Page 18 of Fighting Words

“No, not Anthony. Um, Nathaniel? Not sure—”

He laughs with delight. “Nathaniel Foster?”

I nod, smiling along only because his grin is so contagious.

“Didn’t know he was hiring anyone. What’s he need with an employee?”

“Oh—”

I suddenly realize it might have served me better to just keep my big mouth shut. I don’t know what Nate feels comfortable sharing, and he clearly values his privacy. No one hunkers down in a faraway cottage in the English countryside if they want their business shared with everybody.

“Nothing really. Paperwork.”

That’s the ultra-clever lie I come up with just as the door chimes and we both turn to see Nate tapping the snow off his boots before making his way inside. His tan cheeks are a little rosy. His usually unruly hair is hidden under a forest green beanie. Stick him with a golden retriever and a wife in coordinating tartan and he’d be the centerpiece of a J.Crew ad.

His handsomeness only seems to be growing on me. I’ve been around him now for almost a full day and I still blush and look away, back to the man ringing up my groceries. He’s been watching me this whole time, and now his eyes narrow slightly at the corners with a mischievous glint.Oh god.

“Got everything you need?” Nate asks me as he approaches.

“Just about.”

The shopkeeper finishes ringing me up, and then I look at the total: 170 pounds. Yikes. The trouble with small specialty stores like this is that you end up paying for convenience.

“Let me cover it,” Nate says, reaching for his wallet.

I immediately retrain my face, hoping I wasn’t giving anything away.

I’m not poor; I’m just trying to be sensible about my money. My parents helped with college, which I’m hugely appreciative of, but grad school was on me. With mounting school loans, I sure wish newly hired developmental editors were paid alittlebetter. I don’t complain about it though, especially to my family or Andrew. They’d love to remind me of the error of my ways. If only I’d listened to them I wouldn’t be wincing at having to pay for my grocery bill.

“I’ve got it,” I tell him with a forced smile, and then I hand my card over to the man behind the counter before Nate can protest.

“Aye up,” the man says to Nate. “Need anything?”

“I’m all set.”

When I start to collect my bags, Nate beats me to it. “Let’s go. Thanks, Martin.”

“I can get those,” I tell him, hurrying behind him. With the height he has on me, when he really gets going, I can barely keep up.

Just as we cross the threshold of the shop, Nate stops short, and I collide with his back, which feels like what I imagine it’s like to smash your face into a slab of concrete.

“Sorry,” Nate and I say in tandem. Then I spot a brunette woman just on the other side of him—the reason for his abrupt stop.

“Didn’t mean to almost run you over,” he tells her.

The woman laughs and looks up at Nate with a pretty smile and earnest brown eyes. “Nathaniel. Hi!”

She unfurls a purple scarf from around her neck, and Nate steps aside to let her walk into the shop. She looks to him and then to me. Her smile falters for a millisecond, but only barely.

“I’m Alice,” she says in an American accent. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

She extends a gloved hand, and I accept it as I introduce myself. “Summer.” Then I look to Nate.

“What brings you to this desolate village this time of year?” Alice asks. “I rarely see outsiders between January and April. Only the fools who call this place home.”

She tosses a wink at Nate, and I feel left out and jealous. Which is ridiculous, but even knowing that doesn’t stop the feeling from intensifying.

“She’s helping Nathaniel withpaperwork,” Martin supplies with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

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