Stand-In Saturday (Love For Days #2) - Kirsty Moseley Page 0,12

the ankles as she pats the space next to her. “You said your name is Theo? I’m Lucie.”

Lucie. I note her name, but chatting her up is now way down on my list of priorities.

Her posture is stiff and resigned. I can tell we’re not getting out of here anytime soon, and she’s trying to distract me from whatever freak-out is building inside me. I’ve never been claustrophobic before, but then again, I’ve never been trapped inside an enclosed space before, so who knew I wouldn’t like it? Lucie doesn’t look flustered though, and her cool demeanour calms my racing heart. Maybe sitting down is a good idea. My legs do feel somewhat wobbly.

I slide down the wall next to her and shrug off my suit jacket, folding it and laying it on the floor next to me. Smiling at my cooperation, she reaches over, picking up the tray of drinks, and drags them closer to her. As she does, it catches on the strap of her handbag and makes it tip over. A Magic 8-Ball rolls out, followed by a box of three Krispy Kreme doughnuts and a bunch of other junk. Her bag is like the one from Mary Poppins, bottomless and full of crap. The 8-Ball hits my leg, so I pick it up and smile fondly. I haven’t seen one of these for years.

Instantly, I shake it. “Will we die in this lift?”

My reply is no.

I huff a relieved sigh, and actually, stupid as it sounds, my chest does loosen at the answer. “Well, that’s a relief. I still have so much to tick off my bucket list.”

Lucie laughs, and I set the toy back next to her bag. “We might as well drink these before they get cold.” She holds up the coffees in offering.

I nod. “So, what have we got?”

Squinting down at the cups, she attempts to make sense of the tick boxes on the side of them, reading them out.

When she says, “Mocha,” I nod and call dibs.

I’m never not calling dibs on something again; I learned that the hard way. After dumping in a couple of sugars she produced from her gargantuan handbag, I sit back and take a sip of my coffee, closing my eyes, letting the sweetness and caffeine wash over me.

When I open them again, I see she’s watching me, and there’s a small worry line between her eyebrows.

I smile and tilt my head. “I’m fine, honestly. Not going to have a panic attack.” I don’t think anyway.

Her shoulders seem to relax at my assurances.

My gaze drops to the box of doughnuts half-hanging out of her bag. “Are we sharing those?”

She quickly shakes her head. “No, they’re for a meeting.”

“Yeah, a meeting that will likely be finished by the time we get out of here—you said so yourself. What a waste, and look at us, all cooped up and in need of sustenance and sugar to keep us alive.” I reach for the box, greedily eyeing the contents. They’re not merely the glazed ring kind; they’re the sickly sweet kind, covered in toppings that taste like sin in your mouth.

She sighs deeply, and pink tinges her cheeks. It’s cute. She looks innocent and sweet when she blushes. I like it. “Okay, admission: they’re not for a meeting. They’re mine.”

“All three?”

“Yes, all three. Don’t judge me!” She chuckles and reaches out, pointing to each one in turn. “Morning snack, lunch, afternoon snack.”

Food done right. My kind of girl.

“I’m suitably impressed by your ability to eat that much sugar without going into a diabetic coma.” I grin. “Come on though, let me have one. Just one? I’m starving. How about we Rock, Paper, Scissors for it? You win, you keep all three. I win, and we split them.” I throw her my disarming smile that people usually find adorable. I’m not quitting until I eat at least one of these bad boys; I won’t be able to stop thinking about them all day otherwise. Yes, I am that child.

Lucie groans. “And what exactly am I getting out of it? If I win, I get to keep something that’s already mine, but if I lose, I have to give you my food. Are you high?” She takes the box from my hand and pushes it back into her bag, shaking her head, grinning good-naturedly.

“Ah, but you won’t have to sit here and listen to me whine about it for however long we’re trapped for. Surely, that’s worth it. Come on, Rock, Paper,