tell you—and aggressive duck demands for food. Aside from which, you’re not even supposed to give them bread.”
A pause. Eve cocked her head. Then, instead of addressing the substance of his speech, she asked in tones of great surprise, “You aren’t? Oh dear. Why on earth not?”
“It’s bad for the digestion! Christ, woman, read a waterfowl blog.”
“Which you do because . . .”
“Because,” Jacob sniffed, suddenly aware that this conversation had spiraled out of his control. “Know thine enemy.”
“Ah,” she murmured. “Yes. Of course.” The moon had shifted, so Jacob could no longer see her face. But he had the strangest suspicion that she was smiling.
He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” he demanded. “Aside from sabotaging my garden.”
“Nothing.” Which was a nonsense answer if he’d ever heard one, but she rose to her feet and went on. “If you’re so antiduck, I’ll get rid of them. Not that I brought them here in the first place.”
Bloody ducks. They should know by now that Jacob’s property was off-limits to their foul ways.
“Well,” he muttered. “Good.” Except it wasn’t good, because Eve was still here, and he really didn’t want her to be. He was starting to find her . . . charming. Jacob usually saw charm as useless and insubstantial, but somehow, she made the damn thing stick. Made it solid and welcoming, like a well-built brick house rather than smoke and mirrors.
That was technically a good thing, but he hadn’t expected it, and so he decided to resent it. He’d always hated surprises. “What possessed you to come over here at this time of night and waste perfectly good bread? My perfectly good bread?”
“I’ll buy some more tomorrow,” she said, throwing what remained of the bag—yes, throwing it!—casually on the ground.
“You’ll fuck up my supp—”
“Supply is my responsibility now, anyway,” she cut in, and Jacob was left to wonder how the bloody hell she’d known that. He hadn’t mentioned it, because frankly, he hadn’t wanted her to do it just yet. Supply monitoring was a delicate business, and Eve seemed a bit bloody ditsy, to say the least. Plus, he’d only known her for a few days. Putting her in charge of securing sausages and whatnot seemed premature. They hadn’t even had their first post-employment meeting yet.
Because you’ve been avoiding her.
Blah, blah, blah. The point was, she knew too much. “Who told you that?” he demanded. “It was Mont, wasn’t it? I heard him come and visit you today, you know. While you were baking.”
Eve, who was windmilling her arms at the first duck with almost no effect, snorted a laugh. “Visit me? I thought he was on his way to visit you.”
“Well, yes. Wanted to check I hadn’t died while he wasn’t looking. But I don’t see how that mission took him to the kitchen.”
Earlier, it had occurred to Jacob that he’d left a bit abruptly after the Finger Licking Moment, and he’d started to feel almost . . . bad. After all, Eve was so unrelentingly earnest, she might as well be a puppy, and if you kicked a puppy, even by accident, you had to pick it up and rub its belly and say sorry. Not that he’d intended to do something so awful as apologize. Or rub Eve’s belly. He’d just planned to pop into the kitchen and say something vaguely friendly, to negate his earlier awkwardness.
So down he’d gone, only to find her laughing. With Mont.
“You should be aware,” Jacob said now, “that I think he likes you.” It would make sense, after all. Eve was technically attractive, and technically interesting, and really quite capable in a way that made Jacob’s stomach tighten, but also quite silly in a way that made his chest fizz, so, yes. He could see it. Why Mont might like her, that is.
“Everyone likes me on first acquaintance,” Eve said, then flicked a look at Jacob. “Well. Except you.”
“I—” He snapped his mouth shut before it could betray him.
“Aha! Success!” The first duck had finally taken the hint and fucked off, waddle-flying away with an affronted squawk. Eve clapped her hands and did a little jump, and Jacob thanked every god he knew that the moon was currently covered by cloud, because if he’d seen that movement in any kind of light he probably would’ve noticed something awful. Like her tits.
Or her thighs, in those tiny shorts he absolutely hadn’t been looking at.
“And by the way,” Eve went on, “Mont didn’t tell