving the rest of the books. That OK with you, or was there something else you wanted?”
I froze. Everything had been ticking along since Gropeygate. I’d been pretending I hadn’t touched him inappropriately and he was letting me. Now he leant over the glass-topped counter, his blond hair falling over his shoulders, looking up at me with eyes filled with one part amusement, one part devilry and God knows how many parts of heat.
“Uh, no-no, I’m fine,” I said, my tongue tripping over the words.
“OK, well, you be sure to let me know if you aren’t.”
“Those men,” Arthur said, approaching the counter, “they are your labourers, are they not?”
“Not,” I replied. “The tall one is going to rent the space next door and turn it into his own shop. They’re clearing out our old stuff, so they can begin renovations.”
He sniffed at this but still looked concerned. “And your father, he permits you to work in an establishment with men?”
“Ah jeez, don’t start her on this,” Tess said, burrowing her head on her arms. We had had many an argument about how fantasy as a genre tended to perpetuate conservative views of gender as pastoral idylls.
“Things are different here, women have the right to vote and the freedom . . .” I saw Tess waving her hands at me behind his back. She was right, there was little point in getting into this. If I thought I could somehow enlighten the guy and cause a feminist revolution in fictional medieval Britain, I would. Best to leave the suffragettes something to do, I thought with a sigh. “Things are just different.”