Page 25 of An Unexpected Kind of Love

“I suppose you’re right.”

And for a moment, Eli looks a bit deflated, slump-shouldered with his hands in his trouser pockets. Of course he looks handsome as ever, golden hair slightly disheveled from the heat, a hint of stubble along his jaw. There’s always something appealing about him, no matter how irritating he is at times, even with the past championing.

“Ryan’ll be waiting,” he says.

“I know.”

About then, there’s another sort of commotion at the door. Thankfully, I don’t hear any more about safe—or unsafe—words. Which is something to thank some higher order of deity for, one who manages texts and looks over hapless booksellers.

Gemma’s too-cheerful voice rings through the chaos. “OfcourseAubrey would love to help you.”

Both Eli and I turn as if we’re one to see Blake Sinclair weaving his way easily through the upheaval, deftly striding toward me through the builders and their kit, under Gemma’s gleeful watch. Even her new BFF, the security guard, watches with interest.

Oh shit.

Blake’s tan has only deepened since I last saw him, his tropical flamingo shirt cheerful as though we’re in Florida or somewhere deeply exotic and not at all like central London. Behind him, feedback still shrieks over the guard’s radio. The heat of the day rolls in through the open door. As he walks, the black lanyard around his neck swings with his filming ID. He grins at me as he approaches with an easy nod at Eli.

“Hey.” Blake stands with easy confidence, slightly shorter than Eli but somehow even more of a presence. His gaze goes from me over to the flowers then back to me with a slightly wider smile.

Beside me, Eli stiffens ever so slightly, his expression quickly covering any hint of surprise with cool lawyer facade. Not noticeable to anyone else, but enough for me to pick up on that he’s recognized Blake Sinclair at the very least. And that Blake’s looking at me in a way that’s not entirely the sort of usual way customers do.

“Hi.” I gulp, palms already slick with sweat. Unobtrusively, I attempt to dry them on my trousers. Dear God, let’s hope he spares us the round of awkward greetings. What do Americans do? Especially in already awkward social encounters, the dreaded post-blowjob-bolt-and-apology-flowers gaff.

Eli’s eyes narrow ever so slightly at Blake.

My face burns. Meanwhile, Blake is the epitome of cool despite the oppressive heat of the day and my unfortunate unraveling.

Please, on the deities that watch over booksellers, don’t mention the flowers right now.

“How can I help?” I manage, somehow keeping my voice from breaking like a teenager’s with emo angst.

“Shop’s closed,” says Eli abruptly, who evidently gives no fucks for celebs and is getting weirdly…possessive?

I frown slightly. “No, no,” I say to Blake. “I’d like to help.”

Regardless of Eli’s terribly unsubtle attempt to brush Blake off, I’m not going to be influenced by his bad manners. My gaze flits from the flowers to Blake.

Blake’s smile widens ever so slightly. “We all ought to make proper introductions, don’t you think?”

Oh shit, the awkward greetings of doom. Here we go.

“I suppose. Since you’re becoming a regular,” I acknowledge awkwardly.

God,ishe becoming a regular? Better not focus on that.

“Blake Sinclair.” He sticks out his hand, looking at me in a way that melts my insides.

With a hard gulp, I dare touch his hand and it’s everything I can muster to keep from yanking my hand back with the thrill of touching him again. My body betrays me. I open my mouth and have to try twice for words to come out. It’s highly unlikely this theater is convincing Eli, who obviously knows something’s up, judging by his arms folded tightly across his chest.

“Aubrey Barnes.” It takes all of my powers of concentration to remember my name and not just echo Blake’s.

We stare at each other for a moment too long before Eli coughs.

“And, ah, this is Elliot Gladstone,” I say quickly.

They shake hands in a slightly aggro manner, some sort of reluctant acknowledgment on Eli’s part and undaunted good cheer on Blake’s. If Blake’s surprised or caught off guard, he doesn’t show it—but then again, he’s an actor.

“So,” Blake says, focusing his devastating gaze on me. From the corner of my eye, I swear Eli’s glowering at the flowers. Could be a trick of some feral, hopeful part of my imagination that wouldn’t be sorry to see Eli jealous. Is that so wrong? “You said you could help?”

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