Page 95 of The Biting Bargain

No, it’s far worse.

Right behind Mrs. Cooper, with her tweed suit, eager smile and thick glasses, the other customer is waiting.

The one I didn’t dare look at since he has entered the store twenty minutes ago.

Tall. Athletic. Auburn, unruly hair.

He always wears a suit jacket, and every day it’s a different band t-shirt. Today’s choice is„Captain Crasher“.

He casually holds his desired purchase for the day in one hand. I know it has to be volume five. Every day since he has first shown up on Tuesday, he’s bought another book from "The Scandalous Debutants" — my favorite series of cheesy regency romance novels.

Whoever the lucky girl is for whom he is buying all those, she apparently has the ability to read at supersonic speed.

"There you go." I hand Mrs. Cooper her wrapped gift and cash the purchase.

"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Cooper says. "Is everything all right? You look a little pale."

"Just tired," I assure her with a shaky smile.

The Incubus has strolled over to the self-help books, browsing the merchandise casually. Not enough that the bureau has obviously not forgotten about me after all, as I secretly and against all logic hoped. No, out of all available case workers they had to send my cousin.

My attention snaps back to the counter, just as Captain Crasher shifts in his stance. I avert my gaze quickly, before I can meet his eyes.

I know they are bright blue.

Very startlingly so.

"You young people work too much," Mrs. Cooper says with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "You’ve got to enjoy yourself a little, dear. You're so young and so pretty. When I was your age…"

She rambles on about the olden days, when she was still a whipper-snapper, hitting the nightclubs in the big city, before she finally grabs her bag, says goodbye and hobbles out of the store.

My pulse fires up.

Captain Crasher places "The Scandalous Debutants" volume five on the counter. I adjust the cap on my head, pulling it securely over my ears before daring to look back at him.

"Hello," he says.

I'm never cool, not even under the best of circumstances.

"Good afternoon," I croak, my mouth as dry as sandpaper.

I’ve always had a weak spot for redheads. Tall redheads, especially. He looms over the counter like a lighthouse, smiling at me with the kind of boyish charm the ladies out there doubtlessly find quite enchanting. Too bad he is obviously here to buy a book for his girlfriend.

Guys like him always have a girlfriend.

I pull the book across the scanner. The register beeps.

"Did you catch a cold?"

"Excuse me?" I blink, puzzled that he speaks to me. On his previous visits to the bookstore our conversations have never ventured beyond: "That'll be 17,50, please," and: "Don’t forget your receipt."

"I'm sorry, that came out wrong." His smile fades a little. "I was just asking, you know, because of your hat."

Crap! My hands shoot up, shielding the hem of the thick wool covering my ears. Has he noticed anything?

"What about it?" I utter.

"I was just wondering. You've been wearing the hat all week," he blurts as if he is just saying out loud what is popping into his mind.

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