Page 61 of After Felix
I feel a blush hit my cheeks because I certainly remember what came before that conversation. “Hmm,” I say and turn to Paula. Her eyes are flitting between the three of us as if we’re on stage. “Shall we get sorted?” I ask quickly.
She brightens. “Of course. Come with me. I think you’ll like the setup.”
Still talking, she turns and leads us to the thriller section upstairs. The memories hit me fast and furious. When I cast a glance at Max, I find him watching me again. Connor and Paula bustle off to fetch something, and it’s impossible to avoid Max’s gaze.
“Talk of memory lane,” he says softly.
“There’s a hell of a lot of water under that bridge.”
“Is there? I wish I’d known then,” he says abruptly.
“Known what?”
He doesn’t have time to respond because Connor and Paula come back. Max gives a light reply to one of Paula’s questions, and we swing into getting everything ready.
There’s plenty of time for me to wonder about what his response might have been, because there really isn’t much for me to do. Paula will sit with Max while he autographs books, writing the names on sticky notes and attaching them to the covers so he can sign them quickly.
“Make sure you write big,” I interject. “Max won’t wear his glasses for love nor money.”
“I don’t needglasses,”he says in an affronted tone. “I don’t know why they gave me them.”
“Oh, Specsavers are so funny like that,” I say blithely. “Always giving out glasses to people who don’t need them. So careless.”
“I haven’t got them with me, anyway,” Max says sulkily.
I reach into my pocket and pull out his glasses case. “But of course you have,” I say smoothly.
Connor gives a snort of amusement. Max huffs, but puts them on when I fold my arms and stare at him. I try to ignore how the black frames suit his face, echoing that mass of grey-flecked black hair.
Connor gives me a look of appreciation. “You manage him well,” he mutters as Max turns back to Paula.
“He’s not a waiter,” I say. “I don’t need to manage him.”
“No, but you do need to be able to cope with him. He’s got a big personality, and he can ride roughshod over people without realising. He needs someone to bring him up on it.”
“Well, that’s not me,” I say, reaching into my bag and putting the Sharpie pack on the table where Max will be signing.
“Really?” He looks doubtful.
Wanting to be free of his knowing eyes, I leave them to it and drift off to look around the shop.
Max finds me a while later sitting on the beanbag in the children’s section.
“What are you reading?” he asks, amusement and curiosity vying in his voice.
I show him the book. “The Rupert annual.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “I used to get one every Christmas.”
“Yes?” He leans against the bookshelf, his eyes focused on me.
“Yes. I loved them. I’m not sure why. I just liked the pictures.”
“But the question is, did you read the prose story or the comic book strip with the rhyming text?”
I grin up at him. “The rhyming one of course. Much less work. I loved that.”
