cum more times than I did last night, and if an aching ass is the only price, then I’ll gladly pay it. In fact, I’ll probably do it again tonight . . .
The owner of the store clears his throat and gives us a stern look over the top of his glasses. I don’t know if he heard us, or if he just hates joviality. He’s been watching us the whole time we’ve been in his shop, sighing with the air of someone forced to entertain unwanted visitors.
At least his big gray tabby cat is welcoming. It keeps winding itself in and out of Dean’s legs, trying to trip him in the friendliest way.
“What are you looking for?” I ask Dean.
“I dunno.” He shrugs. “Whatever catches my eye.”
“You ever read this one?” I hold up Persuasion.
“No,” he says. “I read Pride and Prejudice, though. Actually, I kept thinking of a line from that book when I met you.”
“What line?” I say.
Dean searches the Austen books, finding Pride and Prejudice and flipping through it until he locates the line in question.
“This one—‘No sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she hardly had a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes.’ ”
I slap him on the shoulder, earning another disapproving grunt from the shop owner.
“ ‘Hardly a good feature in her face!’ ”
Dean laughs, grabbing my hands so I can’t smack him again.
“Not that part—the bit about the dark eyes, and how they show your cleverness. I can always see what you’re thinking from your eyes.”
“Oh yeah? What am I thinking right now?”
“You’re thinking you want me to kiss you.”
“That’s too easy. I always want that.”
Dean obliges, with zero care for the irritation of the shop owner.
Then he buys Persuasion on my recommendation.
The shop owner wraps the book in paper as protection against the sleet. Dean tucks it under his arm, taking my hand with his other.
We have to push hard against the door to exit into the wind.
As we cross main street, we overtake Miss Robin leaving the post office.
“Morning, Cat!” she says, trying to hold back her frizzy red hair from blowing all around her face. “And Dean, of course.”
“Good morning.” Dean nods.
“Where are you two off to?”
“The cafe,” I say. “Do you want to join us?”
“I won’t interrupt your date. But I’ll walk along with you so I don’t blow away.”
I take Dean’s book so he can offer his other arm to Miss Robin.
“Didn’t think we’d see anyone else down here,” Dean says.
“You almost didn’t. That last gust just about carried me off.” After a moment she adds, “Dean, I heard about your father. I’m so sorry.”
I suppose the Chancellor told her. Being his niece, she might have been the first to know.
“It’s fine,” Dean says stiffly. “It won’t distract me from my studies.”
“It would be understandable if it did,” Miss Robin says gently.
We’ve almost reached the cafe. As I stretch out my hand to open the door, it bursts open from the inside. Fighting the pressure of the wind, Snow and Sasha tumble out, laughing at the awful weather.
“Oh, hello!” Sasha says, before they can stumble into us. “How are—”
She breaks off, regarding Miss Robin with a startled expression.
“Julia, have you met my wife?” Snow says. “Sasha Rybakov.”
Miss Robin holds out her hand to shake. Unlike Sasha, she shows no hint of discomfort.
Sasha takes her hand and grasps it briefly.
“Nice to meet you,” she says.
“I won’t keep you all in this.” Miss Robin nods toward the windswept street. “Enjoy your tea, Cat and Dean, and enjoy the rest of your day, Sasha and Snow.”
Miss Robin heads off down the street in the direction of Kingmakers, while Snow holds the door for Dean and me so we can enter the cafe.
I linger in the doorway, watching Sasha stare down the street after Miss Robin.
After Dean and I have ordered and selected our table in the corner, I say, “That was odd.”
“What?” Dean says, already attacking his scone.
“When Miss Robin and Dr. Rybakov met.”
“What about it?”
“You didn’t think the doctor seemed—alarmed?”
“Why, ‘cause Miss Robin’s pretty? So’s Sasha. She’s got nothing to worry about, Snow’s crazy for her.”
“It felt off somehow.”
“Maybe because we were in the middle of a tornado,” Dean laughs.
“Could be,” I say, stealing his scone and taking a bite.
“Have the whole thing,” Dean offers. “I’ll order another.”