“Ah, an ex, I presume.” Tuck twists his lips. “Don’t feel special. She has several. I really think you should go. Like now.”
I gape at him. What is wrong with him? Is he ... jealous?
Levi exhales. “I see. This isn’t the best moment for a conversation, Francesca.” He rises from his seat and places a twenty on the table. “It was great seeing you. You’re even more beautiful than I remember.” His blue eyes burn as they drift over me.
“Get moving,” Tuck says as he waves his hands at him.
“I have an opening at the Reinhart Gallery in February,” he continues, ignoring Tuck. “It’s an exhibition for several artists, and I’d love for you to come and see what I’ve been working on. It’s invitation only, a gala. Perhaps you can do some shopping for your clients.”
“Sure,” I say uncertainly.
He nods, then walks out the door.
“I don’t like him,” Tuck says as he takes a sip of his drink. “Super douchey.”
My temper stirs. “I’m happy about your nonprofit idea, but you shouldn’t have been so rude.” I put down money on the table for my cider.
“Where are you going?” Tuck asks as I grab my leather satchel.
“Not your business. I’m not your property, nor do we have anything that’s ‘complicated.’”
“Is it weird that I sort of wish you were stalking me? Yeah, I guess it is.”
I huff. “What’s wrong with you today?”
“I saw you from the street,” he mutters. “Not on purpose. I was just walking by to get my shake.”
“I’m sorry you had to witness me with another man.”
Before he can follow, I flip around and head up the stairs to the books. He’s still on my heels as I pass other patrons milling around the shelves. “That guy was your ex? Was he an important one?”
“Ha, you seem to already know about my exes, and don’t give me grief—I’ve read about yours. I can’t even count that high.”
“So you looked me up?” I hear the smile in his voice.
Of course I did. He grew up super rich. His parents owned most of Virginia. Old money.
I hit the third level of the store. Shelves of books create dark shadows as I walk faster. It’s quiet, with most of the customers downstairs. Our only company is a few cobwebs and old books.
“Slow down. Pretty sure you’ll hurt yourself in those shoes.”
I face him. “What was that down there?”
He leans down to me, his nose to mine. He smells like sexy Christmas again, peppermint and spice, only this time it doesn’t make me queasy. It makes my insides quake.
“I want you. You want me. What else is there? I’ve missed you.”
I shake my head at him, floundering for words.
“It’s like this. I was just walking past and saw you in the window. You had this, I don’t know, sad expression on your face when he sat down. I watched for a while, debating; then I decided you needed rescuing.”
“I see.” I march down one of the aisles, heaving a breath when I realize it doesn’t connect and I’ve hit a dead end. There’s a large window, and I glance out at the traffic on the street. With only five days left until Christmas, the shoppers are everywhere.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks.
I turn, and he’s leaning against a shelf, a somber expression on his face.
It’s a surprise, that somberness, as if he cares, and I swallow. I pick up a book and hold it. “Do you like sappy stories about young girls who get their hearts broken?”